I laughed.
We picked the pillows up off the floor and found the blanket. He slid into bed next to me, and I wrapped myself around him, my head on his chest.
“What the freak said, it’s not like that,” Curran said.
“I know,” I told him and kissed the corner of his jaw.
“I’ve never forced anyone and I don’t lie to you.”
“I know.”
A long, sad whine rolled through the apartment.
Curran frowned. “Is that your mongrel?”
“He’s an attack poodle. I found him at an incident scene, washed him, shaved him, and now he guards the house and barfs on the carpet.”
“What’s his name?”
I stretched against him. “Grendel.”
“Odd name for a poodle.” He turned, taking full advantage of the fact that my breasts were squished against him.
“He came into a mead hall full of warriors in the middle of the night and scared them half to death.”
“Ahh. That explains it.” His hand caressed my shoulder, then my back. It was a deceptively casual caress, and it made me want to rub myself against him. He leaned in closer and kissed me. His teeth grazed my lower lip. He kissed my chin and began working his way down my neck. Mmmm . . .
“I read lions can have sex thirty times a day,” I murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but it only lasts half a minute. Would you prefer the twenty-second special?”
I rolled my eyes. “What woman could pass on that offer?”
His hand cupped my breast. His fingers brushed my nipple and I shivered.
“I’m not all lion,” Curran said. “But I do bounce back quickly.”
“How quickly?”
He shrugged. “Two minutes.”
Oh, boy.
“I do slow down eventually,” he said. “After the first couple of hours or so.”
Couple of hours . . . I slid my hand down his chest to his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle. I’d wanted to do that for so long. “It’s good that we have a whole box of condoms.”
He laughed low, like a satiated predatory cat, and swung me on top of him.