Page 76 of The Way I Hate Him
Yes.
And I want to tug that bikini off with my teeth.
“Uh . . . probably not a good idea,” I say as she turns away from me, showing off the thong of her bathing suit.
I inwardly groan as my eyes fall to her pert little ass, cheeks smooth, the faintest stretch marks along the side. The girl is all-natural, just what I fucking like. And I’m not surprised she has them because compared to her body’s structure, she has a juicy ass, something I can sink my fingers into and grip tightly while pounding into her.
“Are you staring at my butt?”
“Huh?” I ask, snapping my eyes up to see Hattie has turned around now with a pitcher of pink liquid.
“You were staring at my ass. Hayes Farrow, how dare you?”
I grip the back of my neck. “What did you expect me to do when you walked in here wearing that?” I ask.
“Be a mature adult.”
“I’m mature and an adult, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to look at a sexy ass when I see one.”
“Sexy, huh?” she asks as she spins around and jiggles her butt in my direction. “You like this?”
I smile and nod. “Yeah, I fucking do.”
She turns back around and clutches the pitcher to her chest. With a smile on her face, she says, “Pervert.” And then takes off toward the backyard. “You should join us. It might be fun to have a man to stare at. I like Maggie, but her boobs are just obnoxious. I’m getting jealous.”
“Yeah, like I said, I’m going to pass,” I say.
“Shame, you could have a good time with us.”
“I’m sure, but I should work on some music,” I lie. “Have fun.” Without another look, I take off toward my studio, and when I step inside, I shut and lock the door behind me before flopping on my couch and dragging my hands over my face. Christ, the sight of her ass in that thong will stick with me for a very long fucking time.
Too long.
I reach for my guitar but then stop myself. Instead, I reach for my notebook as a thought pops into my mind. The color of her bathing suit matches the way she smells and the joy she seems to bring into the room.Electric sunshine.
I can’t describe it any other way.
And that’s what I write down in my notebook.
Electric sunshine, from there . . . I describe exactly what that is and how Hattie embodies everything about it.
* * *
Bottle of tequila in hand,I lean back on my couch and let out a deep breath as I drunkenly stare up at the ceiling. The feeling of euphoria screams through me.
I did it.
I wrote a song.
A fucking good one.
It was as if something of greater power had taken over me, and the words flowed with the image of Hattie in my mind.
My pen flew across my notebook.
My mind was rabid with descriptions, with the need to taste her through my words.
The desperation.
