And while she’d expected him to be as reserved in bed as he had been in personality, he’d quickly proved her wrong. He’d arranged her in so many different positions—some downright scandalous—that by the time they were finished she’d felt like a human pretzel. Who would have guessed a man as reserved and quiet as Connor would have such an adventurous streak in bed?
Connor stroked her back with a large, warm hand—down her spine, over the curve of her behind and back up again. “Is it safe to talk now?”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me earlier, no more talking tonight. But I figured since it’s 1:00 a.m., it’s technically tomorrow.”
“We have been talking,” she said. There was no way he could accuse her of being quiet during sex.
“By talking, I mean having a conversation, not, ‘Do it harder, Connor,’ or ‘Faster, Connor.’”
She laughed and pinched him playfully. “Yeah, okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. What do you usually talk about after sex?”
“I don’t. Unlike most women, I’m the first one off the bed and out the door.”
“Why is that?”
She shrugged. “Never seemed much point in hanging around. You do and a man starts to get the wrong idea.”
“But you’re here now.”
“You wore me out. I’m too tired to move.” It wasn’t a complete lie, and it was easier than the truth. Hell, even she didn’t know why she was still lying there. It had to be temporary insanity.
“Have there been many before me?”
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