Page 6 of One Chance


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A half hour later, my dick could pound nails. She’s had two drinks, and the music has gone from Jimmy Buffet to some new Drake song, while the vibe in the pool and around the bar ramps up as the sun goes down.

I’m so hard I’m seeing double as the swell of her tits spills out from every side of her bikini top, little hard nipples pressing against the fabric. Blood pounds at my temples and I can tell she’s self-conscious in that nothing bathing suit. I want to cover her up and take her away.

Her dark lashes flutter as we exchange glances, and I swear her cheeks burst with two cherry-red spots when I reach down and adjust my dick, knowing full well she’s watching.

A few of her friends lean over and whisper something to her. They point toward the doors where she came in, then nod to me, then go back to some hush-hush conversation that ends with the redhead handing her a shot of what looks like tequila.

She refuses, but her friend persists.

“You have two days to have fun,” I overhear. “The other three-hundred and sixty-two days of the year you won’t, so do it. For me.”

“Three-hundred and sixty-three,” she corrects. The redhead gives her a confused look as she clarifies, “If I have two more days here, that leaves three-hundred and sixty-three days in the year.”

“Who cares, just drink it. You need some liquid courage.” She holds the little glass to my girl’s lips, and I hear her soft expulsion of breath as she leans her head back and downs the golden liquid.

Her group of friends go nuts, ordering another round as my raven-haired angel and her copper-haired cohort go back to whispering back and forth before they both settle their eyes on me.

Another shot, then a nod and a push later, her wide eyes are pinned on me and I ball my hands into fists as she climbs out of the pool. She starts to tiptoe my way, the wet bikini clinging to what looks like the most perfect fucking clamshell between her legs as water drips down her creamy flesh.

I see a couple of her crew snickering and watching, but all my attention is focused on her. I don’t fucking think I’ll ever be able to focus on anything else.

The world disappears in a haze around her. Her nipples are hard and clear through the thin bathing suit, her tiny frame showing the perfect amount of softness and jiggle to fucking change a man’s trajectory in life. I want to mount her tiny body on my face, bite into her flesh and let every motherfucker on this planet know she’s off limits.

“Hi.” She sidles up about three steps from me and worries her bottom lip, her knees pressed together. “I’m Sophia.”

“Chance,” I answer, barely able to breathe.

All I can do is stare. Say something, dumb ass.

I’m a man of few words, but with her, apparently, I’m a man of no words. My throat closes, and I feel the pounding of each heartbeat in my ears, my temples and down into my balls.

“Okay, Chance.” She looks uncomfortable, and I hate that I can’t think of a single fucking word to tell her everything I’m feeling right now. “So, I just wanted to thank you. For earlier. For playing into that with me with those other ladies. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.” I manage to unwedge the words from my throat.

“You did? I mean, most security or bouncers or whatever don’t have a sense of humor. Especially a quick, dry one. Sort of made my day. It was a shitty day. Until you.”

It was a shitty day…until you.

The plates of the Earth just shifted.

“Same,” I grunt, watching her eyes widen. They are the deepest emerald green with golden centers, unlike any eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, you work in paradise surrounded by half-naked bodies.”

A rumble shakes in my chest as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and my eyes cascade down her tight little frame, landing on the sweet V between her legs. Her skin is flawless. No tattoos, piercings or scars. Only one little dark freckle, just to the left of her belly button, which I want to reach out and touch so badly my fingers twitch.

Tell her she’s beautiful. Ask her where she’s from. Anything, motherfucker, say anything.

Making conversation shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

The silence hangs between us until she flutters a hand over her chest in a little cute wave.

“Okay, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say thank you—” She turns to go, and my hand darts out, grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t go.”

She screws up her face. “You’re confusing. Before, you were funny, and now I feel like some annoying groupie, then you say ‘don’t go’. I’m not good at this, my friends made me come over. Well, them and the tequila—”

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