Halfway through the episode, he leans in and kisses my neck.

I don’t say a word, but an involuntary sigh slips out. Goose bumps rise in the spot his lips have touched, and when he rests one big hand on my bare thigh, a jolt of heat singes my skin.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

His lips travel along the length of my neck. “Setting the mood.” He nips at my earlobe. “Unlike some people, I happen to know how to do that.”

I stick my tongue out at him even though he can’t see it. He’s too busy tormenting me with his mouth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on the side of my throat.

Arousal starts deep in my core and spreads outward, dancing through my body and tingling in all my erogenous zones. Every time his lips kiss a new patch of skin, I shiver with pleasure. When his tongue tickles my jaw, I turn my head toward him and our mouths meet in the hottest kiss on the planet.

I love the way Garrett kisses. It’s not sloppy or hurried, but skillful and slow and absolutely incredible. His lips brush mine, lazy and teasing, while his tongue sneaks inside every so often for a fleeting taste before seductively retreating. I slant my head and drive the kiss deeper, and I moan when the minty flavor of him infuses my tongue. A masculine rumble comes from the back of his throat, and my belly clenches in response.

His mouth stays locked to mine as he gently pushes me onto my back, settling on his side beside me. One warm hand cups my breast over the thin material of my T-shirt, and the zing of pleasure makes me squeak in joy.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast.” His deep voice tickles my lips, and then his tongue spears through them to find mine again.

I’m on sensory overload. He’s kissing me, squeezing my breasts, lightly rubbing my nipple with his thumb, and everything he’s doing feels so good I don’t know which sensation to focus on.

My pulse goes haywire when he glides his palm down my body. He hesitates when he reaches the hem of the T-shirt, then makes a husky sound and slips his fingers beneath it.

When his hand moves between my legs, I stop breathing.

When his fingers touch my clitoris over my panties, I whimper.

Garrett’s hand stills. “Should I stop?”

“God. No. Keep going.”

A raspy chuckle leaves his mouth, and then his hand begins to move again. Just when I think it can’t feel any better, he proves me wrong by moving aside the scrap of fabric covering my sex and pressing his index finger directly on my clit.

My hips shoot up as if I’ve been struck by lightning. “Oooh. Keep doing that.”

He rubs tiny circles around my sensitive flesh, gentle but firm, before sliding his finger lower to tease the moisture pooling in my core.

The groan he lets out races up my spine. “Oh fuck. You’re so wet.”

I am. I really am. And the ache between my legs is getting worse, throbbing harder as ripples of pleasure dance inside me. I’m stunned to feel the telltale signs of impending orgasm. This is the closest I’ve ever come to feeling like this, but I get distracted when I register the hard ridge pressing into my hip. The feel of Garrett’s hard-on rubbing up against me is so erotic I can’t think straight.

I’m desperate to touch him, and my hands move as if possessed, slipping under his waistband and into his boxers.

The second I encounter his erection, my jaw drops.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?”

He looks startled. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you taking human growth hormones or something?” I snatch my hand back, fighting another rush of nervousness. “There’s no way that huge man monster is fitting inside me!”

Garrett’s head abruptly drops in the crook of his arm as a shudder racks his body. At first I think he’s pissed off. Or maybe even crying. It takes several seconds before I realize what’s happening. He’s laughing.

Scratch that—he’s in hysterics.

His broad back quakes with laughter, causing the mattress to vibrate beneath us. When he finally speaks, his voice is wheezy and broken by loud guffaws. “Man monster?”

“Stop laughing at me. I’m serious,” I insist. “I might have big boobs and a grabbable ass, but have you seen my hips? Tiny and narrow! Which stands to reason that my lady canal—”

A howl rips out of his mouth. “Lady canal?”

“—is narrow too. You’re going to rip me in half.”

He raises his head and there are honest-to-God tears in his eyes. “I think that’s the nicest thing a girl has ever said to me,” he chokes out.

“It’s not funny, okay?”

He’s still wheezing like crazy. “It totally is.”

“You know what? We’re not doing this. You’ve officially killed the mood.”

“Me?” he demands between laughs. “You did that all by yourself, baby.”

I sit up with an annoyed grumble. “Seriously, this was a stupid idea.” Sighing, I search the mattress for the remote control. “Let’s just watch the show.”

“No way. We’re already in this deep.” His voice becomes gruff. “Give me your hand.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I think if you get better acquainted with my man monster, you’ll see that you don’t have to be afraid of him.”

I snort, but the humor dies when Garrett takes my hand and puts it directly inside his boxers.

The mood I killed? Roars right back to life as I gingerly wrap my fingers around his shaft. He’s long and thick and pulsing beneath my fingertips, and that’s all it takes for my body to tingle again.