"No, you don't." He kisses the corner of my mouth. Then my jaw. Then that spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. "You really, really like me."
"I'm reconsidering."
"Liar."
He's right. Which is infuriating.
"And… you taste like sunshine," he murmurs against my skin, and it's so ridiculous and so sincere that I bark a laugh.
"That's not a real flavor."
"It is now." His teeth graze my earlobe and my entire spine liquefies. "Sunshine and salt and that coconut lotion you put on after your shower."
"It was free. From the resort basket."
"I know. I watched you apply it. Twice."
"Creep."
"Admirer." His hand slides up to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple with maddening patience. "There's a distinction."
The afternoon light pours through the casita windows in gold slats, painting stripes across our tangled sheets, our tangled legs, the discarded sundress on the floor that didn't survive the first ten seconds after we step back into the casita.
Round two ended maybe ten minutes ago. West doesn't seem interested in letting me recover.
His mouth finds my nipple and I arch into it, fingers threading through his hair. "West—"
"Mm." Not a question. An acknowledgment. Like he's heard me and decided to overrule whatever I was about to say.
His tongue circles, slow and deliberate, and my thighs press together under the sheet.
"You can't just—" I start.
He switches to the other breast. My protest dissolves into a sound I'll deny making later.
"That's unfair," I manage.
"What is?"
"You. This. The way you—" His hand slides between my thighs and my thought process exits stage left. "I was trying to form a sentence."
"Take your time."
"Impossible when your hand is—oh."
He grins against my skin. I can feel it. The curve of his mouth pressed to the swell of my breast while his fingers find exactly the spot that makes my hips roll into him.
"Round three?" he asks, like he's offering me a refill on coffee.
"I can't feel my legs from round two."
"I'll do all the work."
I make a noise that's half-protest, half-please-don't-stop.
"You're insatiable," I murmur.
"You're distracting." His voice is low, amused. "Lying here. Looking like that."
