Free Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) by K.M. Golland Page B

hot-as-fuck, sexy little pixie.”
    My lips arched into a smile, and I couldn’t help but comply. I liked his nickname for me and his reason behind it. It was kinda … cute. And I could deal with cute, although I much preferred provocative. But for Brad, cute was definitely something I could work with. Just not now. Now, I was working with tease .
    Positioning myself on all fours as he’d requested, I waited for his next instruction, which didn’t come.
    Silence.
    I waited some more.
    What the fuck?
    Confused, I turned my head to look up at him and was blinded by the sun’s brilliance, the bright light remaining in my vision even after my eyes had closed.
    “What next?” I asked, squinting and raising my hand to my forehead, the shade it provided allowing me to see through the shadows hiding his face.
    Brad was as still as a statue, his jaw clicking from side to side, his hooded eyes fixated on my arse. I furrowed my brow and followed his stare, and that was when I noticed what captivated his attention—a rosy handprint on my skin.
    “You’ve branded me, you naughty man.”
    His head tilted just slightly and his hand dropped to cup his cock. Oh. My. Seasoned vagina! No, I mean really, season my snatch … because it’s medium to well-fucking-done right now.
    “Brad,” I said calmly, fighting my own searing need and facing forward again. “Stop admiring your handiwork and teach me to surf, or that will be the one and only time you’ll leave your mark on my body.”
    His feet moved over the sand before his legs filled my vision when he stepped in front of me and squatted, the softness of his finger tilting my chin up. “I plan on leaving more than my mark on your body, sexy pixie, don’t you worry.”
    Yep. Well-done snatch is now char-fucking-grilled.
     
     
     

 
     
    It had taken a while for my brain to focus less on snatch cooking, cock grabs and arse slaps, and more on what it was supposed to be focussed on, like sequence of motion, centre of gravity, and balance. But I’d gotten there eventually, and after much practise on the sand now tried my luck at surfing in the water … on an actual wave.
    “Remember, toes touching the very back of the board, and when the wave hits, put your hands in front of your tits, fingers facing forward, and push all the way up—”
    “Yeah yeah,” I interrupted, continuing the steps he’d taught me while lying on the board facing the shore, ready for my first wave. “Pussy off the board—your words, not mine—arch your back, arse in the air, and balance on your toes.”
    “Good. Then all you have to do is slide your back foot up a little, bring your front foot forward, and stand up, keeping your knees bent and arms spread out like a fucking plane.”
    “Got it! Okay, where’s my wave?”
    He laughed. “Eager little beaver, aren’t you?”
    “You have no idea how eager my beaver is.”
    “Trust me, I’m getting one,” he murmured, treading water as he held my board still. “Okay, here comes your wave. Get ready.”
    “Shit! Shit! Shit! I’ve forgotten which foot goes first. Brad, which fucking foot goes first?”
    “You’re a natural-footer, so left. Okay, go! Paddle.”
    Shiiiiit! Tits, toes, bum, stand, knees, plane!
    The wave hit as I recited my sequence of motion, so I paddled like a duck on crack and moved forward with the bubbling break of water. Tits : I placed my hands under my tits. Toes: Pushed up on my toes. Bum: Arched my back and pointed my bum in the air. Stand: Moved my feet into position and stood slowly. Knees: Nope. I didn’t quite get to those. Instead, I got super excited by everyone cheering me on and turned to wave at Brad, which was when everything went to shit; my legs went one way, my arms went another, and before I knew it, I was underwater, scrambling through the force of the wave.
    Talk about feeling as if you were in a giant salty washing machine. My God! I didn’t know which way was up or down, but I kicked anyway. I