Page 83 of Devilish Debt
“And you’re not?”
“Adorable?”An overdramatic gasp is accompanied by me theatrically placing a hand over my black crop top covered chest.“Of course, I am.”
“Me vas a dar una úlcera.”
“You should probably worry less about me giving you an ulcer and more about the tequila killing your liver, counselor.”
Garcia briefly presses his lips together, abandons the knife on the cutting board, and reaches for the nearest dish towel to clean his hands.“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“For a walk.”
“What am I, a Pomeranian?”
“You yip like one.”
This sharp suck of air isn’t for snickers, although it gets them.
“And right now, you’ve got a bunch of excess anxiety built up from being indoors all day that needs to burned off.”He nonchalantly creeps around the island in my direction.“We don’t have time for you to completely live your best mermaid life, but we can at least let you get your feet wet while dinner simmers.”
My lowered jaw remains that way.
“And you might wanna close these,” purrs my cook for the evening as he gives my lips a taunting stroke, “before Master puts something in between them.”
Swallowing my whimper is difficult; however, making it impossible for him to do the same is the mission I have in mind when the tip of my tongue faintly strokes the digit caressing my mouth.
Heated grumbles escaping pull a victoriously vicious smirk onto my face that’s followed by him grumpily storming off.
Impishly, I call out after him, “Change your mind?”
“Changing my shoes,” he replies with his back to me.
Post me slipping into my sandals – not that I’ll be wearing them long – him putting on “acceptable footwear” – because not just any shoes can get covered in wet sand – and guaranteeing the food is at a low temperature – to stay warm versus overcooking – we cross the short distance down to the beach where I damn near instantly ditch the accessories I put on my feet.
Cool grit slinking between my toes effortlessly ignites ease throughout my system.
Convinces my shoulders to unhinge themselves from where they’ve become attached to my ears.
Sweet talks my spine into melting like an ice cream sundae left on the pier in the middle of summer.
Comfort curls against my arches each step and peace I’ve only known from the sounds of waves crashing croons to me every stride, insisting everything is fine.
Willbefine.
Balanced.
Complete.
That’s probably the thing I love about water the most.
It doesn’t simply cleanse.
It recalibrates.
Restores.
And as much as I hate to admit it – also will never admit it out loud – having both men constantly in my life is beginning to bring me a similar serenity.
