Doughnuts were her weakness. If Sadie Mullins hadn’t been running on the beach to burn off the calories from her doughnut addiction, she wouldn’t have noticed the man not moving out in the water. Wouldn’t have dived in after him. Wouldn’t have met West Montgomery. The cocky bastard should have been thankful, grateful even. Of course, he wasn’t. That should have been the end of it. Of course, it wasn’t. Damn doughnuts.
West slid behind me and plastered himself against me, wrapping his dripping arms around my waist. I turned to protest, and he pressed against my front, soaking most of my sundress. “Hey!” “Sorry, did I get you wet?” He grinned unrepentantly. I pushed him away and pulled the bottom of the damp cotton away from my thighs before turning my accusing green gaze on him. “Are you trying to get me to strip down to my bikini?” “Maybe.” I tugged the dress over my head and laid it over the back of the center console, next to his shirt. “You could have just asked me, you know.” “Would that have worked?” He raised his eyebrows, one corner of his mouth edging into a smile as he took in my bikini — seafoam-green edged with black lingerie-seamed detailing. Yes, I matched my bikini to my nail polish. “Probably.” “What else will you do if I ask?” He walked toward me slowly. “What else do you want?” He kept moving until we were almost touching. He bent his head down, stopping just short of my lips. “Everything,” he breathed, closing the last centimeter separating us. His lips met mine, tasting of salt and sugar. Hands cupped my face and slid into my hair as we devoured each other. I wrapped my arms around him and grabbed his ass, pulling him snug against me until his hardness nestled into my softness. He cursed and ground himself against me, his tongue mimicking what his cock clearly wanted. I lifted one thigh and wrapped it around his waist, needing to get closer, my arms circling his back, and my hands clutching his shoulder blades. We ate at each other, not bothering to pause for breath, and when his hands cupped my ass, lifting me and urging me to wrap my legs fully around his waist, I groaned with satisfaction, pressing my hips against him, desperate for friction. I nipped his lower lip, pausing to steal a breath, and he rested his forehead against mine, his beautiful eyes closed. Bending my head, I ran my tongue down his neck and trailed kisses along his shoulder as my hands explored his upper back, kneading his hard muscles and feeling them flex in response. Changing directions, I ran my palms up his neck, forcing his head back, and dug my fingers into his scalp until he opened his eyes. He groaned. “I didn’t bring you out here for this.” He rolled his hips, and I couldn’t answer, except to squeeze him tighter with my thighs. I moved my lips to his ear. “Why the fuck not?”
I’m a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. My perfect day would include lounging on a hammock with a good book, carbohydrates, and the people around me randomly breaking into choreographed song and dance routines. It would not include bacon, cleaning, or anything requiring patience.
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