I tap my chin, considering. “There will be rules.”
He raises one brow. “Yes. I like where your head is at.”
“Rule one.” I clear my throat, making it more official. “Naked sleepover. No one wears clothes.”
Leif’s eyes go dark—feral. He nods once. My legs turn to jelly in response.
“Rule two. No sex. Or foreplay of any kind. It has to be a true chick sleepover.”
Another manly lip bite. My stomach quivers. I’m sealing my own fate with these rules. I want to prove I’m able to set some framework of rules like he tried to do. “Kissing is okay. Just kissing,” I amend, watching his freaking delicious lips as he licks them. “Rule three,” I say, my voice trembling. His eyes on mine, he tips his chin up. “You can’t fall in love with me tonight.”
Leif blinks once, swallows hard, blinks again. “That won’t happen,” he says, voice a husky whisper. “Anything else?”
There are a multitude of things I’m thinking of right now—equations I’m trying to work out in my head because sometimes things in life make perfect sense. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes there’s a fuzzy haze you can’t quite see through, or figure out why it exists. I recognize the haze is there with Leif, but I’m past the point of caring. I’m in deep and utterly addicted to everything that makes him quality, top shelf, goods. “Yeah, sleepovers start with skinny dipping,” I say, dropping my gaze to his hands as they unbutton his pants. When his erection springs free, I lose my breath.
Leif shakes a finger in front of my face. “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not for you. Not during our sleepover.” I take my shirt and bra off and slide my shorts and panties down my legs. He watches, an appraising smirk rising to his lips when I’m completely bare. Bending over, right in front of him, I pick up my clothing from the floor. His dick brushes my ass as I stand. Leif groans. “Though right now I wish it was for you.”
Tossing my clothing on the sofa, I spin to face him. “Me too. Looking at it hard makes me wet,” I reply.
He runs both hands through his hair and down his face. “Torture. That’s what this is going to be. The best kind of torture.” He steps closer and pulls my naked body against his. Leaning down he puts his lips next to my ear. “I make you wet?”
My heart races, and I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears. “Yes,” I pant.
He drags his tongue along my ear, and his cock jerks against my stomach. “Let’s see how wet I can make you.” Leif traces his hands down my sides, creating a wave of desire so strong my legs give out. He catches me and lifts me into his arms until my legs are locked around him, and then he walks out the back door of his condo. Laughing, I bury my face in his neck and close my eyes. I know we’re alone out here. It’s secluded but for his neighbors and there’s tall sawgrass on either side of the path leading around the houses and down to the beach. The waves rush the shore in hisses and bubbles and Leif picks up his pace, running for the water at a speed that scares me.
“You’re going to be so wet after I get finished with you,” he says, breathing raggedly into my ear. “Dripping,” he adds.
“Soaking,” I squeal, readjusting my grip around his neck. “Sopping and soggy,” I cry out in between chuckles. He runs into the cool water and takes us down into the water. It’s pitch black but for the moonlight and his blue eyes search mine. His mouth slants up. “Soggy isn’t good. What about slick?”
“You are slick, you know that?” I return. He pulls us into shallow water, and sits, bringing me on top of him—his huge, hard dick thumping my stomach anytime a wave rolls over our bodies. He eyes the shore, and his condo. “I left my work phone inside,” he says. “Does this count as our sleepover commencement? Skinny dipping.”
“I am dripping wet,” I say, lifting and lowering my shoulders. “The water temperature is nice. I forgot how good it feels to be in the water at night,” I admit, swallowing. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this carefree. I wouldn’t even know how to define that word in my past. It’s meant something completely different to me up until this point.
“Naked. With a man?” Leif asks, drawing my gaze back to him. The shade of his eyes will haunt my dreams. It’s the shade the water is during the day. A light, crisp blue, but right now it’s black. Like oil. A contrast of truth.
“Never naked with a man,” I admit, hugging him closer—the heat from his body warming me. “You’re special, Leif Andersson. You already know that. What about you? Ever skinny dipped with a woman out here?”
He shakes his head. “No skinny dipping with women. Not here. Not anywhere. This is a first. It is sort of nice. And you know just what to say to hook me a little bit more,” he replies.
I smile. He smiles. Then he kisses me sweetly, his hands a whisper touch on my face. “I’m not ahooker,” I murmur.
“I disagree,” he returns, standing up and taking me with him. “You’re a trap. One I’m still not sure fate didn’t set for me. Here in this place I never would have considered living,” he says, sighing. He walks back up the path slowly. “You had me in the water when it wasn’t for work. That’s a huge feat, for your information.”
“Why? You scared of drowning?” I tease, pressing a kiss against his salty neck. “It is dark and scary out here,” I deadpan.
“After endless hours of training in the cold, west coast waters, being in the water is never something I choose to do on my own in my free time. I’m not a sadist.”
“Beach vacays are out of the question then,” I ask as he lifts me out of the water.
He nods. “I prefer snow skiing. Or exploring new cities in different countries. A cruise ship would be my worst nightmare.” He continues as he carries me up the beach.
“You live at the beach, Leif,” I point out as we enter the house. He sets me down, our feet leaving sandy pools of water on the shoe mat.
“I like water sports. Jet skiing and wakeboarding and stuff. But I don’t want to be in the water any more than I have to.”
We do our best to get the sand off our feet and legs and then race to his bedroom, the air conditioning turning our skin frosty. “Speaking of getting in the water. And fun. Let’s hit the showers,” he says, waggling his brow as he scrolls both of his cell phones. It’s hard not to wonder who he’s checking for, or if there’s someone else. That’s my natural instinct as a woman in this century. That’s sad. In this moment, I give all of my preconceived notions away to the trash man. Leif isn’t going to hurt me. He isn’t a normal man. He is good. So good.
I cross my arms. “You’re a walking oxymoron,” I say, rolling my eyes, approaching the bathroom. “And I think it might be what I love most about you.” He beckons me with both of his hands as he cranks on the hot water, and I don’t refuse. His shower is large—two showerheads, one for each of us. I spy a pink bottle of popular women’s shampoo on one side and lose my breath. Don’t bring it up. He has a past just as I do.
