“See? I knew you’d like the beach,” he says as he sinks into the water too.
A wave rolls over us, and we bob for a few seconds.
“I do, which is why we needed an erection intervention,” I tell him. “Or I was at a serious risk of showing the good people of Miami the biggest boner of all time.”
He cracks up, dragging both hands through his messy, wet hair. “Thank you for your service.”
I tap my temple. “I’m always thinking.”
His gaze goes warm and lazy. “Not always. When we’re fucking, you stop thinking. And you like it.”
“Yes I do. Also, stop talking about fucking right now.”
“If I must.”
He’s quiet for a second. And I’m about to change the subject, when suddenly, Asher grabs my waist in a tackle. I take a gulping breath before he plunges me underwater. And when I almost choke anyway, it’s from laughing. “You dick,” I say.
“You love my dick.”
True. But I fight back anyway, sweeping his feet out from under him.
Although it’s hard work horsing around with a professional athlete. He rolls, gaining the upper hand, and I have to take another quick breath before he dunks me again.
I’m outclassed in this wrestling match against all his battle-hardened muscles. But my God, the view. I may be losing, but I’m winning at life.
We goof off in the ocean for a long time, and everything about this beach date is perfect.
Including the hammock we find at the edge of the sand when we get out of the water.
“Let’s dry off,” he says.
“Code for make out in a hammock?” I ask.
He curls his hand over my ass as we walk. “You know me so well.”
Maybe I do.
And maybe I like that.
“I think this was made for one person,” Asher announces as he sinks down into the hammock, which hangs between two palm trees.
“Then you better get out,” I tell him.
He scoffs, then reaches for me. “Get in here and get next to me.”
“So bossy,” I say, then slide next to him, the woven rope smushing us together, shoulder to crushed shoulder. “This is comfy.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Banks?”
“All the sarcasm.” But I’m not going anywhere. This is exactly where I want to be. “I could spend the whole day here.”
It comes out like a joke, but it’s all true.
“Same here,” he says, a dry note in his voice too. And he’s not moving either.
Maybe we’re both saying the same thing—that we don’t want to go.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.
I’m honestly not sure what’s happening in my mind anymore or my dumb heart. Everything just feels good with Asher. Like a drug, a hit of the best stuff.
And all I want is to stay intoxicated.
So I shift my body, a task which isn’t the easiest while lazing in a roped swing. But I soldier on, the hooks of the hammock creaking as I turn toward him, then brush my lips along his neck.
“Mmm. Do that again,” he rasps out.
“With pleasure,” I say, and I rub my jaw across his.
He sighs softly, a throaty rumble finishing off the sound. And for the first time ever, I feel like I’m seducing him.
It’s a good feeling, and it drives me on.
I brush another soft kiss to his warm skin, then loop my hands through his damp strands. “Floofy when wet too,” I whisper, but he has no time to protest since I nip his earlobe, and the moan that falls from his lips is my reward.
I take my time, coasting lazy kisses along his neck as his hand slides down my side, his leg hooking over mine.
We’re not quite indecent, and that feels right too. This afternoon delight. I want to stay here forever—on vacation with him, my body floating in this state of suspended desire, his husky voice gliding over my skin. “I meant what I said about last night, Banks,” he says. “I enjoyed it just as much as . . .”
I can’t hide my smile even as I deflect. “You did not.”
He grabs my hand, threads his fingers through mine. “I did, Banks. Trust me, I did.”
And I decide to trust that it’s the truth. “Me too. I think,” I say. “I remember maybe five seconds.”
“You were out of it, and it was still . . . good for me.”
My chest squeezes. Why does he have to say those things?
“I liked your text too,” I say, pushing the limits with that barest admission. “That was good for me,” I add, using his words, since it’s easier than coming up with my own right now.
“I'm not always an arrogant dick,” Asher says with a naughty hum in his voice, tracing circles on my hip bone with his thumb.
“Every now and then you're not,” I tease. “Will you miss Flip when he’s busy being a dad?” I ask, since that’s got to be on Asher’s mind. I called him the wingman for a reason. That’s what they are to each other.