Page 60 of The Paradise Problem

Without letting it show on my face that I’ve seen him, I step closer to West, hand high on his bare thigh, just below the hem of his shorts.

West’s brows disappear beneath his messy, glorious hair. “Hello.”

“Don’t look, but Alex is watching us from the beach.”

West drags his attention from my hand on his leg to my face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. So I’m just trying to look wifey and horny for you.”

“I could go inside and shower,” he says quietly. “He’d just walk away.”

“You could.” I lick my lips, stepping between his legs, shamelessly wanting another of his libido-electrifying kisses. For as much as I dislike Alex in theory, I’m not mad about this moment. West looks like he could use a little distraction. And after we kissed the other night, I thought there’d be more opportunities. I was wrong. “Or you could just pretend to be horny for me, too.”

He stares at me, unmoving.

“Or not,” I say, smiling while inside I’m dissolving, atom by atom, in mortification.

When I try to step away, he clamps his thighs around my ribs. “Where are you going?”

“To die of shame under a rotting log somewhere.”

West laughs, low and frankly dangerous. “No, see, my only hesitation is”—he leans in, running his thumb along my lower lip—“acting was never my strong suit.”

“I was a counselor at drama camp.” I speak against the pad of his thumb. “I’ll give honest feedback.”

He laughs, his lips so close. “Thank you.”

West’s mouth brushes over mine, giving me one of those feather-soft kisses again.

“Well,” I say as we share a breath, “that wasn’t bad.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Anything that could make it more convincing?”

“Maybe another? Longer this time?”

West lifts both hands now, cupping my face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth before he parts his lips and gently nips at my bottom one. “Longer, huh?”

And with just this playful start, he has poured gasoline into my bloodstream. Does he know how fragile my restraint is right now? I am a sex demon in disguise. I am a fembot with only one program. I am only seconds away from licking the residue of sweat from his chest. I’m discovering things about myself, such as: I like sweat.

I set both hands on his thighs, stretching onto my toes for more, for longer and deeper, his surprised huffed breath coming out warm against my mouth as he lets me suck that beautiful lower lip, dragging my teeth along it in a way that makes him let go of a tight, helpless sound and which sends one hand into my hair. I fear I’m going to send him toppling backward into the ocean, but he leans in just as steadily, squeezing me close with those powerful thighs.

West’s mouth is unreal, commanding and firm, but with full, soft lips that beg to be bitten. He likes it when I do, too, releasing rough, rumbling sounds that seem to come from a cave filled with long, unsated need. My hands have a mind of their own, rising up over his hips to come to a stop on the warm solidity of his waist as our kissing ruse turns into an all-out groping session. He keeps one hand firmly fisted in my hair and sends the other down my back to my ass, pulling me close until I feel the hard press of him just beneath my breasts. He lets out a gasping laugh as I drag my teeth along his jaw, down his neck.

“To the contrary, your acting is pretty good,” I say, licking the salt of his throat.

He jerks at the contact, tightening his grip in my hair, holding my head close. “Yeah?”

“The erection is a great touch. I mean, very convincing.”

His laugh turns into a groan when I suck his neck, baring my teeth and pressing down. “Fuck yes.”

Well, well. Dr. Weston likes it a little rough.

I get high on his soft, dirty noises, and suck harder, scratching my nails around his back and up past his shoulders where I finally get my hands in that ridiculous head of hair. With his own grip on me, he yanks my head away and, eyes wild, comes for my mouth again, deeper now, setting a pace that is both slower and hotter, languid drags of his tongue over my lower lip, kisses that can only be described as claiming.

“God, your mouth is fucking amazing,” he says, dragging his teeth to my jaw, biting, sucking at my pulse point.

I have no idea how long we’ve been at it but my lips are tingly, there’s a very insistent boner pressed to my chest (hello again), and my legs are starting to shake from standing on my tiptoes. When I lift my gaze over West’s shoulder, Alex is gone. The beach is completely empty. Future me will kick myself for the rest of the day for saying it, but the words slip out: “He’s gone.”

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