Page 35 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Not my best look, I’m aware.
Lila glances down with slitted eyes, unimpressed. “Didn’t wardrobe tell you to empty your pockets before the shoot? What the hell do you have in there, a rock?”
I gun her down with a steely glare, finding a new ego-inflating reason to keep her settled on top of me. “Something’s hard, but it’s not a rock.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“It’s a natural bodily response,” I defend.
She rolls her aquamarine eyes. “You seriously have that little of self-restraint?”
“When it comes to you, yes.”
Fuck. Why do I find her disagreeableness so hot? Why does mydickfind the way she rolls her eyes so hot? Obsessed is an understatement. I need to fuck her so hard that her cunt remembersexactlyhow many inches I have.
“You want to talk about uncontrollable bodily responses? Let’s talk about those party poppers poking through your bikini top.”
Lila gasps, looks down at her overspilling tits, and uses her hand to cover the evidence of her arousal. “Oh, please. A chilly gust of wind could get my nipples hard. You’re nothing special.”
I scoff. “I can prove you wrong in less than an hour, angel.”
The last of the milling bodies disappear below deck, and once we’re finally alone, Lila lifts her pelvis off my hips, under-hands my dick with a slap, and grins devilishly at me. “Never. Going. To. Happen.”
“One bed? Seriously?”
This can’t be happening. How does a million-dollar yacht have a stateroom with only one bed?
“Ugh, this is unbelievable,” Lila grouses, finishing wiping herself off with a towel before flopping on the quilted bedspread.
I’m still trying to recover from the…incident…that happened twenty minutes ago, which means that I immediately avert my eyes when her tits recoil against her bikini top.
“It’s notthatbad,” I say, inspecting the spacious, spotlessroom in front of us. Realistically, the space is big enough to fit two queen-sized beds with adequate legroom, but the architect apparently went for something far more intimate.
One king-sized bed sits in the middle, draped in snow-white sheets that are neatly tucked into the mahogany bedframe. A few decorative throw pillows boast a dark, sapphire blue, accenting the adjacent curtains that sandwich the stunning bay window overlooking the moonlit lake. Two lounge chairs are situated directly across from the bed, bracketing a small tabletop constructed from shards of sea glass. And a tray of lit candles flicker on the table, adorned by a basket of handcrafted toiletries and a stack of individually wrapped chocolate. Nightstands border either side of the bed, glossed in a pristine varnish that embellishes the natural beauty of the woodgrain, and vases filled with bushels of blue, flowering perennials welcome life into the otherwise vacant room. Lastly, the high ceiling is reflective and polished to perfection, pitted with tiny fluorescent lights.
I feel dirty just standing in here, and the lingering, earthy smell from the lake is quelled beneath the overwhelming—yet delightful—aroma of fresh lemongrass. After I’m done gawking at the extravagance, a shuffling noise sideswipes my attention, revealing a breathless Lila shucking the bedspread off the mattress and making herself a makeshift nest on the hard, cold floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, glaring at the mess of fluffy cushioning she’s hoarding like some kind of crow.
“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you, so I’m sleeping on the floor,” she explains matter-of-factly, pulling down one of the throw pillows.
Oh my God. This girl drives me fucking crazy. She’s determined to tweak her back just to spite me, and I’ll only accept a good back breakage if I’m the one doing it.
“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Lils,” I grumble, trying to smooth out the carnage she’s left on the now-unmade bed.
“I’m sure as shit not sleeping with yo?—”
Forced nonchalance blusters across my face, complete with a smile that feels too wide and unconvincing. “I’llsleep on the floor.”
I’d rather have us sleep next to each other like adults. Fuck, that’s a lie. I’d rather hold her for the rest of the night, bury my nose in her soft hair, and feel her belly balloon against my palms when she breathes. But I’d have a better chance of finding a saltwater fish in a freshwater lake than herevercalling a truce for the night.
Lila perks up, her hair mussed around her head and intrigue knitting her brows together. “Youare going to sleep on the floor?” she echoes disbelievingly.
I lean my shoulder against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah. You take the bed; I take the floor.”
Lila, tortuously on her hands and knees, snorts out a laugh. “You’re six two, Bristol. You won’t get any sleep on the floor.”
She remembers my height.
