Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I smile and wave at them. I do love it here on this island, living in this decadent mansion. I could get used to it so easily. Living on a ranch in Montana?
Good lord, no.
Why am I even letting my mind go there? Damn River, anyway, for being so bloody perfect except for his location.
But my thoughts are getting ahead of me.
I’m here for a reason, and I need to remember it.
Once my water bottle is full, I trek out to the beach. The sun has risen but is still low in the east.
Damn. I forgot sunscreen. It’s a must for my fair skin. I don’t want to go back in, though, so it will have to be a shorter run this morning. I reach the beach, kick off my flip-flops, and run toward the ocean.
It’s blue and sparkling, and the waves beckon me. I bound toward them, getting my ankles wet, and then I move away from the shore to the drier sand, following the water as the softness of the sand yields under my soles, such a stark contrast to running on the pavement in the city or even on the grasses of Central Park.
Normally I would have earbuds in, but this morning I listen to the glorious waves crashing gently, the morning calls of the birds overhead—a symphony of the sea. The ocean breeze drifts over me, and occasionally a spray of saltwater refreshes my skin. I adjust my pace, syncing my breath with the steady rhythm of my strides, feeling a sense of freedom and connection to the natural world around me.
The heat of the sun reminds me of the sunburn that will follow if I’m not careful, so after about two miles, I slow down and run back to where I started, chugging water from my bottle and squirting it onto my face as I go.
Panting, I drop to the sand and drink the remainder of my water. I feel less connected to the sweaty tangle of River’s thick thighs between mine. To the memories of our bodies knitted together in sleep.
As my head clears, I realize I’m ready for coffee and a shower. I need both badly.
I walk toward the mansion, stopping at the pool house. There is dry clothing in my locker. Perfection. No one is here, so I head straight to the shower, wash up, and then walk naked out to the hot tub for a dip.
“Oh!” I gasp.
The hot tub is no longer empty.
Brett sits on the edge, dangling his feet in the bubbling water. He’s wearing light-blue trunks. A large glass of orange juice sits next to him.
He looks up. “Good morning,” he says.
“Hello.” I resist the urge to cover myself. He was with Ariel, Ginger, Rachel, and me the first night while we were in the tub, so he’s already seen my tits right here as well as on the dance floor. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“Just got here. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not. I went on a beach run, and I thought a hot tub would be heavenly.”
“Help yourself.” He gestures to the steaming water.
“Aren’t you going to get in?” I ask.
“Yup.” He slides into the tub.
I sit on the edge next to him, eyeing the orange juice. “That looks delicious. May I steal a sip?”
He nods, leaning back. “Knock yourself out.”
I pick up the glass and bring it to my lips. It is indeed delicious, but it’s more than orange juice. It’s a screwdriver—except it’s not. There’s a distinct taste of bourbon.
“It can’t even be eight o’clock yet, Brett,” I say. “What the hell is this?”
He smiles. “It’s a slow comfortable screw.”
“And that is...”
“OJ, southern-style bourbon, and sloe gin.”
“Seems a little off-brand for you, doesn’t it?”
“It’s been a night,” he says. “Hell, it’s been only two days, and it feels like almost a lifetime.”
He’s not wrong.
“Would you be more comfortable if I put a bathing suit on?” I ask. “You know, seeing as you’re not naked.”
He laughs then—a big, bellowing laugh—which is completely contrary to his demeanor only a moment ago. “You’re kidding, right? Cover up that gorgeous body? I don’t think so, Emily. You’re a feast for the eyes. In fact...I’d love to see more of you.”
I take another sip of his drink, set it down, and slide into the tub next to him. “I’m not sure what more of me you could see,” I say. “I’m naked as the day I was born, as you can well perceive.”
He turns to me, his blue eyes narrowed. “You could spread your legs. Let me see that hot pussy.”
My skin heats—and not from the warm bubbling water. “Do you plan on putting on goggles and a snorkel, then? Looking at me underwater?”
He strokes my shoulder. “No. I want you to sit on the edge of the tub across from me. I want you to spread those beautiful legs, Emily, and I want you to stroke yourself. Make yourself come.”