Like a dick up the poop-shooter isn’t enough to have my head spinning, Dex won’t stop saying he loves me.
Hold up. *makes T with hands* While that’s all well and good, can we talk about the other thing he said?
Oh, yeah. I hope you were taking notes.
Hell yeah, that line was swoony as fuck.
He’s your shelter in the storm.
Major heart eyes right now.
I’m totally that black and white GIF of the woman swooning.
Seriously. Add that shit to your next book.
You’ll have the panties dropping for sure.
“I sure hope your characters are at least on my side.” Dex chuckles then groans as he pumps into me again.
Because our history and his lickable body, roguishly handsome face, and declarations of love aren’t enough. No, he has to go and get my weird eccentricities and accept them even in the middle of coitus.
Goddamn my defective heart.
Where’s a fairy godmother when you need one?
Not wanting to give him any ammo to use against me, I keep my mouth shut. Well, not fully shut—sighs, moans, and pleas for more slip past my lips as Dex works me toward an orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
Not gonna lie, when he first shoved his pork sword up my fudge-maker—okay, he didn’t shove, but I’m allowed to be a little dramatic when I have something in a place I used to consider a restricted area—it hurt.
Ever the gentleman, Dex gave me the time I needed to turn the slight pain into pleasure beyond belief. The fullness, the flicks of my clit, then the two fingers that find their way inside my pussy—and I’m done. Shooting stars, fireworks, fairies sprinkling pixie dust; I’m coming, and a few thrusts later, Dex is following me just around the river bend.
After Dex hakuna-ed matata-s, we didn’t linger long in the shower. It is one thing to deal with the chilly temperature while having a big hunky SEAL showing you exactly how far you will go like Moana; it is a whole other deal when that’s not happening.
“Since when do you shower in temperatures that should require a wetsuit? I seem to recall when we were growing up you would take showers that were so hot steam would billow out when you opened the door. It was like you were filming a 90s rock video in there,” Dex asks, looking far sexier than he should with one of my hot pink towels riding low around his hips. He gives a whole new meaning to the idea that real men wear pink because, holy Stitch, those pecs, those abs, the ink, those stupidity-inducing Vs—all of it…gah! Talk about happy thoughts. Give me my keyboard and let my fingers fly.
“The hot water heater must be on the fritz.” I rub my curls with a towel. “I’ll ask Declan to come take a look at it later. He’s the handy one of the group, always fixing things around The Hightower apartments and such,” I tell Dex, providing way more information than he needs.
I’m rambling. Why am I rambling? Shit, I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? This is Dex. I’ve never been nervous around him before. Not even when I crushed on him was I like this. What changed?
Umm…you slept with him?
Could you be more sarcastic right now?
Could you stop channeling your inner Chandler Bing?
What? *shrugs shoulders* It’s not my fault. Blame Holly for upping the frequency rerun-watching.
And…no…it’s not the sex that has her bumbling around like she was just handed a note that said, ‘Do you like me? Check yes or no.’
That would be because Dex didn’t ask. He rained down L-bombs like Hiroshima.
That was nothing.
What do you mean that was nothing?
Don’t you screech at me. All I meant was can we talk about how he didn’t ask her if she loved him back? Like… *fans self* He was all ‘I know you love me’ and went all Demi Lovato and was like, ‘Tell me you love me.’ Talk about h-o-t-t hot! And before you ask, yes, the extra T was needed.
“I need to find me a Cave of Wonders and get my hands on a lamp.” Dex brushes a curl behind my ear. When did he get so close? “My first wish would be to hear what is going on in here.” He taps my temple.
Why does he have to use Disney to wreck my walls like he’s Ralph?
“It wouldn’t work.” I back away from his touch before it has me launching myself at him for another round, instead searching for my bikini from last night. “Genies love me.”
“Both as mystical blue beings and as dogs.” His lips twitch at the memory of his old husky. I miss that pooch.
“You should know better.” I poke his forehead. “I’ll always be one jump ahead.” Spotting the white material, I scoop it up—only to have it snatched out of my hands. “What—”
“You are not wearing that.”
“Excuse me?” He did not just do what I think he did, did he? I reach for the bikini only for it to be held out of reach. Sometimes I really hate being vertically challenged. “It’s a bathing suit.”
“Hardly.” He scoffs.
“What else am I supposed to wear to go jet-skiing?” I wasn’t planning on wearing that one, but now I almost want to out of spite.
“Not this.” Eyes so dark they are almost black watch me in possessive frustration as he shakes the bikini in his hand before tossing it behind him.
“And who made you king of the world?”
“Leonardo DiCaprio.” Dex’s deadpan delivery combined with his stoic expression make me want to kiss him or hit him; I haven’t decided which yet.
I vote kiss.
Yes! Yes! *claps hands excitedly* Kiss him and tell him you love him. Then maybe we can get back to the sexy times.
It would be an effective way to end this argument. No bikinis necessary.
Truth. They would only get in the way when you’re trying to get frisky.
Will you fools behave? She’s not going to tell him she loves him, and she probably shouldn’t sleep with him again until she can figure out her feelings. Jiminy chimes in for the first time in a while, throwing some serious shade my way.
“You’re not the boss of me, Hook.”
“No, but if you think I’m going to let you out of this house in that”—he thrusts an aggressive arm behind him—“sorry excuse for swimwear, you are even crazier than you think you are.”
“Ha.” I let out a humorless laugh, doing my best to cover up how turned on this bossy side makes me.
“I dare you, Tink.” He crowds me until the backs of my legs hit the wood of my dresser. I shamelessly check out the way the sinews of his forearms move as he cages me in with an arm one each side of me, his fingers going white with his grip on the edge of the top. “Try walking out of here wearing it and I’ll call your mother and tell her that her daughter is prancing around the beach in a bathing suit that barely covers her tits.”
Rolling my shoulders, I cant my head back and meet that determined you-will-do-as-I-say gaze of his. “Don’t go threatening me with Babs.” Besides, it’s too bad, so sad for him—it wouldn’t work anyway. I’m Mom’s favorite—perk of being the only girl in a house full of testosterone.
“I’ll do whatever I have to if it means you don’t go parading around in something I can see the soft pink of your nipples through.” He ghosts a thumb over one of said nipples, and I need to lock my knees from melting into a puddle like Olaf would have in summer without Elsa’s magic.