Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Why can’t you say the words?”
My throat tightens, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I press my palm against his heart, feeling it beat strong and steady beneath my hand.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He lets out a long breath and holds me tighter, kissing the top of my head. “I knew it.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh my God.” He laughs, tipping me back in his arms so he can look down at me. “You are so obsessed with me.”
Before I can retort, he suddenly drops me—lets me go—and I splash beneath the water with a shriek. When I surface, sputtering and pushing wet hair out of my face, he’s already climbing onto one of the giant inflatable donut tubes.
He grins down at me like a kid who found the cookie jar. “Race you. Donut to donut.”
I’m not in the mood to race him. I have better ideas.
Reaching around my back, my fingers find the hook of my bikini top and unclasp it, letting the straps hang.
Harris bobs on his donut tube, perched on top of it like a pirate, watching me like I’m a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. “Why the hell would you do that?” he asks, affronted. “That’s cheating.”
I shrug. “You wanted a race. I’m leveling the playing field.”
One of my straps falls.
Harris freezes. His donut tilts dangerously as he leans forward. “You’re bluffing.”
Am I, though?
I tug the top free and twirl it around one finger before tossing it to the pool deck with a casual flick. Off it goes . . .
He blinks.
I grin.
“Game over,” he mutters, sliding off his donut and swimming toward me like a shark on a mission.
I squeal, trying to backpedal—but he’s faster. Strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him in the water.
“You’re evil,” he murmurs into my ear, kissing me. Hands splaying up my backside, along my spine.
“I’m resourceful.” I tilt my head up and kiss his jaw, feeling him shiver against me. “Girlies do what they have to do.”
He pulls back to look down at me. His gaze is warm and hungry and full of affection all at once.
“Marry me,” he says, dead serious.
He is out of his damn mind!
I splash water at him. “You can’t propose while we’re both half naked in your pool!”
“Well. When can I propose?” He’s pouting now, but joking.
“You said give it twelve months. So I’ll see you in twelve months.” I swat at his hands as they reach for my boobs beneath the clear water.
He catches my wrists easily, pinning them playfully against his chest. “Twelve months? That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll survive.”
“I might not.” He leans in and kisses me again, this time slow and teasing, like he’s trying to convince me otherwise. “And in the meantime . . .”
Harris’s giant hands have me by the waist, and he hoists me up, setting me on the pool deck, palms spreading my legs. Up my rib cage. Over my breasts.
I lean back on my elbows, the sun warming every inch of my skin as Harris stands between my legs, water dripping from his body onto the stone deck. He looks up at me with that devilish grin that makes my toes curl.
“You know,” he says, fingers circling my nipple. “I could ask again tomorrow. Or the day after that. Maybe every day for the next twelve months until you cave.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile betrays me. “Persistent much?”
He shrugs, hands sliding down to my thighs, thumbs flirting with the hemline of my swim bottoms. “I’m a linebacker. Persistence is my job.”
When he nips at my skin, I gasp.
The sun beats down on us, the sound of the pool filter humming in the background, and for the first time in a long time, I feel completely, ridiculously happy.
“Ever had sex in a pool?”
I shake my head. “No—and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He leans forward and licks my nipple. “Why?”
“Chlorine up my vajayjay? We have horrible luck.”
He chuckles, pressing a wet kiss to my sternum. “Nah. We have excellent luck. We found each other.”
I melt a little. Sometimes he says the sweetest things . . .
He slides his hands under my thighs, pulling me to the very edge of the deck, my calves resting on his broad shoulders. “I think we should test the pool theory,” he declares. “Or. I can do this . . .”
He dips his head between my thighs, finger hooking my swimsuit bottom and pulling it aside before putting his mouth there, lips on my pussy in the spot I love most. Nothing is more erotic than watching him with his face on my clit, but still, I tug him upward by the hair and press my forehead to his.
“Twelve months,” I whisper.
“Nine,” Harris bargains.
“Ten.”
He groans, throwing his head back. “Fine. Ten. But I’m proposing in the most embarrassing way possible.”