Page 64 of Gin and Lava

When the tourists are almost out of earshot, I raise my voice and blurt out, “What was that? You want to give me a blow job? In public? But what if someone walks through this tunnel and catches us?”

Naomi sears me with an unamusedYou’re such a childsneer, and I bust up laughing.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Rule number five is I have to be who I am,” I state. “I’m going to say dirty things in front of your friends. Hell, I’m going to do it in front of strangers.” I motion down the tunnel to the tourists. “That’s probably a deal breaker for you, but frankly, I’m notskilledenough—” I deliberately use that word instead of smart. “I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut. My big cock comes with a big potty mouth. You can’t have one without the other.”

Naomi turns and I practically crash into her. Only, she uses my disorientation to grab me by the shirt again. Suddenly, my sweaty Viking Princess has me pressed against the side of the tunnel with her lithe body smooshed up against me.

“Woah now!” I quip. “That blow job comment was a joke, but—”

“I know who you are, Mason,” Naomi says, using her weight to keep me pinned. “I’m not going to tell you you can’t wear your penis shirts or say dirty comments.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Really.”

I shake my head, blindsided by both the full-body press and the freedom to say every dirty thing I imagine. “Why?” I blurt out. This has to be a trick. “You made it pretty clear I should beimpressive.Last I checked, everybody—and that includes you—wants to dis-invite me to things because of the crap I say.”

“I know,” Naomi agrees, maybe too quickly for comfort, and now I’m sure I’m getting played. She runs a hand over my bicep, squeezing it hotly. “But it turns out, I like that you’re surprising. I like that you’re going to throw everybody off guard at this wedding. I like that they’re going to feel uncomfortable—and I mean,reallyuncomfortable—when you tell them how much you love the taste of my pussy.”

“Damn, girl!” My hands are on her ass—it’s instinct—cupping that stupidly thin activewear she’s pretending covers it. “We may have to renegotiate rule number two.”

She doesn’t push my hands away, grinding her pelvis against my front.

“Yeah”—I squeeze that ass rudely—“I may have to taste your pussy again just to make sure I’m not misrepresenting it. I don’t want to describe it as watermelon crème when it’s closer to honeydew.”

Naomi’s fingernails dig into my chest. “Exactly,” she confirms. “You’re going to be perfect. You’re going to make them wonder what the hell I’m doing.”

“And that’s good?”

Naomi nods, lifting one of her knees to my hip like she might start climbing me any second. “Why?” I catch her thigh and squint at her in the low light, not following. “I feel like I’m about to be the butt-end of a joke.”

“Everyone expects the trifecta, right?” Naomi explains. “They assume I’ll walk into this event wearing Michael Kors with a trophy boyfriend on my arm: one that saysFuck you Sam, I’m doing fabulous.”

“I’m not a trophy?” I joke, sliding my hand up her thigh to that dangerous line between her ass and pussy.

She bites back a moan, her eyes dilating. “Those wereyourwords a few minutes ago,” she manages to get out. “Evenyouexpect the trifecta from me.”

What I expect is for her to push my hand away, but she doesn’t.

“I’m still not a trophy?” I press, inching my fingers closer to where her active wear is about to be wet.

“Your cock’s a trophy,” Naomi admits, a naughty gleam in her eye. “But there’s no way you’re pulling that out at the wedding.”

“You want me to pull it out right now?” I challenge. “You lose those Lululemons, and I’ll have you screaming before the next group of tourists descends on us.”

Her forehead falls against my shoulder and she moans hotly. “Well, that’s a fantasy I’m going to be thinking about later,” she admits into my shirt.

“It doesn’t have to be a fantasy,” I tempt, knowing full well she’s not going to take me up on it. “Okay, no cock in public.” I drop her knee from my hip to keep myself from getting too excited. “You drive a hard bargain, Princess. I’ll consider that rule six.”

“It easily falls under rule two:tastefulPDA,” she replies with a smirk. “But I’ll add an asterisk if needed.”

“Hey, that’s one of those star thingies,” I say mockingly. “See, fake boyfriend smart.” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, and I’m not sure this”—I gesture to her body plastered against me—“falls under tasteful PDA.”

She pries herself off me and rights herself, giving me a sassy frown that makes me think there’s a little leeway in rule number two’s department.

“You break the rules, Princess,” I warn, “then I get to break the rules. And if you’re giving this potty mouth free reign, just wait till my hands start roaming.”

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