Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

Hovering way above both our heads, my trusty Kindle is a million miles away when things take a turn for the worse. And by that I mean he starts reading.

“Why are there so many highlights?”

“Give it back!”

“All these words are highlighted…temerity?” he muses out loud with a puzzled frown. “Why temerity?”

“As in, where do you get the temerity to steal my Kindle?!”

“Why is temerity highlighted?” When I answer with a glare, he glances back at the Kindle, mischief written in the lazy upturn of his mouth.

“Suit yourself.” He exhales. “Ben had the temerity to want, the audacity to desire––that was his crime. One that could ruin him.” Grant stops reading to shoot me an inquisitive look. Not finding any answers, he shrugs and returns to his task.

I can already foresee the trashing I’m going to get for this. Desperate circumstances and all that, I jump him. I’ve got a death grip on his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, and he doesn’t so much as bat a thick dark lash. I’m stuck whereas all this does for him is free up his arm to hold my Kindle as far away from me as possible.

“He wanted Jake to spread his ass cheeks apart…” His eyes narrow and his mouth puckers. This should be interesting.

“He wanted Jake’s tongue where no man had ever been before…Jesus,” he continues in a few decibels lower, the sound reverberating against his chest and punching me straight in the sacral chakra. The privates––in layman’s terms. If he retires, he should consider a second career in audio narration. His voice is pure decadence. Listening to him read makes me think of objects being swept off of a table and crashing to the floor in a sexual frenzy. Good thing I did not go with the natural rock deodorant today.

“Ben pushed a finger inside of himself, his eyes falling shut as he imagined Jake’s cock––” A flaming burst of color spreads across his cheeks, the skin on the back of his neck growing warm and humid under my fingertips. “I’ve seen enough,” he mutters.

Knowing that Hendricks is a blusher just slays me. This delightful bit of news should have me in fits, rolling around on the ground cackling. And yet I’m not cackling. Far from it.

His chin slowly lowers until our eyes lock, noses inches apart. His lids grow heavy and it becomes increasingly clear that we should not be touching. Like––ever. I dislodge my legs from his waist and my feet fall to the sand with a thud. They are two slabs of beef. Inanimate objects. I can barely feel them, my attention wrapped up in the powerful man I was climbing like a koala on a eucalyptus tree.

Remembering some sense of decorum, I clear my throat and try to push away, only to be met with resistance. His arm snakes around my waist and keeps me there, glued to him, skin to hot sweaty skin.

“Why are the words highlighted?” he murmurs so quietly I have to read his lips.

I shake my head. Handing over sensitive information to this ham-fisted oaf who could very well use it against me when it serves him is out of the question. I don’t care how attractive the oaf is from this distance. And he is, I will begrudgingly admit.

I go to grab my Kindle and he jerks his arm away, causing me to lean on him. It throws us both off-balance. He falls back, crashing into the sand, and takes me with him. A loud grunt bursts out of him as he unwillingly absorbs the full brunt of my weight.

Gracelessly scrambling off, I fall to my knees beside him and watch in horror as his face pinches, his lower lip trapped between his teeth in what is undoubtedly pain.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, your back!! Grant! Grant, are you okay!” I pet his face, his chest, he grunts. His shoulders, his abs, his face, he grunts again. “Should I call 911?”

His face goes absolutely smooth––right before he bursts into laughter, deep belly laughter. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him slowly.

“You missed a spot.”

If I wasn’t absolutely certain I’d break my fingers, he’d be the unhappy recipient of an upper cut to the chin, knocking that half-cocked grin right off his pretty face. “I thought you were hurt!” Shoving him, I get up and go to rescue my Kindle from the shoreline…and watch it drift up the beach on a tide.

I’m going to cry. I’m definitely going to cry. It’s wet, fine grains stuck in every nook and cranny. I try to dry it off and brush away the sand but that proves a complete waste of time and effort.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me by my first name,” he says, the chuckles slowly petering out. “I kind of like it.”

I turn to look at him with resentment shooting from my eyes. He’s up on an elbow, lounging, his gaze slow-roaming all over my body. “Hope you enjoyed it because your new name is asshole!”