He removed her hand from his face. “No. Your brain is making them up.”

Pulling her hands from his, she reached behind her again. The damn choli was squeezing the life out of her. Why the hell were these things designed like push-up bras and corsets had babies together after violent sex? The kind that involved restraints and things. “BDSM.”

His eyebrows shot up, but she had no idea what part of that thought she’d spoken out loud. The beads were digging into her skin. She hated clothes.

“I hate clothes.” Her hands wouldn’t reach the hooks in the back. “What kind of asshole puts hooks where you can’t reach them unless you’re an acrobat? Or one of those people without joints? Those people who pop . . . poping . . . pooper . . . poo . . .” Her hands struggled to reach the clasps.

“I got it.” Reaching around her, he found the hooks.

It was such a relief, she dropped her arms and pressed her forehead to his jaw, and smelled him.

“The entire cologne company.” To hell with it, she didn’t care what popped out of her mouth. Just don’t give in to the unbearable urge to lick his neck. He smelled yummy. Like lemon bars and sex.

The laugh in his throat vibrated against her nose just as the tightness around her breasts from the choli released, setting her free.

She wanted to throw it off. Throw everything off.

“Lemon bars . . .” Don’t say the rest. “And sex.” She smelled him again.

He pulled her off him, eyes locked on hers. Focus. He spoke without speaking and pressed the nightshirt at her, using it to keep the choli blouse, which had started descending from her shoulders, in place. “I’ll be waiting outside, try not to fall and hurt yourself.” With those gentle, stern words, he left.

Easy for him to say. The choli dropped to the ground but the hook on her ghagra skirt fought her. “Get off me!” Yes, she screamed at it.

“Naina?” he said from the other side of the door.

“Haven’t fallen. Still standing.”

“Good girl.”

Finally she got the blasted thing off and pulled on the white nightshirt he’d found. It said, I’m My Sugar Daddy.

The trip from the bathroom to her bed was a blur. Before she knew what was happening she was sprawled facedown, arms out, on top of her comforter. Flying like a bird.

Someone started to move her body parts around. The unstackable puzzle spilled everywhere. Flip, turn, roll. She was on a boat, pitching and twisting. A puzzle on a boat.

When it ended, she was beneath her sheets, comforter tucked to her nose. It was nice.

“I know you!” She opened her eyes.

His smile was the best thing in the world. Like frozen custard with crushed-up chocolate and strawberries folded in. Smooth and sweet and crunchy. He was decadent and irresistible. Like sex.

Stop thinking that word.

Sex sex sex.