Removing my glasses with an amused smile, I take them and slip them on. Cookie immediately frowns.
“No,” he declares.
He hands me a couple of others one at a time, and I dutifully try each pair and watch as he dismisses them. I’m not really sure why I’m humouring him. There’s nothing wrong with the plain black plastic frames of my other ones.
“Cookie, I’m not sure I need another pair. The ones I have are fine.”
“No, honey.” He cocks a hip and shakes his head. “You’re fine. Your nasty-ass shades arenot.”
I chuckle loudly, my cheeks heating at his unexpected praise. “They literally have one job, turn down the wattage of the sun so I don’t sear my retinas. Does it really matter what they look like?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He retrieves another pair and holds them out to me.
I stare at them dangling from his slim fingers and then lift my gaze to his. “Seriously.”
“Trust me.”
Blowing out a resigned breath, I reach out and take them, slipping them on and looking into the tiny rectangular mirror mounted on top of the display.
“Huh.” I turn my head one way and then the other. Never in a million years would I have picked these up but I actually really like them. The frames are slim plastic, nicely shaped, and not too big, but they’re lime green. “I…”
“Yooou…” Cookie draws out the word teasingly as the corner of his mouth curves.
“I like them,” I confess.
He grins. “You go pay for those, then, and I’m going to get us an ice cream. What do you want?”
He points to a nearby ice cream van parked near the steps that lead down onto the sandy beach.
“Anything is fine,” I watch as he practically skips across the promenade towards the van, which only has a couple of kids waiting in line.
I head into the shop and impulsively pick up a little something for Cookie. Then, navigating my way down the crammed aisles of cheap tourist tat, glittery sea shells, sticks of rock, beach towels, and bucket hats, I finally manage to sidle up to the till and pay.
When I head back outside, it’s to see Cookie wandering back in my direction with a ninety-nine in each hand. I tuck his present into my back pocket—even though there’s no way it will fit—so it ends up sticking out and knocking me in the back. I slide my new sunglasses on and walk across to meet him.
“Thanks.” I take the ice cream from him, our fingers brushing as I grasp the wafer cone.
“You’re welcome,” he says with a soft smile, and I watch, my mouth falling open slightly as his pinkpiercedtongue snakes out and licks a line around the ice cream, which is beginning to melt and drip down the cone.
My dick gives a twitch and I swallow hard. He gives a pornographic moan of pleasure, and it’s like he’s moving in slow motion as he slowly withdraws the long chocolate flake from the whipped ice cream. I think I actually stop breathing when he slips his pouty lips over the stick of chocolate, sinking down to where his fingers pinch the end, and then he slowly and torturously slides back up, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks the ice cream off it.
He closes his eyes and hums happily.
There’s a smear of ice cream on his lower lip and suddenly all I want to do is lean in and lick it up, see if he tastes as sweet as his temperament seems to be.
Holy shit, I’m attracted to him.
There have been plenty of times I’ve found guys objectively hot to look at but never enough to act on. I’d never once thought about running my tongue along the seams of their lips before kissing them deeply, or sliding my hands up the length of their ridiculously long, smooth legs, or thinking about those legs wrapped around me while I?—
Whoa. I suck in a sharp breath at the sudden image in my mind or, more pressingly, my body’s reaction to it. My dick gives another enthusiastic throb, and I hope the sudden bulge in my jeans isn’t noticeable beneath my untucked T-shirt.
Cookie opens his eyes at my sharp inhale and studies me.
“You’re getting messy.”
“What?” I squeak, then clear my throat. “Um, I mean pardon?”
He nods to my forgotten ice cream, which is melting in the sun and now runs down my fingers.