Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Throughout the whole conversation, I feel Carson watching me from behind his sunglasses. He’s reclining on a sunbed, one arm resting behind his head. All that gloriously inked skin glistening in bright sunshine. He’s tugged his swim shorts up around his thighs, revealing quads so defined, the sight of them makes my clit pulse.
Time ticks past and with every passing minute, I’m more antsy for my next experience, and Carson’s gaze becomes more heated. When I’m close to melting into a pile of goo, I can’t take it anymore. I stand abruptly, drawing the eyes of every man, and smooth down my dress with damp palms. A shiver runs over my clit and lower and my nipples harden in the confines of my bra. I’m primed and ready in a way I’ve never been before.
The power of anticipation.
I’ll have to note the realization in my article.
“You’re up, Carson,” Jonas says with an expression so jubilant you’d think it was his turn.
Carson’s slow to rise, his body moving languidly. My feet feel rooted to the ground, but I force myself to walk. I catch Stefan’s eyes as I pass, and the intensity in his gaze is like a fist grip around my heart. Whistles erupt as Carson follows me into the house, the men becoming like frat boys encouraging their buddy to take the head cheerleader upstairs.
I want to trail behind Carson, to let him take the lead, but he hangs back and I end up climbing the stairs in front of him. The sway of my hips feels exaggerated now that I know his eyes are on me. The heat of him and his intention is palpable. Those hands that create such spectacular images hang at his sides, but they won’t be immobile for long. Soon those big artistic fingers will touch me. Soon they’ll be taking me to places I’ve only imagined before Stefan.
When we get to the top of the stairs, he reaches out and rests his hand against my lower back. “Hey.”
I turn and crane my neck. This close, he’s so much taller than me. A wall of intense, tattooed man. “Hey.” My voice sounds like a wisp.
His hand drifts to my upper arm. “Before we…” Carson’s attention drifts to the door of my room. “I want to know what you want from this experience.”
“Just you,” I say. “Just do whatever you like.”
His eyebrows raise, deepening lines across his forehead. “What if it’s some fucked up shit?”
I can’t imagine Carson being into anything deviant, but what do I know? I get why he’s asking, but for all his good intentions, putting me on the spot like this is a problem. How do I explain that I want to know each of them? What makes them similar and what makes them different?
It sounds ridiculous in my own mind, and the idea of expressing it fills my chest with buzzing moths. I have to come up with some kind of analogy.
“You know…well…ice creams can have a lot of different flavors. That’s what I want from this experience.”
“You want to taste different flavors.”
I nod. It’s the best explanation I have expressed in the least embarrassing way I can think of.
“Okay.” His hand grips my upper arm, and he walks me to my bedroom door with just a bite of force in his grip and movements.
Just enough to make the buzzing moths flutter like crazy.
When we’re inside my room, I don’t get a chance to relax. As Carson closes the door, he shoves me against the wall, his hand on my throat, his narrowed eyes fixed on my lips. “What flavor am I?” His voice is cold, as though the idea is something terrible.
I lick my lips nervously. “Dark chocolate.” Just the bite of his fingers into my skin is enough to sense it. But that’s not all there is to Carson. “With frozen strawberry pieces.”
“Why the strawberry?”
“Because there’s something bright and creative about you…something vivid.”
“Vivid.” He chews the word in his mouth, then kisses me hard. The press of his lips is so forceful compared to Stefan, the slide of his tongue into my mouth like an invasion. I moan, long and low as his hand slips into my nape and grips, taking full control of our movements. The thigh I was admiring by the pool is shoved hard between my legs, pressing against my clit in a way that aches so perfectly.
Oh fuck. I was right about dark chocolate.
His free hand slides up the back of my thigh, gripping my ass hard enough to bruise and I find myself rubbing against his leg like a bitch in heat, frantic for more contact. With no warning, he lifts me with one arm, forcing my legs around his waist, carrying me to the bed. Kneeling on the edge of the mattress, he lowers me down, and looms over me, eyes blazing like blue flames. “Do you like it dark?”