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She laughs. “Probably, yeah. But he hurts enough.”
“Leigh—”
“You want to talk about Penny?”
I say nothing.
“Then follow me.”
My black blanket flutters against the wind. We bend, lay it on the ground, secure it with our bags.
Leighton drops to her knees. Looks up at me like she’s about to groan come here, baby, I want you in my mouth.
No.
That’s my head.
She’s into some guy she can’t have.
Some idiot who doesn’t appreciate her bright smile.
The oblivious motherfucker doesn’t even appreciate her lush tits.
She’s wearing nothing—three scraps of cherries on black held together by red nylon.
Technically, it’s a bikini. Really, it’s a look at my tits sign.
I want to smash this idiot’s smug face.
For not seeing her.
And for looking at her.
Who the fuck does he think he is turning her into a piece of ass?
She pulls her sunscreen from her backpack. Looks up at me with that same needy stare. “I’ll do you if you do me.”
Take off that bikini. I want you naked when you come on my face.
Blood rushes south.
I throw up the brakes.
Things are good between us. I can’t fuck that up. I can’t lose her.
But that tiny swimsuit is making this hard.
The bottoms barely cover her cunt. Their strap hugs her round hips. Show off her long legs. Invite my hands.
She laughs. “I know.” She motions to her tits. “It’s kind of slutty.”
“Suits you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I mean it as one.”
“No offense, Ryan, but you should work on your sweet talking.” She laughs. Motions take it off.
