Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Nine if you think you can handle it.”
“Nine?!” My tone reaches dog-whistle levels. “You are aware that it’s a vagina and not a broken pinball machine, right? That you don’t just keep shoving things in it, hoping it’ll spit out more tickets, for more prizes.”
His grin becomes annoyingly impish. “I am definitely going to continue to keep shoving things in you.”
Squawks of appalment begin alongside playful swats to his chest. The first couple simply deepen his laughter and the deepening of it merely convinces me to join in on it as he counters being hit by spanking me in return.
Our flirty clowning around comes to a sudden stop courtesy of the doorbell.
In tandem, our attention turns the direction we need to be moving, yet it’s him who speaks first. “You’re sure you don’t mind my cousins staying for the weekend? It’s not too late for me to find them a hotel.”
“They’re family, babe.” I force myself to smile in spite of my returned nervousness. “And this is your house, too. You want them here then they’re welcome to be here.”
“One comment about your tits, and we’re putting them up in a Holiday Inn.”
“What if it’s a compliment?”
A possessive, pouty grunt is given on a good pop of the ass during his stroll by. Swallowing my snickers precedes me rushing over to grab my tan, wide-brim Panama hat, putting it on, and following him out of our room. With each passing step, panic reignites, churning my stomach in the worst ways possible, only ceasing when Tate plants a palm on the small of my back at the same time he opens the door.
“This is a big ass fucking house,” the male with the heavy five-clock shadow loudly states, whistling immediately after. “You sure you’re not renting this shit just to try to impress us?”
“Seguro,” he retorts in Spanish – accent now thicker than I’ve ever heard it – prior to embracing his cousin. Upon parting, my boyfriend gestures his hands towards me. “This is mi vida, Harper.”
My life.
God, every time he introduces me like that, I damn near melt into a puddle at his feet.
The male extends an open hand my direction while flashing me a familiar grin I’m beginning to believe is just genetic. “Felipe.”
“Marie’s oldest, right? Your dad’s Cuban and owns a cabin rental company in the UP? Four other siblings, including two sisters who couldn’t make it?”
“Sí.” His bright brown eyes grow an impressed gaze. “And I hope you know you are way too fucking hot for the little boy standing beside you.”
Another round of unhappy Spanish murmurs is released under his breath forcing me to speak over them, “I think he’s the one too hot for me.”
Felipe tilts his head taunting suspicion. “He bribe you to say that shit?”
“He did, with the promise of his first unborn child.”
“You on that Rumpelstiltskin shit, cuz,” Felipe laughs during his stepping inside with his duffel bag. “Should’ve known. Why else would she let you live in a golden castle?”
“This is some higher roller, royal palace type of shit,” another male states as he moves forward. “Is this where them Doctenn people stay when they come to the states?”
“Pretty sure, mi vida, isn’t friends with The Kenningstons.” He briefly pauses in thought before dropping his volume down to just above a whisper. “Are you?”
The tiny headshake he’s given receives a low exhale of relief.
Why would I know fucking royalty?
And how adorable is it that his cousins make him squirmy like they’re brothers rather than the other type of relative that they are?
“Matias,” the goateed male in the doorframe introduces himself to me with an extension of his open hand.
“Harper.”
His eyes scan my frame, although they spend a little too much time in the cleavage department. “Pleasure.”
“You’ll never have those again if you ever look at mi vida’s tits a second time.”
Matias lightly laughs, greets his cousin with a similar warm hug, and joins his brother inside, suitcase in tow.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact, I had met Tate’s mixed mother – their aunt –, I wouldn’t in a million years ever guess that they weren’t completely from a Latin descendent. Between the golden, sun-kissed skin color and slightly heavy Spanish accent, the thought would never have crossed my mind. They’re actually a pretty good reminder to never assume with your eyes what someone is made up of. I just hope that their mother – like my boyfriend’s – nursed the other side of their heritage, too.
The last cousin, Lazarius aka Laz, appears in the doorway with his hands excitedly thrown up in the air. “Primo!”
Tate keeps his palm in place while the other matches our guest’s gesture. “Primo!”
They engage in a hand greeting rather than a hug at the same time he playfully states, “So, this is what fuckin’ a doctor mornin’, noon, and dirty thirty, can get you?”