Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Making me wish I could fuck you in the fresh air and heated water, leaving your body replete to the point of having to carry you back into the house with your head on my shoulder and my heart in your hands.
That has me missing the opportunity to bring you to Deer Lake under different circumstances, like being my wife.
I’d like to finish that question a few different ways, but instead of inserting my desires, I give her the time to do it herself.
With steam rising between us, she waves her arms over the top of the water, her happiness transparent in her stunning features as she tilts her head and smiles at me. “You get in barely clothed, in my case even less since I didn’t come prepared with a swimsuit, get overheated, and then you want to strip off the rest.” With laughter that a good buzz brings, she adds, “Do you mind?”
It was smart to put the spa on its own generator and solar panel. It was starting to get cold in the house with no electricity, but the hot tub is in solid working condition, much to my advantage, like the whiskey, at this current moment. Based on our rough start yesterday, I couldn’t have predicted this is where we’d end up, but here we are. “Do whatever makes you more comfortable.” I mean, come on. Am I really going to talk her out of taking that bra and thong off?
No. I never claimed to be a gentleman.
With her hair stacked on her head, some wayward strands sticking to her neck, dots of black makeup blurring into gray under her eyes, and her lips pouty and wet, she’s making it fucking hard to resist kissing her. But I will until she’s ready.
Reaching around her back, she unclasps the white lace bra that wasn’t hiding much anyway and frees her body from the confines. The tops of her tits mound above water when she sits back again. “Mmm, so good,” she moans with her eyes closed.
It’s hard not to stare. They’re perfect, like she is. I remember how divine they felt to squeeze and fuck back in Austin. Now, it’s torture to keep my distance.
But her tits aren’t the only thing teasing me. I’m desperate to see all of her. Does she still have our tattoo, or did she have it removed?
I’ve been trying to keep my head above water, but it’s tempting to dive under and steal a peek. We’ve been dancing around our mutual attraction since the living room. Throw in the whiskey, and she’s become a lot more obvious.
Watching her as she empties the last of her glass, I remember getting drunk with her was an aphrodisiac. We fucked so good and loved so hard that night.
I’ll never forget it.
She tasted like heaven and beer.
I’ll never forget her.
Whether it’s the alcohol or the night, the world gone quiet from no electricity, or us more in tune to each other through our history, we’re bordering lines we may not be able to come back from if we cross.
While the moon and the stars fight against the coverage of the treetops to light the area for us, enough blue light comes from the base of the hot tub to see clearly. I can make out that her cheeks are as rosy as her lips and the gold sparkles more dominantly in her eyes.
Her smile is contagious and her laughter more so when she says, “I’m hot.”
“You are,” I say, wishing I hadn’t right after, but maybe the whiskey is sinking in. My bet is that it’s my heart calling the shots. And fuck, just look at her.
“You think so?”
Fuck me, this is how I go. Found dead in a hot tub.
Those hazels are latched to me like I’m her only source of oxygen. I run my wet hand through my hair, redirecting my eyes to the water in front of me. Throw her off the scent, Faris. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?”
She smiles and then slips to the side, bringing her just a little closer. I slide away, needing to keep the space between us. Her tits are so close to bobbing above the water that it’s hard not to watch, so I can have them in proximity and expect to keep my wits about me. “Well,” she says, her gaze dipping to my chest. “I’m sure women fall all over you.” I grin, not opposed to the honesty the alcohol has allowed to flow. “Do they fall all over you?”
I can’t talk about groupies without giving away who I am, and it feels like I’m breaching a warning regarding her memory coming back naturally. It would also change our dynamic. She’d see me as nothing more than my image instead of who I actually am.
Do I talk about the fans that line the street outside the hotel to get a piece of me—a glimpse, a photo, an autograph?