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I feel like I’ve just won the lottery when the smirk grows into an almost full smile.

“That’s better. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels weird.”

“You gotta exercise the muscles in your face sometimes, not just the rest of your body.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about those muscles.”

“Oh, hell no. They’re outstanding. Every single one of them.”

“You mean, you don’t have a favorite?” he teases.

Fuck, I love hearing that lightness in his tone.

He’s always so serious, so focused. I’m obsessed with getting to know this softer side of him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I hedge, walking my fingers across the space between us.

He watches my movement, and despite knowing it’s coming, he still flinches when I lift my hand and trace the outline of his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“This one is pretty fucking spectacular.”

He jerks beneath my touch, and I smile, knowing that something so simple can turn him on.

“You might not want to hear it, but I haven’t had enough of it yet.”

“Maybe there’s a reason I haven’t kicked you out already.”

“Oh, ouch,” I mock.

“I’m not the kind of guy who usually sticks around for snuggles after a fuck.”

I smother a laugh. “Oh, really? I totally had you down as a cuddler.”

The temptation to snuggle my way into his side is almost too much to deny. But I manage it.

The last thing I want him to do is get freaked out and send me on my way. As far as I’m concerned, we both might have come twice, but this hook-up is far from over.

I glance at the time.

The night is still young.

We just need a breather, and then we can embark on the next round.

My dick jerks happily at the thought.

We lie together for the longest time. Cooper doesn’t say anything, but I’m not really surprised. He might admit to not being a cuddler, but I already know he’s not one for small talk. Well, unless it’s through message. Then he has no problem shooting the shit for hours. Somehow, I just need to tap into that in person. It’s in him somewhere.

“That canvas is pretty incredible,” I say, gazing at his artwork.

“I love it,” he says, his voice deep and sleepy.

“Do you know the artist?”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles.

I’m about to ask another question, but then I notice his breathing has evened out, and when I glance over, I find that his eyes are closed.