Page 46 of Only the Wicked
“All kinds.”
“Venomous?”
“Some. Water moccasins. Copperheads, but I don’t know that they swim. I didn’t really?—”
She pushes out of my arms, leaping through the water like there’s flames over an oil slick.
“It’s safe,” I call after her.
Her head is shaking and I follow; a grin plastered on my face.
The earthy smell of the bank intensifies as we climb out—damp soil and crushed grass under our feet. I catch her on a grassy spot and I sink my teeth playfully into her shoulder. She squirms against me, wet and smooth.
“I’ve got towels,” I say, refusing to let her go as I pull her writhing, naked body to my backpack.
“You planned for this,” she says, eyes wide, figuring it out. “And you didn’t tell me to bring a suit.”
“In my defense, I didn’t expect you’d actually swim. I thought I’d lay these out so we could rest by the water.”
Sara would’ve refused to sit on the grass without a towel below us, but I bite that reflection back. I’m not always smooth, but I’m never a total dumbass.
The sun beats down on the patch of weeds before the water, and I spread one oversized towel out on the area, then take the other and wrap it around Sydney. Heat radiates from the ground, warming my feet through to my ankles. The rough texture of the towel against my water-softened skin feels almost abrasive at first. Small pebbles press into the soles of my feet, grounding me in the moment. Droplets pool on my shoulder and she smooths her thumb over one, then sucks the water off her thumb. A guttural groan releases as my blood gushes to my groin.
The transition from water to air makes every nerve ending heightened. The warm breeze raises goosebumps as it dries the water on my skin, creating a delicious contrast between the lingering chill from the swim and the heat of the sun above us.
“I have a confession.” She peeks up at me through dark lashes, her dark hair dripping water into the towel.
Jesus fuck, she’s a wet dream.
My gaze focuses on her full, pale pink lips.
“What’s that?” A low thrum pulses in my ears. My mouth dries. The tips of my fingers tingle with the need to touch her, to take her.
There are so many things I want to do to this woman.
“I'm not really…” She tilts her head, bashful. “It’s not my time of the month.”
My throat tightens.
“I lied to prevent doing something I’d regret.”
Which is why she jumped bare naked. I didn’t even think to look for a tampon string. I actually didn’t think at all.
Perhaps that’s a warning.
She wiggles in my hold, and the towel drops to her ankles.
“And now?” I choke out.
I swear I can barely fucking breathe.
“I regret lying.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Rhodes
