“And . . .” She held up her hand like she was doing a damn countdown! “You’re kind of, like . . .” She leaned forward and whispered, “A bit . . .” Her eyes teased. “Metro.”
“As in . . . ,” I baited her.
“Feminine,” she snapped. “Yup, that’s the word. And Max, I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“You mean . . .” I licked my lips, then slapped the water. “In the kindest way you can possibly say it, ‘Oh, look, Max has boobs’? Or you mean it in the way that says I lack the proper sexual magnetism to get your engine going?”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t come here to fight. I was just going to go over our date for tomorrow without the watchful eyes of Big Brother.”
“Hmm.” She was looking down at her feet. So I did what any desperate man who’d just been insulted in the worst way possible would do. I grabbed her feet, dragged her into the water, creating a huge splash, and then, when her head popped up for air, I gave her something else.
Kissing Becca could become a very nice, very addicting . . . pastime. Her lips were soft, pliant, but her hands were beating against my chest. Ah, classic move. Listen up, men: women fight us because they’re expected to. They have to put up the fight so they don’t come off as easy. So the next time a girl hits you in the chest, go with it, kiss her harder. It just means she wants more, especially when her chest is heaving and her tongue is doing . . . that. Yeah, exactly. Oh. Hell. Damn. Kill me now. When her tongue is doing that? Becca’s tongue pushed against mine and then she sucked.
I felt said sucking all the way through my body.
When she stopped fighting me, I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her as close against me as I could, and then pulled away.
Her eyes furrowed with confusion as she tried to lean forward.
I pulled back again, and swam her over to the ladder.
“Thanks, Becca,” I whispered. “I needed a little motivation.”
“Game on.” I helped her up and followed. “And by the way . . .” I grabbed her hands and moved her flat palms from my chest all the way down to my waist. “I’m anything but feminine. Have a good night.” As I walked away, I did what any sane man would do. I paused so she could get her fill and realize that yes, I was, in fact, still naked. And when I heard her gasp, I turned around and saluted her in more ways than one.
About the Author:
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