Hello.
I’ve seen those movies, read those books.
You don’t leave the path. EVER.
I dig in, planting my feet on the well-traveled path. Vik, of course, just grins at me. That smile of his... I’m in so much trouble.
“Problem, babe?”
I point to the trail (such as it is—it’s not like he’s taking me down a well-paved highway with sanctioned rest stops). “This is where we want to be, honey buns.”
Every time he calls by one of his ridiculous nicknames, I’m trying on a new one for him. I Googled an entire list and have them stored on my phone.
He tugs lightly on my hand. “Trust me.”
And tugs again.
Somehow, just like that, I’m following him off the path and into the brush. After our closet encounter earlier today, I’m ready to jump him again. But we have to establish some boundaries, and I do need to get on with my life. I can’t keep letting him do whatever he wants.
But as always, Vik squashes all my logical objections simply by tucking me into his side. He blazes a new path, holding the thornier branches aside for me, and making sure I’m good. If I have to have an up-close-and-personal encounter with Mother Nature, this isn’t a bad way to do it. Vik smells fantastic, too, all leather and man instead of the usual Burberry Eau de Toilette I breathe in at work. He hums a heavy metal tune. Since the last time he came over humming he left me with a Metallica earworm, I’m prepared today. I review my Disney princess knowledge and get my Pocahontas on. Bet my rendition of “Just Around the Riverbend” can drown out his rock tunes.
He shoots me a sidelong glance and hums louder. I counter, and before long we’re both shout-singing at the top of our lungs. God, he’s the best kind of jackass. If there’s any nature around here, it’s completely drowned out by our noise. Ryan Seacrest will not be begging us to join American Idol anytime soon.
“Time to stop.” Vik slaps a big hand over my mouth and I nip lightly at his fingers. Gag me, will he? I’m about to up the ante and bite something else when I hear the water.
I push his hand away. “Are we swimming?”
He swats my butt. “You bet.”
The swimming hole comes into view, the blue-green water so clear that I can see the rocks on the bottom. Vik drops the bags by the side of the creek and shucks his jacket and vest, hanging them on a branch. Then he hauls his T-shirt over his head. Pleasure explodes through me. I love watching him, the way he moves so confidently, attacking life head-on. And even though I should question the stripping-down-in-public thing, I don’t. I just stand and stare.
He laughs, the sound low and rough. “Get naked, Harper. I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”
He makes it sound simple, as if we’re not outside where anyone could see us. This section of the river may be private, but there can’t possibly be any truly secret swimming holes near Vegas. It’s too hot, the weather too perfect for a dip, for those secrets to be kept for long. And yet I start to undress, sliding off the cute, wine-colored leather jacket I impulse-bought online after our first ride together. I toe off my boots, peeling my socks off even more quickly because stripteases are for satin and silk, not moisture-wicking cotton. Vik’s shed his own boots, and his hands work his belt open.
“Let me,” I whisper, and his fingers still on the buckle.
“Babe?”
I don’t want to be babe or sweetheart or any of the half a dozen other pet names he probably uses on the women who come and go in his life. I want him to see me, to need me the way I’m starting to need him. I drop to my knees in front of him and finish what he’s started.
The buckle gives beneath my fingers, and then I’m unbuttoning his jeans, forcing myself to move slowly, to wait for his heated curse, even though I want to take him now, to swallow him whole and hang on to him, adding more perfect moments to my secret collection. I cup his balls through the denim. The hot, heavy weight fills my palm, a hard promise of what this man can do for me.
“Please,” I whisper.
Vik’s hands tangle in my ponytail, tilting my head back. He’s fighting for control, but I want him all the way undone, and instinctively I know this is the way to do it. Just as soon as I undo the buttons, he’ll be all mine.
I add another moment to my collection as I hold him, wrapping my palms around the thick, hard length, fingertips tracing a dirty song over him. He makes a rough noise, but it’s not enough. I want all of him. I lean closer and exhale, my chin bumping against his dick.
He groans. “Stop teasing, princess, and open up.”
I glance up at him through my lashes, letting him see the laughter and lo—no, the pleasure I have in doing this for him. With him. Each memory that I’m adding to an ever-growing string of favorite moments. This. Kissing him, touching him, adding a different kind of pearl necklace to my dirty collection... I want it.
I want him.
I press my lips against him and he freezes. There’s nothing between us and if it feels good to me, it must feel even better for him. The rough curse he lets loose when I rub my cheek against him seems like a good sign. So I make him
