Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Relief loosens something in his shoulders, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he formulates his own reply.
His nostrils flare. His gaze drops to my mouth. “Well, I want things from you.”
Oh . . .
Oh Jesus.
“Like what?” I lick my lips, hands sliding around his neck as he moves us, pressing my back against the cool tile wall. Pressing his body into mine. Wide chest. Palms bracket my hips as the water slides between us and nowhere at all. Nose slides along my jaw.
“That kiss I gave you at Fall Fest was the first kiss I’ve had in a really long time.”
His voice is low against my ear, the vibration zapping my insides with pleasure when his thighs slide between mine, pulling my legs around him; the new anchor drags a sound from my throat I’ve never heard leave my body before.
“Are you implying that you want to kiss me again?”
He chuckles.
Kisses my neck, losing his battle with data and science and his rules.
Kisses my jaw. The corner of my mouth.
Lips press gently against mine, heat wrapped in self-control. Patient. Tasting without taking, ruining me more than hunger ever could. I open to him and his hot tongue slides against mine in a slow, devastating stroke that steals my breath.
My God, how the hell am I supposed to date after this? What man could ever compare?
So good.
The kiss burns.
Stubble rasps my skin; the small sound I make disappears into his mouth. He answers with a low noise that vibrates through his chest into mine, and the pool seems to tilt, water lapping at our shoulders while he kisses me like Benny isn’t in the kitchen beyond and could bust us at any second.
My lips feel swollen already.
One of his large palms moves from where they grip my ass, and glides up my torso, splaying on my ribs, fingers brushing the underside of my triangle top.
Brushing against my boob.
He cups it then, thumb stroking my nipple through the fabric, and I could literally die . . .
I moan.
Somewhere, in the back of my brain, I hear a door open.
“Dad? Layla?” Benny’s squeaky little voice rockets into the night. “Are you drowning? We’re out of chips!”
We jolt apart, breathless, foreheads still nearly touching like we forgot how far to go. He shifts, broad back angling instinctively in front of me as I get to work fixing my bikini. Steady my breath.
“One sec, Ben!” he calls back. “Be right there!”
The slider thunks shut again.
Silence.
Our eyes meet.
His mouth curves—apologetic, amused.
“She’s out of chips.” I giggle uneasily, nerves shot.
“Horrible timing,” he murmurs, dipping into the water, hands going back to my waist. “I’m so hard.”
I can feel it.
He lowers his forehead to mine for one last stolen second, breathing me in, hands warm and possessive at my waist. “Layla.”
“Mmm?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re being steered anywhere you don’t want to go.”
My breath shivers against his. “I’m not.”
I wasn’t expecting to make out with him while I was here, but I also love that I made out with him while I was here. This man with powerful arms and abs like steel and wide shoulders and nipples I want to suck on.
“Good.”
He helps me out of the pool, big hand splayed at the small of my back like a claim. At the towel rack, he drapes one over my shoulders, fingers lingering a beat too long on my flesh, eyes flicking to my mouth like he’s cataloging it for later.
Once inside, I go straight to my room, absolutely no idea where to put the feelings that are dripping off me along with the pool water.
I shut the door. Lean on it. Stare at the ceiling fan as if it can circulate common sense.
Who can I talk to about this? Not my mother, unless I want a lecture on jetting off with strange men who could be axe murderers. Not my siblings—they would tell my mother. Not my group of friends—it would require too many details I don’t have the time to tell.
Annabelle.
We aren’t friends, and I barely know her. But she is in a relationship with a football player and her best friend is married to one, so who better to give me advice?
I find a robe hanging behind the bathroom door and slip it on so I can settle onto the bed without getting the duvet cover damp. I flop down. Find our last few messages from last week, leading up to the festival.
My thumbs hover. I type, delete, type again.
Me:
Hey there. Do you have a second?
Annabelle:
Sure do, what’s up? Is everything okay?
Me:
This is going to sound crazy so I’m just going to say it.
Me:
I’m in Arizona with Hayes Fielder. At his house. With his daughter. And he just kissed me.
There. I did it.
Let her sit with a million questions before she has a chance to process what I’ve just told her.