Page 45 of Kind of a Bad Idea

“You’re a bad woman,” I say, but I’m already shucking my t-shirt.

She giggles and spins in a circle before resuming her sashay toward the falls. “I am. And I don’t feel guilty about it at all.”

In the end, I don’t end up taking her up on her very generous breast-fucking offer—I love her breasts, but her pussy is too sweet to pass up. Instead, she straddles me on a smooth stone at the edge of the water, riding me hard until we’re both panting and crying out loud enough to be heard over the crash of the water on the rocks below.

Once we’ve worked up a sweat, I let her drag me into the water up to our chests. We kiss as the falls beat down all around us and even though I’m freezing cold and pretty sure I’ll never feel my balls again, the joy from this morning is still there.

Whoever gets to live the rest of his life with this woman is going to be one lucky man, and fuck…I wish it could be me.

Maybe it can, a hopeful voice whispers in my head as Binx tightens her grip on my neck, flattening her breasts against my chest. Isn’t joy a sign that you’re headed in the right direction?

Before I can think too long on that, Binx shivers against me and pulls away from our kiss with a laugh. “Oh my God, I love kissing you, but I can’t handle it anymore. It’s freezing in here!”

“No shit,” I say, laughing as I swat her ass on the way out of the pool. “I tried to tell you, but you’re a maniac.”

“I am a maniac,” she says, dashing back toward our clothes, shivering and giggling. “I can’t feel my toes or my thighs or my butt!”

Twenty minutes later, we’re dressed and back on the sunny side of the trail, warming up as we hike back to the four-wheeler, but we stop at the top for one last long look at the view.

Binx leans back against me, her back to my front, and I wrap her up in my arms, resting my chin on the top of her head, and it is…perfect. As perfect as every second with her since I stopped fighting the way she makes me feel.

I’ve spent my whole life fighting—fighting to overcome my past, to build a better future, to succeed when so many people said I would fail. But maybe it’s time to lay my armor down.

Maybe it’s time to soften and trust that when something feels this right, it can’t be wrong.

Chapter 17

BINX

If I had to pick one day to live over and over again, I’m pretty sure this would be it. I love all the memories I’ve made with my family and friends, and I’m so excited about starting my new career, but this time with Seven…

It’s been pure magic.

Not even the appearance of Tater Tot at the edge of the porch as we’re grilling sausages for dinner can mar the perfection of the past twelve hours.

“Go ahead, toss him a baby carrot from the veggie tray,” Seven encourages as I position myself on the opposite side of the grill, as far from the furry potato as possible.

“Nah, I’m good,” I say, taking a sip of my Chardonnay. “It’s too smoky over there.”

Seven shoots me an amused glance from the corners of his eyes. “Yeah? That’s why you’re clearing an escape route to the door?”

“I am not,” I lie, even as I shift one of the deck chairs over to make it easier for me to sprint back into the cabin, if necessary.

“He’s harmless.”

“That’s what they all say until they come down with a bad case of groundhog cooties.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way I find inexplicably sexy. I love his smile lines and the hint of gray at his temples. As far as I can tell, Seven is only getting sexier with age. He’s always going to be smoking hot. And if he started to soften or slow down a little, I wouldn’t mind. I love his outsides, but it’s his insides that turn me into a lust puddle every time he puts his arms around me.

His insides are the most beautiful thing about him.

“Groundhog cooties,” he echoes, tossing a carrot to the fur potato, who chases it into the browning grass with a happy grunt. “You hear that, Tater Tot? Binx thinks you have cooties.”

Tater Tot grunts again, shooting a narrow look over his shoulder that makes us both laugh, before grabbing his carrot and chowing down with enough enthusiasm to make his chubby cheeks wobble. His giant bottom teeth actually seem to get in the way for a moment, but he figures it out and resumes happily chomping and grunting.

“So, how are groundhog cooties different than normal cooties?” Seven flips the sausages, sending up a waft of delicious, spicy-scented air that makes my stomach growl.

“No idea,” I say, leaning against the porch railing. “I’m too hungry to make up something entertaining. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. Must be all the fresh air.”

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