Page 283 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

He chuckles. “Tough one for you to answer, River?”

“It is, since I don’t think I want either. For me, that is.”

“Because you like to be in control,” he says, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Mister Bossy.”

“Yes, I am. So can I pick that I’d rather be the one handcuffing and blindfolding?”

“You could pick if it were your turn to answer,” he says, taking his time with every word.

Flustered, I gesture to Owen. “Oh, right. It’s your turn.”

“You didn’t even let me get a word in, River,” he says, like a cat toying with its dinner. “Maybe you don’t want to knowmychoice.”

I want it more than breath. “I definitely want to know.”

Owen lifts his mug, takes another drink of champagne and puts it down. “Are you sure?”

Atoms and ions crackle between us. The air is more than charged. It’s an electrical storm.

“Positive,” I say crisply, then ask the question again to underline my need. “Owen, would you rather be handcuffed or blindfolded?”

“The answer is easy.”

“Tell me,” I say, practically pouncing on him.

He licks his lips. “I like to look at the guy I’m with. I like to see his face, how everything we’re doing makes him feel,” he tells me, and my body is the center of the earth right now. Magma has nothing on me as I listen to Owen tell me what he likes in bed. “I want to watch his expression shift as he gets close, when he’s all tortured and agonized with need. I want to see his body move over me, under me, against me. I want to look at him when his eyes squeeze shut.”

Fuck the center of the earth. I’m a supernova, burning up the atmosphere.

But Owen is so damn cool as he pushes to his feet, grabs his mug, and tosses me a glance. “So no blindfolding for this guy... I’d rather be handcuffed.”

He walks to the kitchen, grabs the champagne bottle, and pours a splash in his cup.

I can’t move at first. My dick weighs ten tons. My desire for Owen occupies all the space in the house.

And I’m entirely too transfixed by him to stay this far away, so I stand too, and head to the kitchen.

As he leans against the counter, his eyes travel up and down my frame. My erection is not a state secret. It’s an open book for anyone to read.

And he’s reading between the lines.

His eyes linger on my hard-on.

I stop a foot away from him, pour a splash too, then challenge him. “Your turn to ask me a question.”

Owen wastes no time. “Would you rather top or bottom?”

Now we’re really getting somewhere. A flush races up my neck as I stare at the man I want to sleep with. “That’s hard to answer,” I say.

He arches a sexy brow. “Is it? Hard?”

“Yes. Itis.Very much so. And so is the question, because it depends on the guy, on our vibe, on what he wants.”

Owen scrubs a hand along the back of his neck, parts his lips, lets out a shuddery breath. “What if he wanted you to top him?”

That’s it. I’m throwing in the towel. My brain is officially scrambled. My senses are fried. “Then I would top the fuck out of him,” I say, all hot and twenty million times bothered.

“Good,” Owen murmurs. “That’s good to know.”