It took me several seconds to answer. The whole time I’d been focused on those thighs and her saying come.
“When can I come?” she asked.
My cock hardened. “Twelve would be a good time.”
We’re not fucking her. Calm down.
“Cool,” she said.
“You’re leaving so soon?”
“It’s almost sunset. My sister is doing a big dinner for the guests and running a game of poker.”
“What’s she cooking?”
“Sheep tongue souse. Every now and then, she likes to get the guests out of their comfort levels. Clearly, she’ll have some chicken souse available too.”
Souse was an old English word for something pickled. Most Bahamians like Cindy cooked their exotic meats like sheep’s tongue or pig’s feet with a thin broth, which qualified as souse. A few ate it for breakfast and threw a few Johnnycakes on the side which was a type of bread that went back longer than the islands.
“You should come,” she said.
That word come hit me again in the wrong ways.
I cleared my throat. “No. We’ll see each other enough tomorrow.”
“Cool. What should I wear?”
“Nothing at all.”
She laughed. “What?”
“I want to paint you in the nude.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“What’s the big deal? We used to skinny-dip all the time.”
“That was when we were young and I never agreed to modeling for you.”
“I thought you said yes.”
“I didn’t and I’m definitely not taking my clothes off.”
“I’ve seen you naked before, Cherry Bomb. I doubt you’ve changed that much,” I lied. Those breasts were plumper than I remembered. They sat on her chest like lush melons. Those hips had expanded into cock-hardening awesomeness. If she decided to model for me naked, I would go hard and be drooling all over her.
Why are you doing this to yourself?
“Hmmm.” She twisted her lips to the side. “I’ve never modeled for anyone, and especially not in the nude.”
“Then good. You’ll be jumping into something new. All the self-help books say that taking risks in life puts you on the path to healing.”
“They do. I’ve read that too.” She nodded. “Interesting. I never thought you were the type to read self-help books.”
“There was a time when I tried to get better and read tons of those books.”
She brightened. “Oh wow. Did they work?”
“No. Not at all. They were a complete waste of time.”
“Really? Mr. Fucking Sunshine to the rescue again.” She sighed. “Nude modeling?”
“Very nude. Yes.” I signed a cross in front of me. “And I would be the perfect gentleman. I’ll even give you the painting when I’m done.”
“That would be so cool, but I can’t pose.” She shook her head and that cute blush returned. “I’m too shy.”
“Everyone is scared at first.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You’re a big-time author. I’ll be framing the icon of our century.”
“An icon that’s very nude. I don’t think so.”
I had looked Yaz up. Her first book was an erotic story with an island setting—one similar to Key West. In fact, she had seven books in that series and people appeared to love it. She penned several more about a group of spies that fell in love with the women involved in their missions. Lots of women raved about her online. I read their blogs and tweets, laughing at their obsessive shouts of glee, demanding book number eight be written soon. The public loved her. She’d hit the New York Times in her debut and continued to top the list with later releases.
“How did you know I wrote?” she asked.
“I looked you up.”
“I feel bad. I didn’t look you up.”
“Good. It means that you’re not nosy.”
“I actually am. I was just tired. I’ll look you up tonight.”
“I don’t want you to look me up.”
“Why not? You’ve always been a freaking boy scout. I doubt you did time in jail for mass murder or global terrorism.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah…it’s not that bad.”
I guess.
She checked her watch. “Dang it. I was already supposed to be up there.” She frowned at me. “Next time, come out earlier. I want to hang out with you.”
“Then let me paint you tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. I’m too much of a punk.”
“I understand.” I got up from her towel and helped her dust off the sand, fold it, and handed it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Maybe on the beach,” she said.
“But not in my studio?”
“No. That’s not happening.”
“Damn it. Then, I think I need a spell.”
“Why?”
I covered my face. “Because you’ve just broke my heart!”
“Oh, stop it.” She left in the most delicious way, twisting those hips and laughing. And I watched those beautiful globes of her ass bounce and jiggle.
I came damn close to racing after her and taking her away.
We’re not fucking Yaz. Calm down.
K. Alex Walker 
Hi Alex, I like what I read. Is that an excerpt from your neXT book?
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