Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

All right. We’re at the beach. It’s a socially acceptable excuse to strip to almost nothing.

To take look at us, practically fucking pictures in almost nothing.

I kick off my sandals, toss my t-shirt over my head, do away with my shorts.

Leighton lets out a soft sigh.

Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t think you were a Speedo guy. But uh… You, uh…”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Really?”

“And that?”

“Aren’t we shallow?” She bends at her waist and digs through her bag.

Fuck, that swimsuit is tight.

I can see every line of her folds.

My eyelids press together.

For a second, I see it—that bikini on the ground, my fingers in her cunt, her hands around her ankles.

I force myself to avert my eyes. Wait for her to find her phone, up the brightness, decide exactly how she wants to frame this.

“There.” She motions toward the ocean. “I’ll get all that blue in the background. Bring out those beautiful eyes.”

I move to my right. Turn toward her. Cop my best I’m at the beach and I’m happy to be here pose.

She laughs. “Just… do your thing. Stare. Smile. Whatever inspires you.”

“You sound like a photographer.”

“I considered that.” She moves closer. Stares at the viewfinder as she frames a picture. “But I like being inside, in a quiet room, by myself.” Click.

“I get that.”

“You choose to work with people.”

“‘Cause it’s fucking amazing.”

“It is.” She moves behind me. “You help people. I know you don’t see it. But I do.” Click.

“Thanks. You could—”

“You already won this round.” Click. “I’m letting you set up that website. Stop gloating.”

My chest warms. I stare at the bright blue sky. Follow the horizon south, past the Santa Monica pier, past the curve of Marina Del Rey, all the way to the smog of Long Beach Harbor. “I’m proud of you.” The words aren’t enough. I need more.

I need to touch her.

Hold her.

But not the way I want to congratulate the guys.

And not quite the way it was with Penny.