that beautiful?
Brooklyn bends her long, creamy, chocolate-colored legs and leans back onto her palms that are splayed out in the sand. She tilts her thin face towards the morning rays, creating an undeniable angelic look. Her fit frame – one that had no trouble convincing my dick to get hard again and again last night when it was covered in this pink, off the shoulder frilly, flowy thing – is on display in an all too familiar bright yellow, one-piece. However, instead of instilling thoughts of safety as it should, it’s causing my cock to knock around in my suit thanks to the way she looks more like a tasty treat that should be melting on my tongue instead of underneath the sun. And to top off the whole image, her thick, wavy, ombre-brown hair that I tried not to picture myself pulling last night, is wound tightly on top of her head giving me the impression she’s ready for business rather than play.
I wonder if I can convince her to come make play her first priority with me and work a distant second.
Distant…distant second.
“What are we gawkin’ at, bro?” E’s bent arm drops down onto my shoulder at the same time he follows my line of vision. The second he spots her, he draws in a breath and approvingly sighs, “Ah, I see.”
Bodhi joins the staring and quickly offers up his agreement. “Definitely the better parts of beach life.”
“I wouldn’t mind inviting her to breakfast,” E slyly suggests.
“Or dinner,” my other friend eagerly adds. “The more gentlemanly approach I do believe.”
“Spoken for,” I promptly announce, doing my best not to growl.
“What the fuck do you mean spoken for?” E scoffs a laugh. “This shit ain’t like when we were in college, bro, and you called ‘dibs’.” He watches me hastily collect my stuff. “Every chick’s fair game.”
“Except her.” My announcement is accompanied by an arrogant smirk. “She’s spoken for.”
E’s expression grows in curiosity. “You sayin’ that shit like she has a boyfriend.”
“Or a husband,” Bodhi cautiously inserts.
“Does she?”
I don’t hesitate to reply, “She has one in the making…catch my drift?”
The announcement crashes over all of us by surprise.
Whoa.
That’s not…that’s not usually my style.
Not only to insist my friends stay the fuck away from someone – I’ve never been that territorial even when it came to the one woman I’ve done everything in my life to forget about – but to assholishly claim her like I’m some sort of outdated version of a caveman where the chick’s opinion doesn’t mean shit.
Obviously, it does.
There’s no question that if she told me to fuck off, I would.
But she didn’t.
And I’ll be doing everything I possibly can to make sure she doesn’t.
Monogamy isn’t exactly a board I’m used to riding, yet it’s the only one that seems right when it comes to the wave known as Brooklyn Headley.
I start to back up her direction and politely postpone breakfast. “One of you pick where we’re going and text me the place. I’ll meet you there.”
Eli playfully pokes, “Just so you know you’re forfeiting your right to complain about whatever we eat.”
His words receive a nod of acknowledgement prior to me turning around to finish my trek to Brooklyn head on.
The instant I arrive at her side, I plop down in the sand, banish my equipment to my right, and teasingly state, “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier I see you burying those beautiful toes of yours in the wet sand.”
Her face immediately lowers to allow our gazes to connect. Humor – something I swear I can’t get enough of seeing in her eyes – hops around hers as she inquires, “Foot fetish?”
“I prefer the phrase feet appreciation.”
A small laugh bounces her full chest, and I have to mentally chastise myself in order to stop from staring at it.
Unlike the Ted Logan twin from last night, I have the fucking willpower not to imagine what an excellent adventure exploring those delicious C cups will be.
Well, at least not right in front of her when I should be paying attention to more important things.
Like the way she typically laughs with a wide-open mouth.
Or the way her head seems to tilt a little more to the left than the right.
Or the way her perfectly painted toes flex like they’re being used in some sort of calming technique.
That one probably has me the most curious.
Feet appreciation reasons, of course, being at the root of it.
Brooklyn tampers down her snickers enough to say, “I take it