Free Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) by Jennifer Skully Page A

sorry.”
    She smiled brightly, though her face felt
like cracking. “I’m so over it now.” Not. Especially not Andrew’s
disgusted whispers in the dark. That was the worst part. Simone,
the neighbors will hear you .
    Which was why it was much better not to let
Brax touch her on any of those certain spots that would make her
lose control completely. Now, she wrote about sex without actually
experiencing the act. Much safer that way.
    “Glad you’re over it.” Brax wrapped her hair
around his finger, let it pull loose, then tucked the lock behind
her ear. His touch lingered. He traced the shell of her ear, a
barely there caress that sent chills and thrills down her
spine.
    This was what she’d meant about building the
need and heightening the senses with anticipation. He’d understood
completely. A kindred spirit, looking for something more than the
wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am of a short vacation fling. When he left
Goldstone, they’d both have wild memories, even if this moment was
all they had. And there would be no embarrassing
hand-over-the-mouth episodes or appalled looks in the
aftermath.
    She trailed the tip of her finger from his
Adam’s apple to the center of his chest. A light stroke, a subtle
caress.
    He growled low in his throat. “Say it.”
    “Say what?” She’d say anything he wanted her
to.
    “The bumper sticker thing.”
    She understood. “Don’t make me bring out the
flying monkeys.”
    He closed his eyes and murmured, “Say it like
you mean it.”
    She did, gritting her teeth and infusing
emotion into the words. “Don’t make me bring out the flying
monkeys.”
    He captured her finger and drew it to his
lips, then kissed the pad. “Christ, that makes me hot.”
    She laughed. “I’m pretty sure it’s never made anyone hot before.”
    Warm and wet. Gentle suction and the caress
of his tongue. She was suddenly a mass of jangling nerve endings.
Her panties dampened. “I really think you better stop that.”
    “Does it make you want to go to first
base?”
    She tilted her head. “What exactly is first
base? French-kissing?”
    “You’ve gotta be kidding. It’s getting my
hand in your bra.”
    “No way. That’s second base.”
    “Guys don’t care about kissing. They want
flesh.”
    “But that wouldn’t make sense. Because if
putting your hand on my breast—”
    “On your nipple.”
    “—is first base, then that means second base
is getting your hand down my pants. But a home run is going all the
way. So what’s third base?”
    He put his forehead to hers and laughed, the
vibration streaking all the way down through her chest to her legs
and even her toes. “Is this like that old Abbott and Costello
routine, who’s on first and what’s on second?”
    “Actually, we were talking about third.”
    He rolled his head to the side and nipped her
ear. “Third is using my tongue on you.”
    Oh. Ooh. Ahh . She closed her eyes and
savored the delicious warmth that spread through her. “I don’t
think teenage boys think about that . I don’t think they even know about that.”
    He chuckled. “Believe me, they know exactly
what it is, and they’ve got some very colorful names to describe
it.”
    She knew what Andrew had called it, and it
wasn’t polite. He hadn’t liked it because Simone got downright
embarrassing with her exuberance. “What do they call it?”
    This time, Brax laughed outright. “I can’t
tell you.”
    “I might have to use the terminology in one
of my stories.”
    “It’s a guy code of honor. I can’t tell.”
    “Spoilsport.” She pouted. But he’d made her
laugh inside and forget about the mutant ache brought on by too
much Andrew-thinking. Andrew-thinking was wrong-thinking at a time
like this.
    Brax tugged on a lock of her hair. “It’s an
advanced technique best left to experts rather than teenagers. So I
guess third is getting you to put your hand in my pants.”
    She considered his logic. “Maybe.”
    “I’m right. I was a teenage boy.