Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
She swiftly looks my way, eyes comically moving from me to the hose and then the car. “So you’re just going to … wash your car?”
Taking the soap sprayer in my free hand, I let it loose over the driver’s side and the hood, and she lifts one foot as if some splashes her way. “So you’ve never been to a car wash, then?”
She pulls her lips between her teeth and a low chuckle leaves me.
“Go on, say it,” I tease.
With a playful roll of her eyes, she says, “My car is always clean.”
“So someone washes it for you.”
She stares off a moment as if she has to think about it and then lifts a shoulder.
It’s an honest answer. She has no clue ’cause when she needs it … it’s always ready and waiting for her.
I cock my head, spraying the hood once, then again, a little harder.
Her eyes narrow, and I grin.
Her hands shoot out and now I’m laughing ’cause my girl knows what’s comin’.
“Bastian … no. Don’t even—” She squeals, arms flying up, mouth forming a pretty little o as I spray her from head to toe. She freezes for a solid three seconds, but she doesn’t get mad. Doesn’t whine or throw a fit, doesn’t complain that I ruined her perfect curls.
Nah, she rushes me, wrestling for the hose, but then discovers the second one and now I’m the one who jerks.
“That one’s for tires!” I warn, taking backward steps.
She tests the trigger, getting a feel for its weight, so she can calculate the trajectory, like a true sharpshooter.
“So what you’re saying is it might hurt?” she teases, but before I can respond, the jet is aimed at me, and she doesn’t go easy, spraying in a long, hard, steady stream. A full fucking blast.
I drop to my stomach on the wet ground, drenching her legs from under the car and she hops on the hood, heels and all, tugging herself forward, and when I look up, her smiling, wet face is right above me.
“First rule of combat, recognize your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses and spoiler alert … I don’t have any.” She blasts me in the mouth, and I run away, laughing as the water beats against my skull, and drop my water weapon.
I jump up, spinning, and stretch beyond her, tugging the end of the hose that’s buried beneath her body. It spins her, and she yelps, trying to hold on, but the slippery surface won’t allow it, so she flips onto her back, nozzle pointed my way in a playful warning.
But I tug on her ankle, drawing her closer, and pry it from her grip. She slips forward, catching herself with her hands on my shoulders as she laughs, long and loud, her head falling back and I wrap my arms around her lower back, her heels propped up on the tire.
My eyes are glued to the girl, fucking fused to her, and slowly, her laughter fades as she looks up, a few straggling chuckles following.
She licks her lips with a smile, her hands grabbing on to my soaked jacket for a loose hold.
Her hair’s a sloppy mess. Gone are the perfectly laid waves and little bits of black are smeared beneath her eyes. Her uniform is dripping and sticking to her skin, one knee-high sock halfway down, while the other holds strong. Silky wet strands stick to her cheek and lips, but she doesn’t seem to mind, if she even notices them at all.
Like me, her entire attention is focused on the person in front of her, on me, and it’s a new kind of fucking feeling, one that leaves me with a primal pull toward her, but the tug comes from deep in my chest.
My head tips slightly, left hand coming up so my knuckle can push her blonde hair from her face and forehead, curving along her temple until I can tuck the small tangles behind her ear, the pad of my thumb blindly brushing over the shiny diamond sittin’ pretty there.
My touch travels down her jawline, skating lightly along her skin. My eyes find her lips, and I trace the fullness of them before sinking my hand deep in her hair. My need for her is insatiable. Been that way since the first day, as dumb as that sounds.
“Such a pretty little thief … stealing my time, my thoughts … my fantasies …”
She tugs me closer, eyes changing shade, the green deepening, wild and anxious, a little heavy, like a tropical rainstorm.
“Pretty, hmm?” she rasps just to have something to say.
My full attention, without the playfulness she loves, is too much for her right now ’cause my little gold medal diver didn’t choose to make this move. She didn’t climb a ladder prepared to send herself sailing down. No, my girl didn’t have a say, and here she is, free-falling right into my filthy fucking arms.