Rita’s POV

“You think you never break,” I said.

Ryan stood at the kitchen island with coffee like the night before had not happened. Like his hip had not been on my ass. Like his fingers had not found my nipple and left it aching. Morning light made him look bored. I hated that more than the pinch.

“I think you talk when you should be quiet,” he said.

“Then bet me.”

That got his eyes. Slow. Interested in the way a lock is interested in a key.

“Bet you what?”

“I can make you lose composure. One time. One crack. Loser follows one rule for twenty-four hours. No arguing...