it’s fun and there’s no one to see us. It’s nice to not be serious and that’s the whole point of us, isn’t it? To have fun? While she hums to the music, I wrap my hands around her waist.
“Leap.”
“What?”
“Leap.”
I lift her up even as she shrieks. “Jesus, Reed.”
“Live a little. Let your inner princess ballerina person out.” I do it again.
“That makes absolutely no sense.” Her hands close around mine, but she doesn’t push me away.
It’s more like playing leapfrog, but we’re both laughing together as I bounce her across the length of the terrace. When we pass the bedroom door for the second time, I set her down.
I’m giving in to temptation but I’m meeting her halfway. I lower my head to hers and kiss her there in the open doorway, with the ocean behind us and the bedroom in front. She meets me, her hands sliding up over my shoulders as I cup her face. I need her so badly.
I need her and I’m going to take what I want from her. Her tongue licks over my lower lip, tasting. Fuck. She bites down and I automatically suck in a breath. She takes advantage, her tongue slipping into my mouth when I want to make us both wait because this is the best thing that will happen all day and I don’t want to rush it. I don’t want it to be over.
I pull away, but that’s not what I want, either. Brown eyes watch me come closer...
Closer.
Closer.
My hands palm her ass, then I lift her up so she can wrap her legs around my waist. She kisses me as if she owns me, deeper, harder. I can hear the small, hungry sounds we’re both making despite the mariachi band. Hazel swirls her tongue against mine, sweeping back inside my mouth as if we’re doing this her way. She’s the only woman I’ve ever known who even kisses bossy. I’m not letting her take charge. She doesn’t get to rush this. I slow our kiss, moving my lips more slowly over hers, drinking her in. She angles her head, trying to kiss me deeper. Not yet.
We kiss-dance, moving in a lazy circle.
“My dance,” I whisper roughly against her pretty mouth. Hazel hesitates and then she lets me take over.
Holy fuck, does she ever give me the wheel.
I won’t disappoint her.
I keep right on kissing her as I walk her toward our bed. Her arms wrap around my neck, her heels dig into my ass, her hips rolling and grinding against my dick. The sounds she makes now are even better than the squeal she made earlier.
I set her down on the bed, but she pops right back up. Her hands drag my T-shirt upward.
“Strip,” she demands. Okay, so the whole letting-me-take-over thing didn’t last long. Hazel always goes for what she wants.
“Ladies first.”
“Together.”
Fair enough. I take a step back and strip off my shirt. For some reason, I don’t want to make a game of it. I just want to be naked with Hazel, but she’s in the mood to tease me—I slow down so I can give her the audience she deserves. She’s wearing a tank top made out of some white material that poofs out around her chest, hiding her from view, and a pair of loose white linen pants. She’s wearing leopard-print sandals and long gold earrings that brush her shoulders. Her toes are painted white with gold polka dots that match her jewelry. She looks elegant and put-together, so, of course, I want to mess her up, to make her look like sex.
The tank top goes first. She slides one strap down her sun-bronzed arm—she’s been to the salon for one of those Mystic Tan spray jobs—and then she flicks the second off. When she shimmies, the whole thing slides over her hips and onto the floor.
I reach out a hand and trace the curve of her breast where it swells above the cups of the bra. The edge of her nipples peek out of their tiny, lacy nests. The bra is a miracle of white and lace, the fragile, gauzy fabric dotted with tiny, silvery polka dots. Apparently Lola is not the only one who went lingerie shopping. A smirk curves Hazel’s lush, pink mouth. I’m staring.
“You like it?” She cups her boobs and arches her back just in case I missed anything. I’m accustomed to paying attention and I lean forward and show my appreciation with my tongue.
I taste her, licking