Naughty Neighbor - Lauren Runow Page 0,61

until now. Until Jake. He’s my muse, and I’m living the fantasy of being my own heroine.

He picks up his pace, and I have to bite my lip, gripping on to him for dear life so I don’t scream out my release as I clench against him, letting the orgasm ripple through me while the water around us splashes.

His lips find mine again as his own release comes inside me. Listening to his gasps and gulps for air only makes the entire moment more special.

Knowing I’m doing to him the exact thing he’s doing to me solidifies it.

For the first time in years, my life is better than fiction.

Chapter Eighteen

“Zip-lining?”

“No.”

“Paddleboarding?”

“Do I look like a guy who paddleboards?”

“Well, what do you have planned for today? I have twenty thousand words to write, so if you’re keeping me off my laptop, it’d better be for a good reason.” Like an insolent teenager, I’m standing with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot and waiting for him to tell me what the day’s itinerary is.

Instead of stating it, he takes a seat in the chair near the window of his bedroom and puts his feet up on the window ledge as he grins. “Changed my mind. Surprise me.”

My foot stops tapping. “Surprise you?”

“Yes. I’d love for you to plan the day for us.”

Despite the cocky grin on his face, I know he’s dead serious. His eyes twinkle, like he’s daring me to take him up on this offer. Good thing I never let a man have power over me, so a dare is something I’ll gladly take.

I grab my phone and fall onto the bed.

“Does this mean you give up?” he asks, sliding his feet off the windowsill.

I lift my head with a scowl. “Hell no. I’m gonna plan the best damn date in the history of dates. Now, go make yourself pretty because we have plans.”

An hour later, we’re in his car, and he’s following directions to the address I put in the navigation system. He looks handsome in his jeans, camel-colored sweater, and brown leather sneakers. The aviator glasses on his face make him the epitome of cool, so I lean over and kiss him on the jaw. Liking the affection, he places a hand on my knee.

I’m pretty impressed with my own outfit I put together today. Skinny jeans—yes, I own a pair—and calf-height boots with a long sweater that falls off my shoulder a little. I have to wear a camisole underneath, and today’s has a hint of lace. I blew my hair out and am wearing a touch more eye makeup. I’m not dressing up to please a man. I just happen to like the way his eyes light up when he sees me dolled up. It makes me feel good inside.

We reach the final destination, and Jake slides his glasses down his nose as he looks up. “You brought me to an orchard?”

“Perfect, I know. Autumn in the Midwest screams apples!”

“Actually, when I think of Wisconsin, I think of cheese.”

“And apples are a perfect pairing. Now, let’s go be super cute and pick some apples.”

We grab a bucket and head to the path that leads toward the orchards, where we can pick our own apples. The views are breathtaking as we stroll the lanes of giant trees ripe with fruit. Parents are taking Instagram-worthy photos of their kids, and couples stroll while families argue over how many apples is too many.

Jake decides that since we have one bucket, we can only fill it with the world’s best, crispiest apples. So, we make it a game. If someone sees a good one, we will stop at nothing to get it. I sit on his shoulders to reach a Red Delicious. He climbs a tree to get a Honeycrisp I’m certain is going to be juicy. I jump like a lunatic until I can reach an Empire.

We play hide-and-seek at the base of trees and then make out like teenagers behind the thick of leaves.

He takes a ton of selfies of us. My favorite is the one with his tongue in my ear while I’m making a crazy face. He likes the one where we’re just looking at the camera, happy and content. It’s actually my second favorite because he has a great smolder in that one.

There’s a corn maze near the main barn, so we run through it, hand in hand, getting wildly disoriented and having no idea how to get out. Luckily, there’s a seven-year-old who

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