“I want to say”—I inhale deeply at the sound of Dex’s voice—“you told me you were coming up here to keep me from going all Rambo on you—as you would say—when I noticed you gone.”
His voice grows closer with each word, and the scent of the sea increases seconds before I feel his presence beside me. Cracking an eye open, I see his hands clasped together. I follow the lines of corded forearms to bulging biceps and see him resting with his elbows on the edge of the tub, leaning over to encroach on my space.
Oh, and he’s shirtless. Don’t want to forget to point out that very important detail.
His brown eyes sparkle with laughter as they peer down at me, but I skate past them, down his back, and suck in a breath when I realize he’s got on a pair of board shorts.
He’s not planning on…
No.
Before I can even finish the thought, one of his long legs rises up and over and he’s in the seat in the corner across from me.
“Now correct me if I’m wrong here, but aren’t you supposed to run and hide in a cottage in the woods?”
I hate how easily he can toss out my beloved Disney references. It makes it supremely hard to stay mad at him.
“I’m having enough difficulty with the one”—I hold up a finger—“man in residence. I can’t imagine how frustrated I would be if I had seven of them trying to keep things from me.”
I flatten my mouth and raise my eyebrows, lending weight to my passive aggressive dig. Yes, I’m still salty over the stunt he pulled last night.
“Tink—”
“Don’t, Dex.” Water splashes as I throw up a hand to cut him off.
“Stop calling me Dex.”
“Wh-what?” But he hates being called Dexter.
“You haven’t called me Hook since yesterday.”
Ahh, okay. I see.
“I only call you Hook when I like you, and I don’t like you very much right now.” I reach for my glass and take a large gulp of the sweet wine.
My nipples tighten when he chuckles. I should record the sound and sell it as a ringtone. I’d be a millionaire if I did.
“Oh, Tink.” He reaches forward, snagging one of my feet and yanking me to him until I’m straddling his lap.
Well this is new.
This is a much better seat than the one we were in before.
Ooo, ooo. *claps hands* He’s hard.
Can someone change the playlist to Ginuwine’s “Pony”?
Something must be seriously wrong with me for voices inside my head to take over even as my fingers press into his chest and my nails dig into his skin as they curl.
Underneath my butt, his thighs clench, rocking me forward slightly while his hands hold me prisoner at the hips.
Goosebumps break out across my skin as the cool salty breeze from the ocean hits my torso, which is overheated after being submerged.
The drip-drip-drip of water sounds in the silence between one song ending and another beginning as Dex lifts a hand to tuck an escaped curl behind my ear. The gentle move is at odds with the heated way he scans the tiny top I’m wearing.
“Fuck me, Tink,” he curses, a pained edge entering his voice. “It should be illegal for you to wear this.”
Yes, fuck him.
Please, please do.
The hand still on my hip starts to move, skimming up my back in a sensual caress, fingertips tracing over each bump of my spine, the thin material of my top stretching tight across my beaded nipples when he hooks a finger in the string tied at my back and pulls.
My hips roll of their own accord, and I bite my lip to hold back a moan at how the hard length of him feels hitting my center.
“Don’t bite.” He swipes a thumb across my bottom lip, freeing it from my teeth and dragging it down, my lips parting at his mercy.
I still, not even breathing. The only movement comes from the bubbling water surrounding us.
Stupefied, I watch as his dark eyes fall from my mouth and flare when they track the movement of my throat as I work to swallow the lump currently in it. I just had to go and read a paranormal romance last week, didn’t I? Holy Eric Northman—there’s no way I can justify using an Edward Cullen reference here—he looks like he wants to suck my blood he’s staring so intently.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I say with another roll of my hips.
“Oh yeah?” His gaze snaps back up to hold mine. “And what’s that, Tink?”
Is he taunting me?
“You’re trying to distract me.” I grit my teeth. “Make me forget your betrayal.” This hip roll is met with another one of those make-my-brain-stupid, why-is-it-so-hot alpha male neck grabs.
“Betrayal seems like a bit of a stretch.”
Thick soupy air fills my lungs as I inhale in an effort to re-center myself. “You talk a big game about how I can take care of myself, yet you cut me out.”
“That’s not what I was doing.” Hurt and anger flash behind his eyes.
“Bullshit, Dex.” I try to push away, but his grip on me is too resolute. “Your words say one thing, but your actions say the opposite.”
The Tink Train chugs down the track at full speed, but I refuse to look away. “Are you looking for an apology?” he challenges.
“Not if you’re not going to mean it.”
He presses his thumb into the vein pulsing at the side of my neck, and my head falls to the side, allowing him better access. Staying on topic is difficult with my hormones joining in a conga line with the voices in my head.
“Dex.”
“Hook.” He increases the pressure of his thumb.
“Dex,” I challenge.
“Call me Dex one more fucking time.” He yanks me closer, a wave of water spilling over the edge behind him. There’s not an inch of space between our lower halves.
Oh this poor man. With Jordan as one of my best friends, I’ve seen every episode of How I Met Your Mother more than once, so his words? They have me in full-on Barney Stinson “Challenge Accepted” mode.
I press in closer. Belly to belly, the hair of his happy trail tickles. Chest to chest, every rapid beat of his heart syncs with mine.
Stubble prickles my lips, and I breathe in the scent of coffee and mint. My tongue hits the soft pillow of his lips when it peeks out to wet my own.
“What are you going to do?” Our mouths brush with each word I speak.
“Don’t test me, Maddey.”
Ooo, now I’m Maddey. Interesting…
Walking my fingers up his chest, I scrape my nails along the short hairs at the back of his neck and tunnel my fingers into his hair. Tilting my head to the side coyly, I ask, “Why?”
“Because…” He wraps a hand around my messy bun, pulling on it so my head is bent to a full 180-degree angle. My pulse takes off faster than Lightning McQueen as he pulls harder, bringing his mouth to my throat. “The only time I want to hear you call me Dex for the rest of the night is when my cock is thrusting inside you.”
Oh god.
“No, Madz. Dex, not God,” he utters just like every alphahole ever written, and then he fuses his mouth to mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three
If I didn’t love this woman more than life itself, I’d strangle her. Madison Belle McClain is the most frustrating, obstinate, plays-with-fire person I have ever met—and that’s saying something since my best friends are the Die Hard Trilogy.