Page 44 of Some Like It Hott

And as we walk back to the lodge, still side by side, I can’t help feeling like I’ve made two mistakes tonight.

Kissing her.

And stopping.

22

Natalie

So much happened today. It’s all jumping around in my head as I stand under the shower in my hotel room. All the successes, all the praise. The people I met, the things I saw. Preston with Eloise, Preston rushing off to help his sister, Preston propped over me with purple Jell-O dripping out of his hair, laughing and triumphant.

Preston’s eyes, dark with heat, his mouth lowering to mine. The slick press of his skin against mine, the bunch and flex of all that hot, hard muscle, his hand on my breast, his fingers on my nipple.

The cold air on my heated skin when he pulled away.

He’s right. Him and me, it’s a terrible idea. Because it’s like I said. I swore I’d never be the fun-times girl again.

And I don’t think I ever liked Lloyd as much as I know I could like Preston.

What would it feel like to know you were just the plaything of someone you liked to the depths of your soul?

Absolutely terrible.

Andeven so, I wanted him to kiss me again.

My body is still overheated. Still bloomed and throbbing. My nipples are tight and hypersensitive as I shuck my bathing suit and stand under the hot water of the shower. When I turn to face the nozzle, the streams falling on my breasts feel like a drumbeat in my core. When I slide my fingers between my legs, I’m slick and open and swollen.

From kissing.

Kissing Preston is the best sex I’ve ever had. And I’m having some trouble accepting that I might not ever get to do it again.

The shower doesn’t calm me down. My skin feels like it’s on fire. My nipples ache. My pussy throbs. There’s a constant rush of eager blood under my skin. I get out and dry myself off, still thrumming with longing. When I drop my T-shirt over my head, the brush of fabric over my breasts makes me gasp.

I slide under the covers and try to think about something else, but every road leads back to Preston. The images and sensations come, fierce and inevitable—the way the kiss started out as an exploration and became something else, something aggressive and bossy, the two of us perfectly matched in strength of will. The worshipful way his hand moved over my skin—not avoiding the softest parts of me but stopping to savor them. And the certainty with which he seemed to know how to tease and flick and caress, like he was inside my head stoking a fire he could feel, too.

In my mind, he doesn’t stop. He keeps going. His hands sculpt both my breasts. His head dips so his mouth can take over from one hand, freeing it up to explore the slope of my belly.

My hand echoes that path. Enjoying the silk and give of my flesh, the softness of my curls, the plumpness of my lips, the slick damp between them. I circle my clit, pretending it’s him—wishing it were him. His fingers. His tongue.

I reach for Mack, the glittery purple vibrator that’s almost the exact twin—except for color—of the one Rachel handed me. I click the button to turn him on.

Ohhhh.

I clench my legs together around the hum of sensation.

It’s so good.

But it’s still not enough.

“All right, Big Bob,” I say. “Your turn, dude.”

I set Mack back on the nightstand

Big Bob, my massage wand, is not subtle. He’s louder than the loudest electric toothbrush.

Can Preston hear that through the wall?

He wouldn’t know what it was, would he?

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