“Black. Like my soul.” I laugh.
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing black about your soul.”
Like his compliment, the first hit of liquid warms me from the inside out.
With the cup to my lips, I watch as Cam saunters back to the desk. He doesn’t sit again, but he crouches over the page, scribbles something at the bottom, then folds the paper, slides it in an envelope, and seals it with a swipe of his tongue.I’d like to be that envelope right now.
Millie insisted I spend time with him this morning, even though it’s our last day on the island. Oof, am I glad she was cool with it, because the things that man did to me in the shower… Maybe he’ll let me take a snapshot of his tongue and show the salesperson at a sex shop. I have to stifle a laugh when I imagine marching into the shore, and demandingdo you have anything that resembles this?
“What are you smirking about?” he asks. The tattoo on the inside of his forearm—a circle with a line drawing of clouds, mountains, water, and a path cutting through—snags my attention. It’s simple yet complex all at once.
“Nothing.” I pull my lips between my teeth to hide my smile before draining the last of my espresso and setting it to the side. “Come here.” I pat the mattress next to me.
Cam concedes and drops onto the bed with a groan. Praying my coffee breath overrides my napping breath, I kiss him with more intention than I’ve ever had, then pull back to study him like he’s a work of art.
“What was that for?”
Letting the duvet fall to my lap, I tug at his biceps until he’sflush against my bare chest. I’m going to miss the warmth of his skin against mine; the friction from the heat of our flesh.
He wants to bringusback to New York, like a souvenir. He may have mentioned it a time or two. But I made a commitment to myself. To my writing career. And I won’t let a man distract me. No matter how big his dick is.
“One more O before you go?” His voice is soft, the opposite of his erection, which is now digging into my thigh.
I groan into his lush lips. He smells of mint and coffee. “I can’t.”
He grinds against me in protest.
God, how I wish he could tuck himself between my thighs right now. I’m so wet he’d glide right in with just one thrust.
“Please, Josefine,” he breathes into my neck, causing a cascade of goose bumps.
Just like earlier, when he licked the length of my leg, from my ankle to my hip, and blew over my core through pursed lips.
If it weren’t for the screaming of the cicadas outside our open window, he would hear the pounding of my heart.
“I have a flight to catch and I still need to pack.” I place a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Thanks for getting us an extended checkout, by the way.”
He rests his forehead on mine. “I wish I could keep you just a little longer.”
“What the hell is this?” I guffaw, casting shade at my cousin.
“Oh, that?” Millie’s eyes twinkle.
I shake my head. A mini wooden penis keychain painted with flowers in varying shades of blue hangs from my carry-on bag. Allthe kitschy tourist shops sell them, along with wooden penis bottle openers ofallsizes. I assume the popularity has to do with fertility, like the Penis Festival in Japan, but wouldn’t wooden vulvas make more sense?
“Just a little something to remember your time on Crete.” She winks.
“I don’t think that’s what my dad had in mind when he imagined this trip.” Though I try to fight it, a snort sneaks out.
My bag slips off my shoulder, and Ezra catches it before it hits the ground.
“Thanks,” I say. “I can’t believe we’re on the same flight back to New York.”
Not wanting to draw out our departure, I said my goodbyes to Cam in his hotel room. A clean break is what I was going for, although by the ache in his eyes, it looked like I trashed his heart. When I returned to my room, my cousin was waiting for me with outstretched arms.
I make it through security before Millie, who gets selected for a random pat-down.Yes, pleaseshe mouths, paired with an eyebrow wiggle, when the hot TSA agent approaches. I chuckle when I notice his name tag. She sort of got her Adonis after all. When we meet up, carry-ons in tow and shoes on our feet, she’s homed in on her phone, with a scowl glued to her face.
“What’s wrong? Was Mr. Sexy Security’s inspection not thorough enough?” I tease.
