Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Perhaps.
If this happens again it won’t be a coincidence and I’ll have a decision to make about seeing him, but for now—I consider this one misunderstanding created by a jilted, er, lover.
“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.”
“Amen.” He squeezes my ass with his two giant palms.
“Seriously. Can you imagine?”
“Oh, I can imagine all right.” His hands begin roaming around my backside, squeezing and kneading and caressing the backs of my thighs.
Dang I’m glad I have on shorts. Glad I shaved, too.
“I want to get to know you better.” I’m still laughing, some of it nerves, but I don’t have the nerve to tell him I want to get to know him better because I’ve always wanted to date my best friend. I mean, I want my partner to also be my friend and the only way to do that is build trust and intimacy and…friendship.
Another time, Daisy.
“Anytime you wanna know something about me, just ask and I’ll tell you,” Drake tells me seriously even as his hands stroke my rear. “I reckon we’re gonna be good friends.”
Did he just read my mind?
Drake Colter, mind reader.
Not possible.
Now I do want to climb into his lap and straddle him—but we’re in a public place and while I like holding hands and the occasional kiss…I don’t love PDA. No one needs to see me climbing all over him, least of all the kids playing at the other side of the soccer field that’s in the park.
I move my hands over his shoulders, pressing my fingers into his muscles, loving the feel of his warm skin.
Trail my fingers up the back of his neck.
“Daisy. Are you puttin the moves on me?”
I giggle. “Putting the moves on you? In the park? Um, no. All I’m doing is stroking your head.”
“It was a very meaningful stroke.”
But I meannnnn…he’s not wrong.
And that’s not all I want to be stroking, if I’m being honest. His big body sitting at this picnic table, legs spread, strong arms, looking all kinds of edible. On top of that, he’s worn another polo shirt with jeans to look nice and the effort hasn’t gone unnoticed.
Yum.
“You know what we should do to celebrate?”
“What are we celebratin, exactly?”
I tilt my head as I stare down at him. “Us. Surviving groupies.”
“I don’t know if I’d call Shannon a groupie so much as I’d call her a cling-on.”
“Semantics.”
Drake presses his nose between the valley of my boobs, warm breath breathing against my shirt. “Tell me what we should do.”
“You have tinted windows in your truck, yeah?”
“Mmhmm.”
“We should…”
“Have truck sex?” Drake shoots up, bringing me along with him, lifting me off the ground and carrying me as if he were about to carry me across a threshold. “Great idea.”
My head goes back as I laugh. “That’s exactly what I was thinking!” How did he know!
“Great minds think alike and this is why me and you get along so well.”
“I mean—we get along for other reasons.”
In several long strides we’re at his big truck, he only has to set me down to unlock the passenger side door and pull it open, shove the front seat forward, so we can climb up into the back.
He helps me up then crawls in behind me, folding his giant body so it fits; a daunting task. He can’t possibly be comfortable back here…
Do I care?
Sort of, not really.
Everything is an adventure, yeah?
“Sit on my lap,” he demands, legs spread on the seat, patting his thick thigh.
“Shouldn’t I take my shorts off first?” I’m ever so helpful.
“Great idea!” he practically shouts. “Yeah, take your pants off. Actually, take it all off.”
So eager.
I prop my hands on my hips. “I’m not the only one here stripping their clothes off. Your shirt needs to come off, too.” Pause. “Now.”
“You’re so fucking bossy.” He grins. “Say more.”
I sigh. “Too much talking, not enough nakedness.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He leans forward even though I’m straddling his lap making the task more challenging, reaching down to pull at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head.
Broad chest.
Beautiful, firm pecs.
I run my hands over his chest, fingers lingering over his nipples, getting myself all hot and bothered by simply touching him.
“Your turn.”
My shirt is off in an instant, discarded on the bench style backseat, already forgotten in the blink of an eye.
The bra stays.
I’ve lost a bit of modesty—but I’m not so carefree that I’m going to whip my tatas out in a public parking lot.
Drake’s mouth immediately fastens on my skin, kissing my collarbone, hands caressing the swell of my breasts, heating me from the outside in. Damn his hands feel good; calloused and rough but gentle at the same time.
My hands dip between our bodies; down to the waistband of his pants, working the button fly on his jeans.
I get it undone with a little help from him—of course he’s helping me, he wants to set his dick free.