Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Impressive.” My boyfriend slightly retreats in an amused fashion. “Really impressive.” A quirked eyebrow makes an appearance in his expression. “You been holdin’ out on me, Angel Cake?”
“Of course. There wasn’t nakedness at stake.” Wide mouth chuckles precede him preparing to take his shirt off, an action that immediately summons an objection. “Ah. Ah. Shorts first, Cowboy. I don’t need added distractions yet.”
His head tips mirthfully to one side. “You find me more distractin’ with my shirt off than my pants?”
“Only because you’ve still got on underwear.” Ego gets the better of me again. “You know. For another minute or two.”
“Oh, that mouth on you, baby,” he wickedly taunts while wiggling out of his bottoms. “Gonna have to teach it a lesson when it’s on me.”
Whimpers are properly suppressed by one set of lips pressing together yet the other, the set that hopes his mouth touches it for a very long and hard lesson, forces me to briefly clamp my thighs closed in order to keep it from throwing in the towel too early.
We gotta win this thing.
Not just to save face – although saving face is important – but so that the part of my best friend that still thinks of me as something so delicate it can’t even be put in his carry on with six rolls of bubble wrap can sleep a little easier tonight.
“Let’s do a side headlock.”
“You think you’ve still got on enough deodorant for that?” I playfully torment during my repositioning. “I mean an hour ago it was questionable.”
Slater narrows his gaze, swings his arm around my neck, and attempts to lock me in place. Rather than allow a choking mock to begin, I turn toward him as much as possible, tap his inner thigh to indicate a kick to the nuts, and the instant his hold loosens, I slip out. Step behind him. Lightly thump his black boxer brief covered ass cheek and watch him fall to the ground once more demobilized.
The glance I’m thrown over his shoulder is devious and delectable. “Now, can I take my shirt off?”
Victoriously nodding is attached to tightening my frizzy, high ponytail.
Slater slowly rises to his feet making sure to enslave my stare during each exaggerated motion in the removal process. Lifting up the very edge of the white article has me unconsciously leaning my face to one side in anticipation of seeing the slick skin being sheltered underneath. Inch by painstaking inch, he reveals abs that Adobe should add to their airbrushing features.
This time I don’t even bother hiding my soft moan. “God, you’re like looking at a caramel covered biscotti. I just wanna dip you in coffee and let you melt in my mouth.”
Slight redness reaches his cheeks prior to his shirt landing on the nearby bed. “You flatterin’ me to aid in a distraction technique, Angel Cake?”
“No, I’m flattering you because you deserve flattering.” Stealing a tiny bite out of my bottom lip can’t be helped. “Seriously, Cowboy. You probably scare tourists every time you’re in Italy by making them think those damn marble statues have suddenly come to life.”
To my surprise, he sweetly asks, “Wanna go to Italy with me?”
“Like…someday in general or someday like I need to look into expediting getting me a passport?”
“You don’t have passport?”
“When have I ever needed a passport?!”
Post a hum and nod of a fair point made, he states, “Someday like after this mission is over.”
“But like before your next one?”
“I don’t think there’s going to be a next one.” My brain barely has time to fathom the comment due to him resuming our sparring. “Let’s do some elbow strikes.” He puts himself into a deeper squat than before. “Except this time, I’mma do some blockin’.” His bunched fists lift to guard his face. “Do not let me get the drop on you.”
“Only dropping around here is about to be those bottoms,” my finger flicks to his lower half, “on the ground.”
Slater struggles not to smirk as he waves me forward.
From my defensive stance in front of him, I stabilize my core, lift my arm, bend it at the elbow, and swing it towards his face. Like he warned, he opens his palm to gently block the shot, prompting me to recoil and try again. The second time goes exactly like the first, as does the third and fourth, yet on the fifth attempt is when I duck to avoid the block and come for him from the opposite direction creating my last triumph.
An almost proud grunt pops free at the same moment he creates a bit of distance. “And I’ve been defeated.”
“Like a low-level villain in a Mortal Kombat movie.”
He offers me a crooked beam. “You think I was takin’ it easy on you?”
“I know you were taking it easy on me.” Folding my arms across my chest is done on a pointed expression. “You once rescued a broken footed tween from a hostel in New Zealand using chewing gum and a penny.” It’s my turn to shoot him an arrogant smirk. “There’s no statistical probability or risk analysis that would ever favor me getting the upper hand on you while you’re conscious.”