And I don’t know why I like that.

When she was taking in every last dildo and cock ring in the cabin, I could see her clutching her proverbial pearls. And when her eyes landed on that shower dick, I thought she was going to faint. Honestly, I can’t wait to give it a solid poke when I take my shower later.

“Oh my God, Wilder, don’t be a pervert.”

“That’s not being a pervert. That’s called making a joke.” I nod toward her. “Lighten up, Pips.”

She dabs at her mouth and sits back in her chair. “Hand me the paper.”

I hand it over to her, knowing exactly what the last question is. Holding back my smile, I wait for her to read it, only for her to peek up at me, her head cast down, offering me her pretty irises.

“I’m not asking this.”

“You have to,” I say. “And if you notice, there is a B next to the number, meaning it’s a question we both have to answer.”

She sets the paper down. “I’m not asking.”

I pick it up and smirk while I say, “Fine, I’ll ask, and then we can both answer.” Clearing my throat, I ask, “What’s the best oral your partner has ever given you?”

She picks up her water and takes a sip, clearly avoiding the answer, so I step in.

“It was our fourth date.”

She snorts. “God, you wish.” She then leans forward and whispers, “I’d never give oral on a fourth date.”

“Really?”

“Would you?”

I grin. “Given it on the first.” And that was one of my finest dates, I might add. Not that there were too many first dates during college.

Her mouth falls open, and then she quickly closes it. “That’s…that’s⁠—”

“You can unclench, darling. It’s going to be okay,” I say. “Now, back to our fourth date. It was when we went out to the pumpkin farm.”

She sits back, looking far too annoyed, but I keep going.

“You were high off apple cider doughnuts and fresh country air. You just got off the hayride, so your hair was tousled, and your cheeks were bright pink. You were irresistible.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters.

“You pulled me in close and whispered in my ear that you wanted to get lost in the corn maze. Then you gave me that little wiggle of your eyebrow that told me you wanted to play with my corn on the cob.”

“For the love of God.”