“Fuck you, Nick.” I’m furious with him. “Don’t read it, I don’t care.” I grip the book, which has had me trembling in more ways than one, and we’re quarrelling by the pool. Again. My pulse is rising, and I can feel it flutter in my throat—a sure sign my fury is amped up to the max. He moves towards me, that fucking smirk on his face like he knows I’m not really angry about him teasing me for getting so emotional while reading. But fuck him, I am angry about that. Books get me wound up, angry, passionate… hot.
And fuck, he knows me better than I know myself.
“No, Nick,” I want to slap his smug face. That fiery heat is licking flames of red fury up my décolleté, and I will not let him see that I want him.
But he knows it; of course he does.
That fucking smile.
He comes too close, and I snarl as he reaches to grab my wrists, his touch like acid on a litmus paper. A look of shock lights up his face as I step back, and we’re toppling over the edge and into the crystal pool.
I’m flailing under the water, all arms and dress, fuck, my book will be ruined. I kick frantically towards the lights at the side of the pool. He’s right beside me, the fuck.
As we break the surface, we’re coughing, spluttering, grasping and racing to the edge. He’s actually trying to race me! Can you imagine? He’s the opposite of a gentleman and everything my mother warned me about. He’s laughing hard, and I hiccup, trying to suppress a smile that dances at my lips despite my rage. I fail, of course I do, and the tension is broken. But still, fuck him!
The aphrodisia of white-hot fury! Far from being quenched by the dip in the sleek, cool blue, it’s been thoroughly ignited, and I try to vault up onto his shoulders to push him under, wrapping my legs around his torso to help. He’s so strong he flips me off and wriggles free, swimming deftly to the side in about two strokes and hauling himself out of the water and up onto the tiles. It’s a smooth, elegant move, and I want to roll my eyes at his perfection, but instead, I salivate and bite the inside of my cheek. I tread water, pausing where I am for a second to drink in the sight of him. His white linen shirt drapes translucent over his chest, displaying his powerful shape, taut muscles coiled and ready to capture me.
I’m still spluttering when I make it up in between his thighs, noting his...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Tabitha Rayne
Nice