“Give me a second to bask in the fact you think I’ve had a normal life of any kind, let alone a normal sex life.”

“Pres, I’m serious.”

“I know.” She tucked a hank of orange hair behind her ear. “If he rocks your bed frame so often, then why are you questioning it?”

“What if that’s all there is between us?”

“You told me you didn’t care if this was a temporary fling with Deacon. Have you changed your mind?”

I don’t know. Okay, yes, I do. I think it’s been more than sex all along.

“This sex-a-thon will run its course,” Presley continued, oblivious to Molly’s inner turmoil, “and you’ll have great sex stories to tell—after you marry a boring guy who isn’t hot enough to toast your marshmallows in that way.”

When Presley’s gaze sharpened, Molly knew her face betrayed how awful that life sounded.

“That’s not how you see your life playing out?”

“Maybe at one time I did, but not now.”

“Since you started things with Deacon or before?”

“What do you think?”

Presley threw her arms up. “I think you are confusing the fuck outta me. You cannot look at that tough, brooding, snarling man and not see passion, Mol. Passion drives him. You should’ve expected he’d focus that passion on you.”

“You think I don’t know that? But I’ve never been with a man who is as physically demonstrative as he is sexual. It’s usually either/or.”

“We’re still talking about Deacon, right? The man who’d grunt his instructions in class if he could? He’s touchy-feely in private?”

“Unbelievably.” Wait. Did sharing that break a relationship rule?

“Like how?”

“He always has to be touching me. Even when we’re just sitting on the couch watching TV, one or both of his hands are on me somewhere.”

“What about during meals?”

“I sit on his left side so he can keep his hand on my leg while we’re eating. But even that’s become an issue since a simple touch leads to wanting more hands on skin, mouth on skin, skin on skin. Then my clothes are flying off, and his clothes are flying off, and I don’t give a damn that my bra is in the butter and my panties have become a toaster cozy. We’re body to body, it’s fantastic and everything else in the world just disappears.”

Stunned silence.

Then, “For the love of Loki, Molly. Are you drunk? You never tell me shit like this.”

“I never tell you shit like this because being a ho is a new thing for me.”

Presley’s owl-eyed gaze flicked over Molly’s shoulder. “Uh, hey, Amery.”

“Morning, Pres. Morning, ho.”

Molly put her forehead on her desk. Then she heard the sound of metal scraping across the floor. She looked up to see Amery settling in next to Presley.

“Keep talking. This is way more interesting than itemizing expenses. What did I miss?” Amery prompted Presley.

“Just Molly complaining about being overly tired since she’s a sex fiend obsessed with Deacon’s magical dick and it’s keeping her up at night.”

“At least he can keep it up all night for his greedy ho-bag girlfriend, amirite?”

Presley laughed and high-fived Amery.

“You two oughta take your comedy act on the road.” She pointed at Amery’s office and then at Presley’s work space. “Seriously. Get. Out.”

“Oh, don’t be a bad sport,” Amery said. “Keep talking.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable talking about this with you, boss.”

“Please. I’m the perfect person to talk to because you see what a ho-bag I am for Ronin.” She smirked. “I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out when he stops by to ‘discuss something’ with me and my office door is locked that we’re usually not talking.”

Presley held her hand up for another high five.

“Fine, but you can’t share any of this with your husband, because I don’t want this getting back to Deacon.”

“I won’t. Spill.”

Molly slumped back in her chair. “Deacon is the most sexual man I’ve ever been with.”

“How often are we talking about with you and Deacon’s sexy times?” Presley asked.

“At least once a day. Sometimes twice. Sometimes more.”

Presley mouthed, Holy fuck.

“You tell him no when you’re not in the mood?”

Molly sighed. “There’s the ho problem—ha-ha. He gives me that look, puts those big mitts on me, and I’m freakin’ putty in his hands. I can’t say no. I don’t want to say no. I’m never not in the mood.”