Page 57 of Boneyard HEA

There’s no other offer from him, no reason apart from that it’s breakfast, but I can see the thought in his gaze. Sitting here only looks innocent and normal.

“Poquito?”

“Means little woman who bites off dicks.” He deadpans that. I’d google it if I had my phone.

I take a bite, chew it then swallow, and he feeds me more. My toes are curling up at the sexual undercurrent from this intimate gesture.

“You two.” Mr. Loxland shakes his head. “Why is this giving me a hard-on?”

“Because we’re imagining something else in her mouth?”

It hits me a second later, that other word he used, and I feel myself going red, and I’m going to burst if I don’t say something. I snort, and, laughing into my hand, I exclaim, “Your snorkels?” More food sprays. Then I sit there with both hands covering my face, tears running down my cheeks, while I laugh uncontrollably for what seems forever.

I peek through my fingers to see two very stern expressions which only triggers more laughter. Half the café seems to be looking.

“Ten demerits?” Mr. Loxland says.

“Fifty,” Tomás adds, ever the man of few words.

“Oh dear.” I wipe away the tears. “Sorry?”

I just gave them so many excuses to do things to me, which is becoming a habit. I’m getting the hang of living life while also remembering the sadness. It all comes and goes, in hills and valleys, and it’s normal and what everyone must do. I can do this.

I draw a deep, deep breath.

I can.

Zasha

“Are we ready to go? We are. Good. I will see you there. Make sure Karsten knows his role. He says Tomás is a good man, yes? Da. Da. As long as we can get in. We will see what to do, once we know more. Enough. We talk later.”

20

The infinity pool is outside, between the beach and the resort, at the rear of the hall the CNC Frat used for the other party. Broad, sandstone stairs descend from the patio that runs the length of the hall. I follow Mr. Loxland down them, sandals in hand, my translucent sarong floating in the air and brushing my body. A late morning breeze washes in from the beach past the pool’s invisible edge. Above half of the pool a ripple-patterned shade cloth shields those already splashing about in the water. Splashing and fucking, of course.

“How do they not wear out their bits?” I muse.

From behind, Tomás replies. “Have you worn yours out?”

“Not yet,” I murmur.

“Give us time. You’re to call me sir, today.”

His South American accent has a certain something I love. Is it just because it’s different from the Australian one I’m used to? I’m still mulling over why when he takes my shoulder and halts me then pushes me against the stone support wall of the patio. With his knee wedged between my legs, he kisses me—a long, sultry fucking dominant kiss that warms me in all the wrong and right places.

He pulls away but stays only inches away. His breath caresses my lips. “Answer me.”

I’m panting lightly and have to swallow before I reply. I’m definitely warmer, plus his thigh is pressing on intimate places. “Umm. Yes, Sir?”

“Good girl.” He cups my face. “If you forget, I will sew your pussy together, one stitch for every transgression. Every. Single. Time you forget.”

“What.” My voice has gone husky and these two… Over his shoulder I can see Mr. Loxland watching us. They have me responding like a little clockwork toy. “Sir,” I hurriedly add. “If you do that, I’ll be like…”

“I’d have to stitch you everywhere? It’s only for today. Entender? Understand?”

“Okay. Sir. And if you keep pressing there, I might come.”

He chuckles.