Tell Me You Love Me by S. Ann Cole

Author:S. Ann Cole
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2018-11-12T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY- THREE - SERENA

“You keep saving me.”

MY ALARM SCREAMS like a banshee, jarring and relentless.

Blearily, I stretch for my phone on the nightstand and kill the noise. Yawning, I scratch my neck and roll over.

Kholton is missing.

He maintained the silent treatment when he came back to the room last night. Still, he wrapped himself around me before turning out the lights.

It’s 6:00 AM. Not nearly enough sleep after going to bed somewhere around 3:00 AM. But I’m an early riser regardless and rarely snooze late unless it’s a Sunday. Also, I live for my morning runs.

Dragging my half-rested ass out of bed, I freshen up and don my workout gear.

Kholton is nowhere to be found in the house, so I scribble a note to let him know I’ve gone out running and stick it on the fridge.

Out on the beach, I breathe fresh morning air into my lungs as I conduct warm-up stretches on the sand. The sun’s orange forehead peeks just above the horizon, casting a tangerine hue across the sky. From my side of the world, I’m not granted this kind of view in the mornings, so I tilt my face to the sky to show my appreciation.

I’m about fifteen minutes into my run along the beach when I spot white hair, tanned skin, and hard, sweaty abs, roughly fifty feet away.

Yanking out my earphones, I stop running, chest heaving.

He’s supine on the sand, facing the ocean, hands behind his head as he crunches up and down in rapid succession as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Farther up on the sand are two Namaste blondes with rolled-up yoga mats whispering and giggling as they ogle him with hungry, horny eyes.

Take your greedy eyes off my baby daddy and stay in downward-dog position, bitches. He’s mine.

As a wave of possessiveness crashes over me, I break into a sprint toward him. I slow down when I’m near.

He doesn’t notice me. His earphones are in and his focus is intense.

I skip up and jump astride him, sinking onto his lap, knees digging into the sand.

He pauses mid-crunch, momentarily confused. Then gray eyes focus in on me.

Before he can make a sound, I grab his face and kiss him—open-mouth, tongues, saliva and clashing teeth. It takes but a second for him to reciprocate, his arms curving around my middle and pulling our sweaty bodies together.

God, I’m nuts about this guy.

We break apart, breaths quickened.

“Good morning,” I rasp.

“’Morning.” His gaze dips to my heaving chest. “Someone’s wearing a bra today.”

“Sports bra,” I correct. Sports bra and bikini tops are the only forms of breast-hostage garments I tolerate. “What time did you get up?”

“Five.” He pokes my belly button. “Came to join me?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

Without warning, he flips us so I’m on my back and he’s above me. “How many kisses do you want?”

I grin like a loon. “Fifty.”

Assuming plank position, he says, “Pucker up and count, Red Witch.”

He starts doing push-ups. Each time he presses down, our lips meet and I count.

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