Page 15 of Hot Summer's Prey

“Nuh-uh, like I said, you gotta work that ass, boy.”

His hands move up my arms, and we move together like water.

“Gladly,” he whispers in my ear. A thrill runs through me.

It feels so good, moving together like this. It’s the kind of synergy you hope for with every partner—that everything feels easy and right. Even with decades of experience, some people never have this kind of give and take.

Before I realize it, he’s pulled one of my arms down close to my chest. He leans over my shoulder and takes a drink.

“Cheeky,” I laugh, turning my face towards him.

He looks so self-satisfied, I can’t help myself. My lips part as my mouth searches for his. Those beautiful green eyes fall to my lips before a darkness overtakes them. My eyes flutter shut as he presses his lips to mine. One peck isn’t enough. I kiss him again, irritated with the drinks in both my hands, so I can’t take control and pull him close. I wiggle my ass against him. His hands tighten on my hips. Heat overtakes my body as the most uncontrollable shot of lust I’ve ever felt in my life surges through me.

I pull away, trying not to pant. The look in his eyes is so hard to parse, but I can tell he wants more just as much as I do. I mean, there’s that, and the cock hardening against my ass.

As I take a drink, he kisses along my shoulder, up my neck.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing suddenly.

I take another swallow of the Screaming Orgasm, finish it off, and turn to him, shoving the other drink in his hand.

“More than okay, but I need these drinks out of my hands.”

“I can help with that,” he says.

He takes the glass in his with a gentle laugh. Him and that gentle laugh. It kills me.

As soon as my hand is free, I tug him close by his waistband and wrap my other arm around the back of his neck, pushing him gently towards me with the back of my wrist. He moans into my mouth as we kiss. I glide my hand up his abdomen—fuck me, it feels so good against my hand—across his chest—god, he’s so ripped—and through his hair. He nearly growls his appreciation. His free hand grips loosely at my neck before sliding down my chest.

In some ways, he moves more like the women and some of the nonbinary people I’ve been with despite my earlier assumptions about him. Maybe he’s just that experienced.

I feel my heart pound against his hand. Without doing more than stroking my neck, the mere presence of his hand on my chest feels so deeply erotic.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” I beg, breathless, as I pull away from the last kiss.

“Wherever you want,” he says, pressing another kiss to my lips.

We lose ourselves in kissing again—until I knock into his glass and accidentally spill some Sex on the Beach on my dress.

After a shriek, I collect myself back into the cool and sexy Teresa I know I can be, and giggle. “Are you trying to get me out of these clothes, Mr. Pacari?”

“In public, Miss Teresa?” he teases back, lifting the part of the skirt now covered in sugary alcohol. “Are you into that?”

I shiver as a breeze picks up, cooling the skin where the sticky liquid touches my leg.

“C’mon, you worked hard for that drink. You better finish it up,” I urge, impatient to leave with him.

I mean, yeah, I’m a little bit of an exhibitionist, but I don’t want to embarrass Zephyr, since they might end up living here if they like their grandma’s place enough. Once they process the grief and all.

He throws back half the glass and then hands it to me, “I’m not having Sex on the Beach alone.”

I swallow what’s left, nearly screaming when he bends low to suck the drink from my dress. That cocky grin so close to my pussy has me scrambling to keep my cool. When I’ve finished the glass, I walk the glasses back to the bar, Pacari rising to his feet to follow behind. He pulls me back against him suddenly, and I yelp in surprise.

“Slug,” he explains, nodding down.

Out of reflex, I fall back against him to avoid stepping on whatever slug he’s talking about. I hate squishing things.

Right. He’s talking about his dog. That I almost just stepped on.

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