Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
“I’ll do you first.”
He shifts at my choice of words, his nose flaring. Heat blankets me, and I search his eyes for more understanding but…
I can’t read him that well.
Sadly.
Gladly? I don’t know, it’s definitely adding something between us. Can’t say it’s all bad. But a few bricks mortar around my heart.
Don’t get hurt, Oliveira.
He angles his head back, giving me more access to the nape of his neck. I squirt cream on my fingers, dab the patchy spot, and rub small circles with my thumb.
I hear his breath in the quiet. Ragged, winded.
The noise seeps pleasure in my throbbing veins. Alone in a camp cabin, a palpable current of intimacy is strung between me and Jack.
“Is this what it was like?” he asks me. “Back when you were fourteen and had a sexual awakening at summer camp?”
I laugh, a soft breathy one that feels gentle. “Are you feeling sexually awakened, Long Beach?”
He rests a hand on his head, fingers woven in his hair. “I’m feeling something.” Me too, but I can’t say the words, he’s already telling me, “I keep replaying our conversation at your apartment that one night.”
That one night.
Can’t forget any second of his sleepy ass, the blow job from heaven, and me opening up about my family. I gush forth way too much to Jack all the damn time, but I can never find a lever or wrench to help me stop.
I finish coating his poison ivy splotches, and Jack rotates to face me. Bunkbed’s springs squeak beneath his weight. His legs are spread, and his knee knocks into my knee.
We’re bare-chested. Only one piece of fabric away from being buck-ass naked.
My eyes want to track down the ridges and valleys of his muscles. But I hang onto a slat of the bunkbed above us. Like I’m headed for a collision and need to brace myself.
Jack takes the ointment and smears the cream over my bicep. “You said half the fun of fucking is the discovery. I have questions.”
“No surprise there,” I joke.
A charismatic smile spreads across his face. “But after you said that, I realized I’d rather your body answer all the questions, not your words.”
My blood cranks to a detrimental high.
His smile falters, more uncertain. Probably because I’m not saying a thing.
Come on, Oliveira.
I intake a tight breath. “Is that wise? Look, I know what I said, but you’ve never been with a guy before. Maybe we should talk it out first and not after the fact. Basically what we didn’t do last time.”
“I liked last time,” he says confidently, setting the cream aside. “I’m more adventurous than timid, if you haven’t figured that out by now.”
I give the frat bro a once-over. “Oh, I have. Trust me.” I let go of the slat above my head. “But I’m probably stronger than any woman you’ve ever been with, Highland. The power dynamics are different. Even if I try to be gentle with you, I’m not soft. I’m going to feel rough and hard.”
He bows forward, forearms on his thighs, breath hitched. He’s aroused? His eyes flit over to me, then to the closed cabin door. “I’d do anything to feel you right now, Oscar, and usually, I can flash a smile and get my way but that works only 50% of the time with you. So I’d honestly grovel if that’s what it takes—”
“Don’t grovel,” I cut in and lean in, cupping the back of his head. We breathe hard, and my mouth is a teasing inch from his lips.
His hand skates up my abs in exploration.
“You want to know what I like to do?” I whisper against his mouth.
A jagged groan scrapes his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I want to know.”
I kiss him hard, bringing his chest against my chest, and I lift him up on the bunkbed further and bear my body down on his athletic build. His shoulders and back press into the flimsy mattress. I barely break the passionate, sweltering kiss, and his lips split apart to curse out a pleasured, “Jesus fuck.” His hands fly to his head.
He keeps doing that.
It’s actually really fucking cute.
I grind into him and clasp his thigh, stretching his leg around my hip. Jack clutches my bicep, his eyes open as he drinks in our bodies and the friction. He hardens against me, and blood boils down south.
I kiss him again. And again. His fingers grip my hair, and our foreheads press together. Hot, electric breath sparking between us.
Jack chokes out between breaths, “You prefer it rough?”
I try not to laugh. “You think this is rough?”
He puts a hand on my abs, telling me to take a pause. I do.
I hover over him, palms on either side of his head. My lips stinging. Camp4Ever! is written in green sharpie on the bunk’s wooden post.
Jack struggles to catch his breath. “What was that to you then”—he pants—“if it wasn’t rough?”