In one hand, he held a book. One of my books. Open to midway through. His eyes slid over the words, and his lips tilted further downwards. So immersed was he in the … story … that I didn’t think he’d noticed my arrival.

And then his long fingers moved, and I got a good glimpse at the cover.

“Oh my God, did you have to pick that one?”

SJ cocked an eyebrow, but his eyes didn’t leave the page, and it didn’t take me more than one guess to know why. Because the book he was reading—a paperback quite worn from multiple rereads—was Spit Roasted By The Shifter Triplets: A Smutty, Why Choose Monster Romance. And if he was reading from midway, he was definitely getting an education in just how dirty my tastes in reading material were.

“Is this what you meant when you referred to ‘why choose’ yesterday?” he asked, his voice a deep, cultured rumble. “I find myself … intrigued … by the mechanics of it, quite honestly.” He tilted his head to one side, as if reading the words from a different angle would help.

My makeup was set to melt off. “It’s … you need to suspend disbelief, to a certain extent.”

“Indeed,” was the dry reply as he raised his arm from the back of the lounge, licked his forefinger and flipped a page.

Heat pooled low in my belly. The casual stroke of his tongue over that finger should not be so enticing. But it was. Oh boy, was it ever!

“I am almost positive that a human female is not … stretchy … enough for the size of these males’ appendages. And two of them at once? In the same … orifice?”

I took umbrage at that. “Well, when you flip to a random page in the book, you don’t get the context!” I grouched, storming over and snatching the book from him, flipping it back a few pages, scanning the words. “If you read the whole scene, you know that they do a lot to prepare her for their size … they give her at least three orgasms with their mouths before they attempt any penetration … and then they use fingers first, and seriously, the size of their fingers is, well … and they also have mystical saliva that helps her to … hang on, how do you know about the stretching properties of human orifices?”

A hot, angry feeling coursed through me, and I snapped my eyes from the page to him. And any further accusatory words died in my throat.

He wasn’t lounging anymore. He sat, elbow on one knee, slack-jawed, as his eyes roved over every inch of me. His grey eyes glinted with silver. Hungry … longing …