Page 36 of Hawaii Can Suck It

No water.

No thunder.

No demonic light show.

The birds slowly retreat into the ceiling, wings flapping in one final mechanical farewell.

And for three long seconds, the only sound is our ragged, heavy breathing.

I push my drenched hair out of my eyes, relieved this nightmare is over. Then I spot Reece on the ground, hand pressed to his eye. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

I drop to my knees beside him, cradling his head between my palms. His uncovered eye goes wide, darting back and forth.

And that’s when I remember. I am very, very naked.

My boobs are introducing themselves to his face.

“¡Ay, carajo!”I screech, jumping up. But because karma’s not done making me its bitch and the floor is still wet, my feet slide out from under me.

WHAM!

I fall backwards and Reece catches me, yanking me against his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of both of us. His hands instinctively latch on to my—

Yep.

He’s got two handfuls of premium-grade boob.

We freeze. My heart hammers against his palms. His chest heaves against my back. Water drips.

Finally, Reece breaks the silence, his voice rough against my ear. “You’re right, Morales. Your tits are spectacular.”

And just like that, my traitorous lady bits fire up again.

CHAPTER SIX

REECE

Thoseareherfuckingpajamas?

My toothbrush scrapes against my molars with enough force to make my gums bleed. I want to cleanse this whole night from my brain. But no amount of minty-fresh toothpaste can scrub away the spectacle of her in that shower.

Cam. Wet. Naked.

As we speak, she’s lounging on the bed in a sizzling pink lingerie set that hardly classifies as sleepwear—looking hot as fuck—while I struggle to keep my cock from breaking free from its four-layer security system.

Yeah. Four.

Briefs. Then boxers. Gray sweats. And now?A fucking robe. Because I’m at DEFCON 1 levels of throbbing, and if she so much as breathes the wrong way, I’m going to nut so hard, they’ll be putting caution tape around my pants.

I stare in the mirror, hoping to intimidate myself into behaving.

Don’t look at her.

DON’T LOOK AT HER!

My traitorous eyes flick back to her.

She’s cross-legged, laptop open, completely oblivious that she’s ruining me. Her headphones are on, and her long, wild waves spill over one shoulder as her mouth purses slightly. She’s editing footage in her barely there shorts, which are riding up her thighs. The teeniest little straps of that silk top are fighting for strength against the weight of her perfect tits.

---