My Kind of Perfect (Finding Love 3)

“I’m hoping a little alcohol will help with my nerves,” she admits.

“Hot dog?” I point at the food.

“Yeah, can we grill it on the fire?” she asks, her face lighting up.

I chuckle. “Of course.”

I pile a couple dogs on one plate and the ingredients to make s’mores on another so I won’t have to come back up. Georgia makes us a plate of sides, and then we head down to the beach.

It’s a nice night out, with only just enough breeze to make it cool and comfortable. We find two open seats and get situated. Thomas is sitting next to us with his wife in his lap. They must’ve gotten a babysitter because I don’t see either of their kids running around.

“What’s up?” I say, jutting my chin toward him.

“Date night.” He grins.

After making introductions between Georgia, Thomas, and his wife, Hilary, we stick our dogs on a couple of skewers and hold them over the fire.

“You okay?” I ask Georgia quietly.

“Yeah.” She glances over at me and smiles. “This is nice.”

We watch our dogs cook, turning them until they’re wrinkly and dark brown, then we remove them and drop them into our buns.

“Mmm,” she moans, taking a bite of her hot dog. “How is it that it tastes better cooked like this?”

I laugh and take my own bite, ignoring the way her moaning hits me straight in the dick. It’s damn good. Crispy and cooked through.

“Looks like your first cooking mission was a success,” I joke.

Georgia laughs. “I saved a couple of recipes online that I want to try.”

“Once you know they’re good, remember I’m your taste tester.”

She cracks up. “You’re supposed to try them to tell me if they’re good.”

I just shrug, taking another bite.

“Want some potato salad?” she asks, holding a forkful up.

“Sure.” I’m about to set my hot dog down, when Georgia leans over and feeds me the bite, before taking her own. I watch as she enjoys the food, moaning and smiling with every bite. Georgia was right, she loves food.

“I’m going to make a s’more,” she says, pushing a marshmallow onto the skewer and then hanging it over the fire. I watch her while she watches the marshmallow. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me, but I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she scrunches her nose up in concentration. How every once in a while, she drags her tongue across the seam of her plump lips, wetting them. I’ve been with several women in the last year, in more intimate positions, but none of them entranced me the way Georgia does without even trying.

“Shit,” she hisses. “I burned it.”

Reluctantly, I tear my gaze from her to see what she’s talking about and find a charcoal black marshmallow engulfed in flames at the end of her skewer. “Here, let me help you,” I say, taking the skewer from her and flicking the burned marshmallow off, then adding a new one.

“I wanted to do it.” She huffs, her mouth forming a cute as fuck pout.

“C’mere.” I nod toward my chair. She stands, unsure where I want her, and I grab her around the waist, pulling her into my lap. “Now, the key to making the perfect marshmallow is to cook it evenly,” I explain.

Placing the skewer in her hand, I wrap mine around hers. She leans back slightly to get comfortable, and with her face near mine, I can smell her sweet scent. I don’t know what it is, but it’s soft and feminine. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I run my nose along her neck.

Georgia stiffens, and I immediately stop. “Sorry,” I murmur. “You smell good.”

“It’s Moonlit Path.”

“Moonlit Path has a scent?” Weird.

She giggles. “Yes, it’s what you’re smelling.”

“Well, okay then.” I extend her skewer. “To make it perfect, you have to constantly turn the marshmallow in a three hundred and sixty degree circle. If you stop too long, the fire will attack it.”

“And then burn it,” she adds, like the fire has personally offended her by burning her marshmallow.

Slowly, we turn the skewer around and around until the entire marshmallow is a perfect golden brown. “All right, grab the graham cracker and chocolate,” I tell her, pulling the skewer back.

She bends over to grab the plate and pushes against my dick. I let out a grunt and she pops up. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

No, you just woke up my cock and now it wants some attention… “I’m okay,” I croak out.

“Here you go.” She holds up the plate, and I lay the marshmallow on the chocolate.

“Close it.” She places the graham cracker on top, holding it down, so I can pull the skewer out. “All right, try it.” I nod toward the snack. She lifts it up and takes a big bite, then sets it back down. Because of the hot marshmallow, melted chocolate drips out and coats her lips. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to swipe my tongue across her chocolate-covered lips and taste her.