“If you want my mouth and mouth alone, then spread your legs farther,” he says as he descends.

I fan out my legs so they can accommodate his broad shoulders, and then I lower my fingers so I’m spreading my pussy for him. I said tongue only, so that’s what I’m going to get. He brings his mouth an inch away from my clit, his breath heavy on the sensitive skin.

“You said you didn’t love me earlier,” he whispers as I feel his words vibrate against my throbbing clit. “Yet as I stare at this fucking slick pussy, I wonder why the hell you’re so wet already.”

Because I’ll never stop wanting you.

“No talking,” I say, blocking out the internal dialogue that’s making me want him even more. “Just make me come.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he says. “Tell me why you’re wet, Myla.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s proving to me that you’re a goddamn liar. That everything you’re saying, you don’t mean.”

I lift, letting go of my grip, and rest on my elbows, staring down at him. “Excuse me? Are you really calling me a liar?”

“You say you don’t love me, but it’s clear that you do.”

“You’re assuming that because I’m turned on? Being wet has nothing to do with love and everything to do with wanting release. So don’t try to pull this stunt about love because love isn’t enough in this situation.” I cover myself with my robe, pulling the sides closed, my irritation outweighing my lust. “Just take your shorts and leave. I don’t need to deal with this inane questioning after tonight. After dealing with your constant touching, your attempt to turn me on.”

“It worked,” he says in such a cocky voice that it makes me want to scream.

Instead, I attempt to move off the bed, but he’s quicker than I am, grips my hips, and pins them back against the bed, causing me to gasp.

In a tight tone, he says, “I’m not taking the shorts without giving you what you want. A deal is a deal, and I’m not about to back out.”

“I don’t want your mouth anymore,” I say.

“Lies, so many fucking lies coming from that fuckable mouth of yours.” His fingers dig into my skin the way he knows I like it. “Why are you lying so much, Myla? It makes me—fuck!” he shouts. “It makes me so goddamn mad because I see what we have. I know what we have. I saw how you acted tonight. Why are you fucking lying to me?”

“Because I don’t want you to think that there is even a remote chance that we can work through this.”

His eyes turn even darker, his brows more pronounced. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Well, good thing that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Just want to prove to you that I still turn you on, no matter what you say.” His voice is empty, and I’ve known this man long enough to know what he’s saying he doesn’t mean. I can see he’s in defense mode, and he’s attempting to salvage his feelings.