Page 48 of Weather the Storm
Magnolia and Seraphine both laugh, knowing full well I’m joking. “Yeah, yeah, lover boy. Y’all have fun at the beach.” Seraphine’s tone turns wistful, and I can see in Magnolia’s eyes she feels bad her cousin isn’t joining us.
“I wish you were coming,” Magnolia says, embracing her.
“Me too, honey.”
The girls say their goodbyes then I lead Magnolia inside, backing her against the wall. I grip the backs of her thighs and lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I growl into her ear, loving the way she comes alive at my touch.
I rock my hips into hers, and she groans at the contact. “Oh God, Simon.”
Devouring her mouth, I blindly move us to the bedroom. I deposit Magnolia down on the bed and she grips the front of my shirt, pulling me down on top of her.
Lightning fast, we remove one another’s clothes, reveling in each other’s body. Unable to wait a second longer, I slide into her. “So fucking good, Goldilocks. You fit me just right.”
Magnolia answers me with a swivel of her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust. A light sheen of sweat covers us both, and I think she’s close based on the sounds she’s making.
I pick up the pace, and before I know it, we’re both falling apart. “I love you,” Magnolia whispers as she comes down from her orgasm.
“Not as much as I love you,” I reply, pulling out, immediately missing her warmth. “C’mon, pretty girl, let’s get cleaned up and pack so we can head to the beach. I’m dying to see that swimsuit you told me about.”
§
With our bags packed and loaded in Magnolia’s trunk, we make the forty-minute drive to Orange Beach. The GPS tells me my destination is ahead on the right, and I slow, not wanting to miss it.
Not that I could—the house Azalea booked is avocado green and massive, standing two stories tall on stilts. “Good Lord,” Magnolia murmurs as we pull in behind Drake’s truck. “This thing’s like the Jolly Green Giant of beach houses!”
“Let’s go in and find our room. The sooner I get to see you in that swimsuit, the better.”
I grab our bags, and together we make our way up the flight of steps and through the front door. Azalea is in the kitchen, stocking the fridge with groceries. Her little pug, Boudreaux, sits at her feet, his tail wagging and his eyes tracking her movements, just hoping she drops some food for him. Meanwhile, Cash and Drake work together to set up Brody’s hexagon-shaped playpen.
“Y’all having some trouble?” I ask as they bicker over the assembly instructions.
“Yeah, we are,” Drake deadpans. “Swear this shit is written in another language.”
Magnolia moves into the kitchen to help Azalea, and I drop down beside Cash. “Lemme see that.” He hands over the pamphlet, and I study it for a moment. “Well, here’s where you messed up.” I nudge Drake out of the way. “You gotta hook your finger in this here loop and stretch the strap before you tighten the buckle.” I grunt as I pull the strap toward me and manage to secure it.
Footsteps sound from the hall, and Myla Rose steps into the room with Brody on her hip. “Oh my stars! How many men does it take to put together your playpen, B?” She asks the question in that high-pitched voice you only use with babies and animals, and we all laugh, because damn, it shouldn’t have been that difficult.
“Aw, hell!” Cash exclaims.
“What?” Myla asks as she sets Brody down on the floor, where he promptly crawls straight to Cash and holds out his arms for his daddy to pick him up.
“Just realized we gotta take the damn thing back apart to lug it down to the beach.”
At that, we all laugh again. “Nah, look,” I say. “Just press here and here.” I demonstrate, pushing down on two of the side bars, and it collapses into itself. “See? Easy as can be.”
“Fucking brag about it,” Drake mumbles under his breath as he stands and goes to Azalea, reaching down to pet Boudreaux’s head.
Smirking, I say, “Quit being a baby and let’s head down to the beach.”
We all retreat to our rooms to change, and even though I’ve seen her stark-ass naked, Magnolia opts to undress in the bathroom. All I have to do is lose my shirt, which I promptly toss onto the bed.
Five minutes pass, and then ten. I rap my knuckles on the door. “You okay, Goldilocks?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
MAGNOLIA
