Page 69 of Pulse
He kisses me softly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
We climb out of the water, and he wraps me in a fluffy towel. He holds my gaze as he fashions one around his waist.
No words are exchanged, but none are required.
Troy just trusted me. That says it all.
Chapter Sixteen
Troy
“Is this not the cutest place you’ve ever seen in your life?” Dahlia asks, climbing out of the car.
“I’m wowed.”
She gives me a look, warning me to play along.
“Look,” I say, shutting her car door for her, “I’d rather be at the house balls deep inside you. I’m sorry if this little village thing isn’t as impressive as your pussy. Sue me.”
She places her arms over my shoulders, her fingers dangling behind me. She lifts her chin and gazes wickedly into my eyes.
“If you play nice and pretend to be wowed,” she says, biting her lip. “I’ll wow you when we get back.”
I push my cock into her. “I’m ready.”
“How do you get hard that fast?” She laughs.
“Says the woman who gets wet at the drop of a hat.”
I reach between her legs, but she swats my hand away, laughing harder. “Stop it.”
“Why?” I pull her to me, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “Are you wet for me?”
She groans as I press kisses behind her ear. “You don’t play fair.”
“Is that a yes then?”
“Yes,” she says, shoving me away. Her smile stretches across her pretty face. “I’m wet for you. I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
“God, you turn me on.”
She takes my hand, and I reluctantly follow.
I’ll never admit it to her, but the town is cute. It looks like something from a movie set. Granted, it would be a Christmas movie with a yuppie with a bad haircut and a baker who wants to save the town’s Christmas tree farm—but a movie all the same.
Every building is crafted to the smallest detail. The roads are meticulous, the shops are charming, and the landscaping is so fastidiously maintained that it almost doesn’t look real.
“Thank you for bringing me here, even though I know it’s killing you,” she says, leading me onto a sidewalk.
“If someone tries to kill you, maybe they’ll shoot me first and put me out of my misery.”
She gasps. “Not funny.”
“It’s funny when you joke about it.”
“Because I’m the intended victim.”
