Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
My favorite body.
My favorite person.
We’ll have to move eventually. Get dressed, go back to the house, shower—all the normal nighttime things.
But not yet.
For now, we just breathe in the gathering dark, two people in love.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
MAKENA
Iwake from a dream about falling in love with the world’s best boy and sigh…
Because it wasn’t a dream.
Morning light filters through Nana’s guest room curtains, soft and golden. The air conditioner whirrs in the window, already hard at work on this bright summer day. Parker’s arm is heavy across my waist. We smell like soap and sex—from round two, when we were awakened by feral cats around three a.m. and didn’t hesitate to make the best of a cat fight situation.
I don’t want to hesitate anymore.
Not when it comes to him.
My body aches in a dozen different places, but my heart in just one—this sweet hurt at the center of my chest that comes from feeling too many beautiful new things at once. It’s like I’ve been fighting to keep from drowning only to suddenly realize I’ve grown gills. Shocking, but good.
Miraculous even.
I press back against him, letting his warmth seep into my bones.
He mumbles something that might be my name and pulls me closer. His morning erection presses against my ass, and my pussy, slut that she is, immediately votes for round whatever we’re on now.
“No,” I whisper aloud. I don’t intend to hesitate when it comes to letting the feelings flow, but I wasn’t as lubricated as I should have been the last time. A small break from the constant fornicating would probably be a wise idea. “You’re in time-out.”
Parker’s laugh vibrates against the back of my head. “Who are you talking to?”
“My vagina.”
“Oh no, is she okay?” He kisses the back of my neck, and I feel it in my toes.
“She’s okay. Just a little sore from round two. I might’ve jumped back on that pony a little too fast.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses me again, even as his hands begin to wander, coming to tease my nipples through my t-shirt. “Will coming on my mouth make it better?”
I exhale, knowing I shouldn’t.
I really shouldn’t, but…
“Maybe?” I whisper.
He’s under the covers a beat later. In just a few more, he has me writhing. Soon, I’m begging for round three, but he refuses, forcing me to watch him jerk off on my belly in a way that’s weirdly hot.
Afterward, we’re both messy and in need of another shower, a state of being that’s going to lead to an Oxford water shortage if we’re not careful.
Twenty minutes later, after swift but separate showers, in the name of forcing ourselves to behave, we make our way to the kitchen. My hair’s still damp, leaving wet spots on my last clean sundress. Meanwhile, Parker’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else until we do laundry later.
Apparently, my boyfriend is intent on murdering me via exposure to his sexy abs.
Boyfriend…
The word still makes me smile.
Nana’s already at the stove, humming something in a silk robe covered in dancing skeletons, her white hair piled into a bun with a matching skeleton hair clip.
“Morning, sex goblins,” she says without turning around. “Coffee’s fresh. Parker, put on a shirt before you scandalize the eggs.”
“Can’t. I have to do laundry.” He kisses her cheek on his way to the coffeepot, and the happy ache in my heart starts up again.
This easy affection, in a kitchen that already feels like home, with my guy and a woman who instantly accepted me into her family…
I think I’ve been starved for this my entire life.
“Makena, honey, you want one piece of French toast or two?” Nana glances over her shoulder, and I notice she looks tired. Like maybe she partied a little too hard at yesterday’s festival, too.
“Always two, please. But why don’t you take a load off and let me—”
“Sit.” She points her spatula at the kitchen table. “Both of you. I’m making breakfast, and I don’t need help. I need an audience. What time did you get home last night? I ended up gossiping with the girls until almost one.”
We sit, sharing the censored version of our evening as we sip our coffee and Nana flips French toast with practiced ease. She plates two slices for me and four for Parker, delivering them to the table along with syrup, butter, and a fruit compote that smells like heaven. “Eat up, babies. Another big day ahead.”
“So how big is the craft fair?” I ask. “As big as the sausage festival?”
“Just about.” She sits across from us, cradling her coffee mug. “And you’ll definitely need at least a hundred dollars in spending money, so be sure to stop at the ATM before you start walking around. There are so many cute new booths this year.” She lifts her nose with a sniff. “Though, of course, you’ll be getting your very own, stubby, chubby penis-shaped tea cozy free of charge.”