Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,30

looking elsewhere thanks to him holding my gaze hostage.

Sleeping with him last night probably would’ve been a mistake…

The type that’s delicious, toe-curling, leg-shaking, and mind altering.

Still a mistake.

Especially if either of us wants this to last longer than a couple weeks.

Which, according to the comments from his family last night, is the usual run for his relationships.

I didn’t get to touch on that earlier or more about Harrison and his off-putting wife due to having a conference call; however, those details will be being discussed before we surf on down to Naked Town. It’s not as though I feel like I’m receiving fling treatment, I just wanna make sure I’m not trying to scuba dive if that’s not what the waters are intended for.

“So,” Ax softly starts the next leg of the conversation, “how’d you learn your way around a pineapple?”

“My grandparents, actually.”

“The ones you usually come to this thing with?”

“Right. They taught me how to cut them. Shape them. Create artwork with them and other fruits and veggies, too. It was almost like cheap arts and crafts.”

The poorly phrased statement causes him to chortle.

“Camps and vacations were expensive, especially for two kids. Time with your grandparents was free. Plus,” a sweet smile slithers onto my face, “they wanted to spend time with us. They’re very family-oriented, which in turn made my parents very family-oriented, and eventually us.”

Ax offers me a warm grin as he continues to cut.

“Pineapples have always been a staple in our household. Aside from how tasty and refreshing and versatile they can be when it comes to cooking, they have a more…romantic element to them in our family.”

All of his actions suddenly cease to give me his full attention.

“See, my grandmother had a little street cart where she sold pineapple treats not too far from the shore, which is how her and my grandfather met. Then my mom and dad met at a backyard party where they were serving shrimp and pineapple skewers. My grandparents’ wedding cake was a Trinidad Sponge Cake that they decorated with pineapples to represent the connection, and my parents’ wedding cake was a Pineapple Sunshine one. It was one of the first solid foods my mother was given when she was little and one of the first, we were given as well.”

“Tradition.”

“In a way, yeah. It’s definitely my favorite food and holds many memories with it. I even have a pineapple tattoo.”

“Where?”

I let the corner of my lip curl upwards in a mischievous way.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

My head slowly shakes.

“It’s all good,” Ax unexpectedly concedes at the same time he returns to cutting. “I don’t mind that I have to make that discovery…”

The statement stirs up an undeniable ache between my legs.

God, it’s not like that’s where it’s located. In fact, it’s not even somewhere remotely salacious. It was just more fun to flirt about it than confess, but I can’t pretend the idea of him searching for it doesn’t excite me.

Wonder what will be the tool he uses to assist in his journey?

Fingers?

Tongue?

Both simultaneously?

I chomp down harshly on my bottom lip, which causes Ax to arrogantly chortle under his breath. “Also don’t mind being the one that makes you wet.”

My mouth rushes to deny the bold accusation, regardless of its truth, only to be met by a challenging stare that leaves absolutely no room for disagreement. While his playful side is simply irresistible, his sexually dominating one, the one I know is there from the way he growls, kisses, and loves to have me pinned in place, is irrefutably more intoxicating.

After Ax finally finishes removing the skin of the fruit, I casually explain the different cutting techniques we could use depending on what the desired end result is, decoration or consumption. He decides on the former but reassures we will be doing the latter when we’re finished. I proceed to coach him through the easiest design I can think of. A happy face. He’s handed the proper smaller shaving tools and gingerly instructed on the best methods to create the intended shapes; however, it doesn’t do him any good. To call what he carves out art would be an insult worthy of a bitch slap on a freshly sunburned face. Thankfully, his good-natured spirit never waivers, and he takes the defeat with more dignity than I would’ve guessed.

Our evening easily progresses with more pineapple-based activities. We stroll around admiring impressive pineapple juggling and races where they have to balance the fruit on their heads. We stop for