Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“That sixty-nine sucks?”
She beams. “Yes! Sixty-nine is the worst. What is the point?”
“It’s selfish,” I say, stating the obvious. “Just tap out. Tap in.”
“Exactly. Oral sex doesn’t need to be multitasked. I don’t write better if you eat me while I write,” she says.
“Wait. Was that an option? Will you suck my dick while I write? Because I’d be willing to try that,” I offer, like the generous fucker I am.
Hazel smiles wickedly. “Get out your laptop and see.”
I shake my head. “You know what I really want to see?”
She bites the corner of her lip, a sexy, come-hither move. “Me on my knees, taking your cock deep in my throat?”
I shudder. She is going to kill me with sex appeal. I just know it. She’s everything I’ve craved—a feisty, fiery, smart, relentless woman.
But I can’t think about how right she is for me.
I should only think about how right she looks as she slides off the bed, kneels on the floor, and wraps a hand around the base of my cock. Then she licks the head, and I nearly fly off the mattress.
That’ll do. That’ll definitely keep me in the sex moment.
“That’s right, baby. Take me deeper,” I urge. I know my girl likes dirty words. She likes a commanding man who understands how busy the freeways are in her head.
And since she’s in her head all the time, I’m pretty sure that’s why she needs to feel the rawness, the realness of sex.
That’s what I can give her. “Play with my balls,” I tell her.
She obliges, cupping them, rolling them in her nimble hands. My skin sizzles.
“Yes, fucking yes.” I run my fingers through her hair, urging her to take more of my dick. “Open wider, baby.”
She obeys, lavishing deep, adoring sucks on my shaft. Then she coughs, but she shakes her head to say she won’t stop. She’ll keep going, and she does till my world blurs away, and I lose my mind to her mouth, her hands, her eager tongue.
Then, on a grunt, I come. It’s mind-bending, but a little less surreal than yesterday. Less surreal because it’s more real.
More authentic.
We’re coming together in the sunlight.
We’re not backing away from the intimacy.
We’re seeking it again and again.
That brings a new level of risk to our rekindled friendship. It’s hard to have sex without feelings messing everything up. We’re going to need those ground rules really fucking soon.
But when she crawls onto my lap, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me, I don’t want to talk. I want to enjoy.
She kisses me, a firm, quick kiss. “Sixty-nine sucks,” she says.
“We’re on the same page,” I say, then run my fingers along her cheek, enjoying this stolen chance to touch her.
“We sure are,” she whispers softly.
I want to believe she’s looking at me and seeing more than just sex. But I know stories only unfold like that in books.
This is reality, and I can’t get lost in these moments. I take a deep breath, steadying myself for a dose of reality. “Let’s get dressed and then talk,” I say.
But once we’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door.
“Hey there. Almost time for the reader brunch before we arrive in Barcelona,” Amy says cheerily.
Oh, shit.
We need to go play hosts.
Ground rules will have to come later.
25
THE NUTCRACKER
Axel
We power-walk down the train aisle, rushing to the reader brunch like a couple of jerks who keep people waiting.
“We’ll just say we slept late,” Hazel offers in a rushed whisper.
“We didn’t oversleep. We over-sexed,” I point out. I mean to be helpful, but she hisses Axel at my back. “Just telling the truth.”
“If anyone asks,” she says, “it was accidental sex.” We cruise past high-backed chairs filled with passengers drinking coffee, reading news on their phones, staring out the windows as we near Spain.
Bossy, bossy Hazel. She’s too feisty, too busy, too entertaining.
I glance back at her, rolling my eyes. “There was nothing accidental about the nutcracker of your legs.”
Her shoulders shake in laughter, but then she tries to swallow the sound so I don’t notice. “Do you need a cast for your balls, Axel?”
“Already took care of that, baby. I made one myself.”
“That better go into your next book.”
I’m glad she can’t see how I’m smiling over the accidental sex.
The accidental kiss.
Maybe tonight we’ll accidentally sleep together again. A man can dream.
“But seriously,” she continues, “just say we slept late.”
That’s my Hazel. She never lets up.
At the end of the car, I stop by the luggage rack, spinning to face her. “Baby,” I say, reassuring her quietly. “No one is going to ask, and the more you say, the more obvious it is you’re covering something up.”
I should know. That’s what I’ve done, religiously, the last few years, saying zero about my feelings for her. It’s worked well enough.
“You think so, Axel?” Her question sounds pointed. Specific to me. Like I’d definitely know the answer about covering up stuff.