Page 28 of Sand in My Boots

It was like this years ago. As much as he had the upper hand and I had handed control over to him, he still waited for my permission, silently asking how far he could push, how much he could take.

Ever the gentleman, Cameron Fairbanks.

When my toes cramp and I can’t stand it any longer, I reach slightly higher, a mere half an inch away from his lips. And he attacks.

His lips form a seal over mine, taking not only them in a kiss, but all the air from my lungs, too. It doesn’t matter I can’t breathe for the moment. He does it for both of us. Like he’s resuscitating me.

His lips move over mine, his tongue daring to dart inside, dancing with mine. Two partners in a duet, moving in unison, knowing the parts without having practiced.

The lingering flavor of his lunch settles into my mouth, and mixed with the beer and my meal, it’s an interesting combination. But I don’t let it deter me from the task at hand—kissing Cameron back. Being a willing participant and not an observer. Because he’s a better kisser than I remember.

The soft feel of his lips.

The rub of his stubble on my chin.

The way he takes delicate charge of the kiss.

Yeah. Too much.

I rip my lips away, panting to catch my breath, falling back down to the ground. He positions himself, resting his forehead on mine, the greens of his eyes darker around the rims, giving away his arousal. He drops his arms, his one hand tucking a strand of wayward hair behind my ear.

“Breathtaking. Literally.” With his free hand, he reaches for mine, putting it on top of his chest. The organ beats rapidly, mirroring mine.

I accept his compliment with a smile. “I could say the same. Actually, consider this me saying the same.”

“You want to shower or should we be a little messier before getting clean?”

I want what he implies.

“How messy we talking?”

“That’s up to you.”

My arms on his broad chest, I push him away, only able to move him the tiniest bit because his legs are still widely planted on the ground. Also, he moves himself. He attempts to grab me by the waist, and I have to skate around his reach.

“I love how I don’t have to clean up any mess we make. That we can be as messy as we want and someone else will clean the sheets and towels.” It doesn’t directly answer his question, but it hints at it. And I’ll see what he says.

His eyebrows waggle. “I’m on board with this thinking. Want to see how messy we can make the sheets?”

“And ourselves. Then we can get ‘clean’ in the shower.” I glance at the clock. “How much time do you have?”

“For you, darling? My schedule’s wide open.”

My stomach tightens with his words. I think back to the plan I made with Erica for the pool later today. For the life of me, I can’t remember what time we said.

“Is it really going to rain today?”

Frown lines crease his brow. “Supposed to. Why?”

A shit-eating grin grows on my lips. Taking him by the hand, I lead him to my bedroom, stopping at the threshold to state, “If it rains, the pool will be closed.”

Reading my mind, he nods eagerly. “With today’s storm prediction? For sure.”

I drop his hand. “Think you can last longer than the last time, Came?”

He tsks, his head shaking slowly. “My dear Juliana. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve got stamina. And to prove it, I bet I can pull two orgasms out of you before I’m even hurting.”

While that sounds hot and all—and definitely to my benefit—I read too much into it. That he won’t be hurting because he’s not aroused. My inner teen, the one who crushed hard, rears her head, brainwashing me into believing that must be true.