Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
The all-consuming kiss sears me like a strike of lightning traveling from my lips to the tips of my toes, curling them involuntarily. My eyes roll back and I’m too lost in the sensations to see anything but stars. In this moment, I forget where I end and he begins.
Just as I’m about to surrender entirely, fate has other plans. Or rather, Winston does. The familiar joy-kill yapping shatters our perfect little bubble, the sound stabbing through my bliss with unrepentant insistence. I pull back reluctantly, glancing over to find the tiny beast with his head wedged through the iron fence, sounding off like we’ve committed some crime against nature.
“Freaking heck, Winston!” I snap, trying for stern, but mostly sounding weary. “Go home, you nosy little troublemaker!”
Of course, he ignores me entirely, barking to express his opinions about our poolside interlude. The little pocket-sized nightmare has enough attitude for a dog triple his stature.
Piers snickers, still keeping me anchored with an arm slung around my waist, clearly unamused by the tenacious little furball. “Furball cock-blocker,” he grumbles, glancing from me to our unwanted watchdog.
“He’s not going to give up, is he?” I groan, realizing Winston’s in it for the long haul.
“Not anytime soon.” Piers hefts himself out of the pool and walks over to give the pint-sized intruder a little pat on the head.
As if satisfied with his tiny bit of attention, Winston trots off to patrol some other part of his territory, barking over his shoulder for good measure.
Piers dives into the deep end and swims back over to me. “I’m sure he’ll be back,” he mutters after surfacing.
“No doubt,” I agree, letting out a breathy laugh. “I swear Uncle Jasper trained him to be a pain in the rear.”
“I wouldn’t put it past your uncle.” Piers chuckles and playfully pulls me close. “But I’m going to take the opportunity to kiss you again.” I’m definitely not going to complain.
Though Winston returns on and off, poking his head over at different sounds and shadows, we manage to sneak in a few stolen kisses.
Sometime around mid-afternoon, Piers orders us soup and sandwiches for lunch. Once the food is delivered, we sit under the patio to eat. The cool breeze blows through every now and then, sending tiny shivers through me. Who am I kidding? The shivers are probably from the feeling of his warm thigh brushing against mine.
After lunch, we decide to lie out in the sun for a while. Sprawled out on my lounger, I tilt my sunglasses down a touch, letting the world around me blur into a pleasant haze of blissful warmth and distant sounds.
Piers is on the lounger right next to me, humming a tuneless melody. After a while, he hops up and walks over to the shaded shelf where he left the sunscreen earlier and picks it up.
“I don’t want your gorgeous skin to burn,” he explains as he approaches and settles on the edge of my lounger. There’s a devilish gleam in his eye as he shakes the bottle.
“And I’m sure you don’t have any ulterior motives,” I shoot back, matching his teasing tone.
He smirks, squeezing a dollop of lotion into his palm. “Of course, I have ulterior motives. I always want an excuse to put my hands on your gorgeous body.”
I laugh, pulling my hair up in a higher bun to give him room, rolling to my stomach with a sense of eager anticipation buzzing through me.
His hands slide across my lower back, cool from the lotion but spreading warmth with each stroke. It feels incredible, like his fingers are working all the tension right out of me and replacing it with a biting hunger.
“So,” he murmurs from above me, leaning in close enough that his breath teases the back of my neck, “do you like my famous back rub?”
“Definitely,” I manage, voice half-buried in the towel, my mind drifting with each glide of his fingers. There's something intensely intimate about the way he kneads the muscles, drawing out all the stress while turning up the heat.
His hands work confidently, like every knot and worry is his personal and deliberate target. I let out a moan, soaking in the perfect storm of relief and desire.
As his hands continue their teasing journey down my back, things start to heat up, and I can feel the tension winding tighter, not from stress but a palpable wanting. It’s hard to tell where his expert touch stops and I begin.
“Keep going?” he asks, fingers pausing just at the edge of indecent, his voice low and growly—exactly what drives me crazy.
“God, yes, don’t stop,” I whimper, blissfully lost in his touch. At this moment, I wouldn’t mind staying tangled in his touch forever.
Satisfied with my response, he resumes with a focus that’s got my heart racing, working the lotion over my skin like he's savoring each inch. Each pass of his fingers leaves a trail of overwhelming sensation.