Page 24 of Conception
“I believe that quote is, ‘It would be a pity to damage yours,’” I inform him, ignoring the butterflies flitting about in my belly.
He gives a bow that I imagine would be very Westley-like. “Forgive me, Highness, for I was paraphrasing.”
I lift up to study him, relishing the way the sun gives him an almost golden appearance. I’m dying to run my hands through his messy, dark hair. Bright eyes shine as he gives me a once over, and I’m not sure whether to thank Sunny or try to cover up with a towel. The way those eyes peruse my body has me leaning towards gratitude.
“You’ve read Goldman?” I ask, growing ever more curious about this man.
“Mom’s orders.”
“Something tells me you don’t often follow orders from others.”
He lets out an easy chuckle. “It’s true. I often don’t. However, if you met my mother, you’d know she’s impossible to disappoint.”
“Well, if you know it well enough to quote, I’d have to guess you enjoyed it.”
“I did. Trust me, not every fifteen-year-old boy wants to read a fairy tale, but once I started, I dug it. What’s not to like about pirates, sword fights, and aforementioned perfect breasts?” he asks, his gaze leaving my face and trailing down to where Sunny’s bikini top does little to hide mine.
“And the mumbo-jumbo about true love?” I shouldn’t have asked, mainly because he isn’t here for anything more than a bit of summer fun, but the words slipped out before I could think better of them.
“Inconceivable.”
Just as I open my mouth to protest, Knox holds a hand out to me. I place mine in his, and he hoists me to my feet. One arm swoops around my waist, hauling me into his bare chest. I don’t know if it’s the heat or him, but I’m suddenly ablaze with excitement.
“And don’t go telling me I don’t know what the words means. Trust me,” he says. “I’m not a thwarted romantic. Just a cynic.”
He’s teasing. I know it, but there’s something underlying in his tone that makes me wonder why such a young, handsome, obviously virile young man already considers himself a cynic. I study his eyes, trying to find something in them, but instead, I find myself lost in the dark depths.
“What’s running through the pretty little head of yours?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, like a hot pool of honey too delectable to resist.
If he only knew. I could play coy. Hard to catch. But why? Our time here is limited, so if I want to maximize it and make the most of my summer, why not jump in feet first, with eyes wide open?
I rest my hand on the nape of his neck. “I’m thinking, Knox, that perhaps it’s time we put an end to this literary session and move on to more exciting ventures.”
His eyes flash with desire. “Let me guess,” he ponders, rubbing his thumb along my lower lip. “You’re wondering about Goldman’s claim of five great kisses in history. You’re wondering if it was true. Did Buttercup and Westley top them all?”
“According to Goldman, they did,” I whisper, my belly tightening the closer his lips come to mine.
“And now you’re wondering: Will ours top them all, too?”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. Heat coils between my legs at this literary foreplay, something so foreign, so unexpected from a man like him. So arousing. “I’m wondering when you’re going to shut up and kiss me.”
As hungry eyes gaze back at me, his arm encircles my waist, tightening just so, and his other hand cups my face. As Knox closes the distance between us, his whisper is barely audible. “As you wish.”
I DIDN’T PLAN ON DEVOURINGAmelia the first chance I got. I also didn’t plan on wasting my time getting to know her. So, when her hooded green eyes bore into mine, and that soft whisper of a request that I kiss her hits my ears, I can’t help myself.
I pull her in closer, even though the stifling heat has us both already slick with sweat.
I want her as close as possible, nothing between us except for her tiny bathing suit that hides practically nothing and my shorts that, if we were to separate, would most definitely be showing off how much I want her. Not that I give a fuck. We’re the only two here, alone in this little cove, and all I can think about is how I’m going to kiss her without trying to go too far.
Her eyes flutter closed as I claim her mouth and nearly groan at the sweetness of these soft lips. Just as I assumed last night, they’re fucking perfect. Even more so when I trace my tongue along the curve of them, and they part immediately, allowing my entrance.
Amelia’s not shy, either. She’s an active participant, finding my tongue with hers, stroking mine just as I imagined when I watched her with the straw. Her hand squeezes the back of my neck; the move sends a straight shot to my groin. And without hesitation, the hand on the small of her back drifts down to cup her ass. Then I haul her into me so she can feel just how fucking much she’s affecting me. When she moans into my mouth, I fight the desire to rock into her.
Dry humping never sounded so fucking good, even in broad daylight. Might even be up for a little exhibitionism, too, if it means I get to keep my hands—and other body parts—on her.
“Hey, lovebirds! Get a room!”
Amelia freezes instantly, but I hold her tight, not letting her go. My tongue does one last searching sweep of her mouth before I reluctantly relinquish hers. With one final, long, drugging kiss, I retreat. I don’t look to see who’s interrupted us. I don’t give a damn. All I see before me is Amelia. And at the sight of her beautifully swollen lips, full and trembling, all I want is another taste.
