Page 39 of The Paradise Problem

My tongue feels too big for my mouth. Thank God she managed to get it on with those nails, because I never would have survived having to tie those flimsy straps around her back. “I need to shower.”

“I see that, Mr. Shirtless.” I frown, and she laughs, amending, “Sorry. Of course, I meant Professor Shirtless.”

I turn to walk inside, but she stops me with a hand on my arm. The muscles of my stomach jump with the contact. “Just be quick, okay, because we have kayaking in an hour, and I want to grab something to eat first.”

“Kayaking?” I shake my head and walk toward the bathroom. “Pass.”

Anna follows me. She’s loosely made the bed, but it still looks rumpled. Slept in. By both of us. I squeeze my eyes shut against the reminder.

“You can’t pass,” she says. “It’s on the official itinerary.”

“It’s not like they’ll fine us if we don’t show up to everything.”

“Sounds good. I’ll send a message to your mom that we’re too busy having kinky sex to see anyone today. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

My brain shorts out before I can formulate a response.

She glowers at me. “It’s your sister’s wedding, you cyborg. You’re a groomsman.”

I sigh. I know she’s right but I’m already sleep-deprived and functioning on less than full brain power today. I’m not sure I’m capable of dealing with both my family and Anna in this suit after last night. “Fine.”

But she doesn’t move. I raise my eyebrows. “Hello?”

“What?”

Her eyes are focused on my bare chest, and I feel a current of satisfaction at seeing her derailed, too. Perhaps she doesn’t remember what showering in this tropical goldfish bowl means. It means I’ll be standing in a very beautiful but very open tiled corner at the back of the room.

Fuck it.

I reach up, tucking my thumbs into my waistband and dropping my shorts to the bathroom floor.

“Oh!” Anna jerks a hand over her eyes. “Your Goddamn! Right there!” She turns away. “Sorry! I just—spaced out—on your—God. And you’re not even harrrrrrr—Fuck me.” She coughs. “Okay. I’ll just meet you down at the restaurant.”

I see her shadow pass by the window near the bedroom, hear her footsteps grow distant as she jogs down our bridge. I hold my breath, waiting a few seconds longer until I’m sure she’s gone before I turn on the water and step beneath the spray. With the memory of the heat of her leg over my hips, the view of her in that tiny bikini, and the echo of her soft breath in my ear, now I am hard.

And I take my aching length in my hand imagining—just one time, only this one time—that it’s her bringing me relief.

* * *

BY THE TIME I make it to the beach, the wedding party is gathering around Eko, the activity host, who is passing out double-ended paddles. Anna stands with Blaire, Reagan, and Alex, who, I note, is definitely checking out Anna’s ass behind his wife’s back.

Approaching, I step directly into his view and give him a pointed look as he jerks his eyes away. I send my arm around her waist and realize immediately that it’s a mistake. My hand rests on her nearly bare hip.

Arms, legs, lips, heat.

And she leans into me, pressing the side of her bare arm against my chest. With her free hand, she passes me something warm wrapped in paper.

I lift to smell.

“It’s a biscuit with scrambled egg, cheese, and some roasted tomatoes,” she says quietly. “I asked them to make you a little breakfast sandwich. I was worried you’d be starving after the run.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles brightly up at me. “You’re welcome.”

Breaking eye contact seems suddenly impossible, and I look away only when Alex speaks up.

“Heard you went running with Dad this morning.”

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