Page 42 of The Cruiser

“It’s best not to mix business with pleasure,” I prattle on. “Keep things clean.”

“Clean,” he repeats, like he’s trying out a new word.

“You know, not creating a mess.”

He searches my face, and it’s impossible to stay clear-headed in the depths of his amber pools. They’re agitated and swirling, like my insides. I can still feel his dick smashed against me. I still crave that tongue wrestling for control over mine.

“Fair enough,” he says and drags his eyes off mine.

His response lands wrong, matching nothing that I feel.Fair? This is so unfair.To have this rush, such a connection and then, pfft.

But you said…

Yes, I know what I said. Thanks for the reminder.

The reality is, nomatter what lies I tell myself, I can't blip tonight out of existence. Adrenaline still hovers under my skin, not a hint of give. We're like one of those beds that come in a box—packing up our explosion of lust and shipping it back to the sender is an impossible task.

We own it.

And it’s never going back to its original state.