He really means it, is the thing. If I know anything at all, I know Jack doesn't say anything he doesn't mean, not even when he was in full-on hockey mode and had to talk to reporters.

Pulling in a breath, I shift when he does, sliding further under the covers even though he's still on top of them, and turning onto my side to face him. "I could still be really, really bad," I tell him, though I can't deny he's already making me feel better. "What if it hurts a lot? I mean, I've... I've touched myself and you've touched me there. A lot. But, not to inflate your ego too much, your dick is a lot bigger than a couple fingers, Mr. Zimmermann."