Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I lied. This water is hot—burning hot. It must be because my body is on fire, liquid boiling up inside me like lava.
“I feel like that was a lesson in dirty talk,” I whisper in the space between us.
Ben laughs low and quiet. “That was the tip of the iceberg of dirty talk, Hope. If you like that, you’d probably love a guy telling you how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how pretty you are while his face is buried against you and he breathes you into his lungs, and that he’s gonna fuck you until you drench him.”
Ooh-kay. So that’s dirty talk. That’s . . . what that is. Nope, definitely never heard that before. Roy’s the only guy I’ve been with, and while he’s not silent, he’s more of a grunter, and only when he comes.
“I’ve never . . .” I trail off, not sure how to explain the things I haven’t done now that I’m suspecting there’s a lot of them.
“That’s okay. Now you can,” Ben says. “If you want to.” With that decree, he dunks himself under the water fully, soaking his hair, and comes up shaking like a dog, showering me with droplets.
“Hey!” I shout.
Ben’s other smile is back, brighter and lighter at having gotten me the way I splashed him earlier. But when he runs his hand down his face . . . over his chest . . . and down the flat of his stomach, I wonder . . . is he as affected by the things he said as I am? Was that dunk to cool off from the words, the sexy thoughts, or me?
I’ve never felt like I’m sexy. Pretty, sure. I mean, I see what I look like every time I look at Joy, but I don’t have that confidence that oozes sex appeal. I never have.
But maybe . . .
“Wanna play Titanic?” I ask. Is it shitty of me to use him for an ego boost? Yes. Am I doing it anyway given my current state of self-doubt? Also yes.
“Is that where I die of hypothermia because you won’t scoot the fuck over on the door even though there’s obviously plenty of room?”
I laugh because he’s totally right. What the hell was Rose thinking? She could’ve saved Jack if she’d wanted to, or they could’ve died together like the other couple who went to bed holding hands and waited to sink with the ship. That’s romance! That’s love!
“No, like this.” I take a few steps back to a shallower point in the water, and Ben follows me. “Now, squat down a little, and I’m going to stand on your knees.”
His dark brows jump up, and he says wolfishly, “Facing me? I think Titanic is my new favorite game.”
“No!” I swat at his shoulder, which is hard beneath my fingers. “Facing away from you.” I hold up a finger at the considering look on his face. “And also, not like that.”
Is this flirting? I’m not sure I’ve ever done that, either, though I’ve seen girls flirt with Roy, sometimes while I’m sitting right next to him. This feels kinda like that.
He shrugs, not mad at the possibility either way, and I turn my back to him. My suit has straps that loop over each shoulder, but there’s a deep scoop that exposes my entire spine, all the way down to just above my butt. I could lean back and feel Ben’s chest against my skin, and I almost do it, but I chicken out. Instead, I place my left foot on his left thigh as I explain, “We used to do this as kids. It’s fun.”
“If you say so,” he mutters from beneath me as I stand fully, both feet on his thighs. With his long arms, he’s able to reach up and hold my hips to keep me steady.
I’ve done this dozens of times and it’s never been anything other than a kid’s game, but now it feels entirely different. Especially as Ben’s big hands nearly wrap around my hips and butt. If my suit were any smaller, he’d be touching my skin.
Shoulda gotten one of those string bikinis, the devil inside me—the one who’s just started to speak up more often, it seems—whispers. But my butt is already nearly in his face, so thank God for tiny expanses of fabric or else he’d know how wet I am. And I’m not talking about lake water.
“Move your hands to my shins. I’m going to lean into them,” I tell him. He slides his hands down my legs inch by torturous inch while I close my eyes, memorizing the feeling of someone different touching me in such an intimate way. It should feel wrong, I shouldn’t like it, I should tell him to stop or stop this insanity myself. None of that happens, though.