Page 49 of Sand in My Boots

“Came,” I groan, giving in, putty in his hands.

“In ten minutes, I will have.”

His arms release from my shoulders, and he drags me by the waist up onto the bed. Flat on my back, I don’t have time to pretend my body’s not humming with anticipation.

Our gazes locked, he trails a finger down the side of my face. “Foreplay’d up enough?”

“Um . . . ” He scrambled my brain, not that it takes much with him.

“I’m gonna go with yes.” With his forearms caging me, he lowers his head, his lips resting beside my ear. “For the record, later tonight, I’m going to draw this out, torture you until you’re pushed to the edge so many times, you’ll be begging me for release. But for now, I’m amending my ten minutes to seven.”

The minute his tongue touches my clit, I’m done and gone for.

Five minutes.

That’s how long it ultimately takes Cameron to get me off. And it only takes that long because he brings me to the edge and then backs off at least once, if not twice. The sneaky bastard.

Now we’re on the way to the pool. The humidity outside doesn’t seem as stifling today. Maybe it’s because of the foot massages. Or the orgasm. Or maybe it’s the man walking next to me. Our fingers interlace together at his insistence. When people recognize him as part of the staff, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he tightens them so I can’t.

“They serve any other good drinks here? I think I’m all mai tai’ed out.”

“They’ll make you whatever you want. There’s a ‘drink of the day’ at each of the bars throughout the resort, but since I don’t make a habit of hanging out at the swim-up bar on the regular, I couldn’t tell you what they are.”

“You should make that more of a habit. Seems like it would be a fun thing.”

“I’ll let you know after this afternoon. Since there will be some fun being had at the pool today.”

“You joining me in day drinking?”

“It will up the fun factor. Though it’s not like fun’s been lacking in the past few days, pumpkin.”

A guffaw jumps out of me. “You had to ruin the sentiment of the compliment with that pet name.”

“Heard it too, but was already committed. Couldn’t stop it. I’ll keep working at it.”

I adore his dedication to finding a pet name for me. Even if it goes nowhere past this week. It’s the thought that counts.

Through the gate, I spy Erica and some of the other members of the wedding party. Naomi, the girl who originally introduced me to the indie romance community, lounges on a nearby chair. Happiness lights my insides. Though we keep in touch fairly regularly, we live in different parts of the country and don’t get to hang out often.

“You can meet Naomi. She’s the girl I was telling you about at dinner the other night, how I first got involved with my current job.”

“The one in which you stare at handsome men day in and day out.” His expression remains the same, but there’s a jealous undertone to his jab.

I slap his T-shirt-clad chest. “There’s more to my job than that.” While I think he’s only partly joking, I can’t help but turn it back on him. “Says the man whose job it is to watch rich women parade around in short tennis skirts. I’m merely drooling over images of these men.”

He opens the gate, gesturing me in first. “And yet, I haven’t seen any drooling over the dreamboat occupying your bed as of late. I better up my game.” His voice lowers, not just the volume but the tenor, too.

Heat overwhelms me, my cheeks flaming the same color as my red bikini. We’re still far enough away from my friends that they won’t be able to see it, but still. I don’t need more questions than I’m inevitably going to get.

“Juli! Hey, over here. We saved you a seat.” Erica’s voice rings out above the din of the crowd.

For the middle of the August day, the pool isn’t very crowded. It’s our group and a few scattered people occupying other chairs. Scanning my eyes over the group surrounding Erica, I can’t help but notice it’s only the girls. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence or intentional.

“Um, you may not be welcome,” I whisper to Cameron, slowing our strides.

“Why the heck not?” Surprise leaks into every word.

I want to tell him delicately, yet “You have the wrong parts,” trickles from my mouth.