Page 81 of Gin and Lava

“Yeah, well I wasn’t Prince Charming either,” I say honestly. “Hell, I wasn’t even Duke Fuck-Face who’s like fifteenth in line for the throne.”

“You were yourself, Mason, and you were fine,” Naomi says, looking at me with kind eyes. “I just forgot how easily Sam can get under my skin. That’s all. It’s not you. It’s him. And it’s me, obviously, for letting him have that kind of effect on me.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s right. He’s got a tractor beam that sucks all the joy from her. It’s good she at least sees it. Though a part of me thinks she wants me to deny it, and tell her she isn’t seeing what’s plain as day.

“The offer to call this off is still on the table,” I repeat. “We had our fun, but if it’s easier to—”

“Are you tired of me too, Mason?” she asks with more emotion than I expect, and being the full-on douche bag that I definitely am, I laugh.

Her eyes cut to me—wounded—and I shake my head.

“Fuck, Tate, of course not,” I assert, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around her. “Trust me. I willneverget tired of licking your pussy. Ever.” Her cheek hitches and I see a hint of that smile. “I willneverget tired of you bending over my desk like a red-hot vixen. I willneverget tired of you in this truck, impaling yourself on my absolutely giant—”

She kisses me.

Hard.

It’s so hard, she pushes me against the side of her truck, and someone honks as they pass it’s so hot. Naomi doesn’t care. She’s angry and emotional, and I let her nip and bite me to get whatever bullshit Trifecta made her feel out of her system. If she needs to use me to burn off that frustration, then I’m happy to be her punching bag.

When she pulls away, she’s panting. And fuck, if her tiny tits don’t look amazing in that designer dress—heaving with all her anger and aggression—maybe thereissomething to that outrageous price tag.

“Viking Princess,” I growl, and she grins at me, liking the label. “Exactly how far do you live from here, Tate? This is a pretty public street, but if you need to replay that first night in this truck—” I nod to the cab “—with people watching …” I crook an eyebrow at her in question. “As you wish, Princess.”

“Is that anotherPrincess Bridequote?” she asks, her cheeks flushed pink from that kiss, and damn if I’m not a dumbstruck cretin.

“The Dread Pirate Roberts will do anything Buttercup wishes,” I confirm, referencing the film.

“Actually, it’s Westly that saysAs you wish,” Naomi corrects. “That’s how Buttercup knows the Dread Pirate Roberts is her lost farm boy.”

“That just made me super hard, Tate.” I cup her ass and grind her against my front. “You keep schooling me onThe Princess Brideand I’m going to fuck you right here in this parking lot with everyone who drives by watching.”

“You’d better not,” she warns.

“How much do you want to bet someone will film it on their cell phone and our sex tape will go viral,” I continue with the charade. “That’s great news, because then this dress will be worth even more money when we sell it on eBay. I mean, think about it: Viral Andromeda dress, guaranteed you get lucky!”

“Get in the truck, Haas,” Naomi sasses, pushing me away from her and her thousand-dollar soon-to-be-auctioned-sex-tape wonder. “No bodily fluids on the Andromeda!”

“Then you’d better strip it off when I get in this truck,” I say, walking around the front hood to the passenger side of her automobile.

“Wait till we get to my house,” she barks, climbing in the driver’s side.

“Is that when you’ll give me that infamous naked massage?” I ask, hopeful. “You realize that’s going to turn into something else.”

“I could leave you here in the street,” she shoots back, turning the ignition.

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” I zip into the cab and buckle my seat belt.

“You afraid I’m going to eject you out of the truck?” she asks, nodding to the vigor with which I attached my safety harness.

I shake my head. “This is to keep me locked in place, Tate. Otherwise my face is going to be licking your pussy while you attempt to drive. And then we probablywillcrash this behemoth.”

“I don’t think that’s even physically possible, Mason,” Naomi says, as she pulls out of the parking lot and starts speeding down the street.

“You don’t think I’m creative enough to figure out how to get my tongue between our legs while you’re pumping the break?” I ask. “Because I’ll happily meet my maker if that’s a challenge you’re offering.”

She shakes her head and points at me to stay put. Which is fine. The part I care about is that she’s finally smiling.

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