"Might've been," he admits, the words low and a little tense as she pulls him in, as his arousal thrums all the deeper, all the stronger. His fingers itch to touch her, but he knows the rules. God, he loves and hates them, in nearly equal measure. "Think it's a good idea to believe it, when it's coming from you?"

Her fingers twist in his hair then, and he groans, low and sudden.