“I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore, ’kay, Sunny Sunshine? I’m trying my best. I know it’s probably not good enough, but maybe you can tell me what I need to do so I can get better at it.” I’m not feeding her a line, even though I’m notoriously good at those.

Sunny’s knees press hard against my sides for a long moment. Her fingers flutter close to her hair, likes she’s thinking about doing that twirl thing. I can tell she’s trying to keep her hands to herself, that she wants to stay angry a little longer, but can’t. I’m not sure what it is about me that makes her fold—’cause let’s face it, I’m not prime boyfriend material—but whatever she sees, I’ll take.

She reaches up and pushes her fingers through my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp. I love it when she does that. Then her fingers tighten and release, over and over. I love it when she does that, too. If I had a tail, it’d be thumping on the ground about now.

“Stop letting the hooker bunnies take pictures.”

“They’re fans.”

“They’re sluts.”

“They’re also fans.”

“Who have their hands all over you.”

Her fingers tighten again so I smooth my hands up her legs and squeeze when I get to the hem of her shorts. I’m diverting her attention again. It’s not fair. She makes a good point. I wouldn’t like it if it was the other way around. I don’t always have control of where other people put their hands. I can only control what I do with mine.

“You’re the only one who matters, though.”

Sunny’s uncertainty is obvious in the tightness of her jaw and the flexing of her fingers in my hair. Some people avoid confrontation. I don’t. This whole situation is the perfect catalyst for a sweet make-up session. Keeping her on the edge of anger and fusing it with desire is the best way to finally get what I’ve been waiting for all these weeks.

Her anger simmers like almost-boiling water. Sunny cups the back of my neck and yanks me forward, our lips connecting. It’s amazing after two long weeks of nothing.

Kissing is an art. It’s the most important part of foreplay. Everything I’ll do to the rest of her body with my fingers and—sweet Christ, please let this be the night—my dick is simulated with kissing.

She tries to be aggressive, to push her tongue past my lips, but I nip her with my teeth. She makes this pained sound, frustrated and needy at the same time.

As soon as her lips part I slip my tongue inside, stroking slowly. She tastes like the cinnamon and clove toothpaste she uses. It reminds me of gingerbread cookies. Interesting. That means she stopped to brush her teeth before she answered the door. Even as pissed as she was, and maybe still is, she prepared for this.

I run a hand up her arm and across her shoulder until I’m cupping her cheek in my palm. Then I suck on her tongue. It drives her fucking crazy when I do that.

Sunny groans and winds herself around me, hooking her feet at my waist, fingers twisting in my hair to keep me from backing off again. That’s not part of my immediate plan. I’ve had far too few make-out sessions with Sunny to stop right after we’ve started.

I inch my palm up her thigh until the tip of my middle finger is under the hem of her shorts. Sunny mashes her chest against me, getting as close as she can. I ease my hand back down her thigh to her knee, staying away from all the most exciting places.

I’m playing with her. It might seem mean, but she’s enjoying it, and I’m having a good time getting her all excited. If I’m ever going to get her naked, I have to get her to the point where all she can think about is the orgasms I’ll give her if she lets me.

“I hate it when the hooker bunnies are all over you, and I hate being jealous,” Sunny mumbles around my tongue.

I back up until her face comes into focus. “You don’t need to be jealous. You’re the only one I want all over me.”

Sunny’s hands leave my hair and ease down my back. Her palms find my ass, and she shifts forward. It’s magic for my dick. Anything besides my own hand is beyond awesome. She wiggles her fingers under my waistband. I’m commando. Underwear is mostly useless. My balls like to be free, not confined by material. This time I feel the sharp bite of her nails when she grabs my ass.

I’m cool with this kind of aggression. I’ve had sex with all kinds of women, from the quiet ones who like missionary, to the ones who think it’d be fun to tie me up and take control—not that I’ve ever let that happen.

I move the hand on her upper thigh to her waist. I don’t even try to go under her shirt. I keep it at her ribcage, my thumb two inches shy of the underside of her boob. Sunny has smallish boobs; they fit in my palm. And her nipples are little and pink. She can do the braless thing if she wants without it being obvious. They’re fucking awesome. I can’t wait to have them in my mouth.

The less I touch where she wants me to, the more frantic she gets. Sunny’s hand retracts from the back of my pants. She grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it up. I don’t break the kiss right away. Instead I keep going back to suck on her bottom lip and nibble on her chin. When she makes a frustrated noise I back off. She yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it on the floor, then sighs.

I’d say it doesn’t inflate my ego at all, but that’d be a total lie. Sunny knows exactly how hard I have to work to stay in shape. She appreciates the time and energy I spend conditioning my body. So, yeah, she’s ogling, but it’s not because she can’t wait to tell her friends she got to bag an NHL player.