Page 30 of Official

XANDER

She pulled her tits out.

Her bare fucking tits.

They’re bigger than I expected—have they always been that size? Big enough to fill my palms so I could feel the full weight of them?

I stare at her full lips and lick the water and salt off my own. What would hers taste like? Salt and lip gloss and summer?

Heaven?

I’m holding her like I’ll drop her, when in truth, if we let go, we’d simply float apart. Which makes me hold her tighter, digging my fingers into her firm ass and enjoying the feel of her toned muscles, a glorious result from hours in the gym.

Eyes locked on Sam’s, I lean in, my mouth only a whisper from hers, ready to find out exactly how she tastes…

But we’re interrupted by a growling sound, rumbling against her tight body.

“What was that?” She breaks our staring contest and searches around us, goose bumps instantly sprinkling along her arms.

“That would be my stomach,” I confess, disappointed that it fucking betrayed me.

The moment has passed, and I can’t believe it’s because of my damn stomach.

Then again, it’s for the best. What was I thinking? Did I black out? I can’t kiss my best friend’s sister—no matter how badly it seemed like she wanted me to.

And I’d bet my hard dick that she wanted me to.

“Jumpy, much?” I ask, my voice husky.

Her round shoulders relax, and she loosens her grip on me, sliding her wet body away. “I was almost just killed by a shark.”

“It was a harmless dolphin.”

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t find a real sea monster earlier and just aren’t telling me.”

“I saw something unexpected, that’s for sure,” I grumble.

I’m just not sure how dangerous it is…

Her lips twitch, and I’ve never been so eager to know what she’s thinking. But she surprises me when she changes the subject entirely. “How are you still hungry?”

I search her expression, and the curiosity in her eyes and pinched brow leads me to believe she’s not thinking about my stomach at all. “You fed me rabbit food. I’m in charge of meals from now on,” I say, playing along.

If she wants to talk about food instead of what almost just happened, fucking fine by me.

After all, we’re friends. Justfriends.

“In that case, you’ll be eating alone more often than not,” she tosses back at me.

We continue bickering like this, settling into our usual dynamic—the safest place for us—until we reach our picnic. The beach is now filled with three times as many people as before, crowding the open area with multi-colored towels, gear, and coolers. Kids scream when their tiny feet touch the water, their squeals and giggles echoing down the shoreline like a megaphone.

The couple next to us whispers in each other’s necks, occasionally macking on the other like they’re in private.

And I’m jealous of them.

“Can you believe some people?” I mumble loudly enough for only Sam to hear. “There are children.”

Sam follows my gaze toward the inappropriate couple now tonguing their way to the Bermuda Triangle. “Leave them alone. They’re in love and happy.”

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