The next day drags on forever. I spend it by the pool, trying to read some trashy novel on my phone, but every page blurs into thoughts of Jax.
My body's still sore from last night, a sweet ache between my legs that pulses every time I shift in the lounge chair. I keep replaying his hands on me, his c**k filling me up against that rock, the way he groaned my name like it was a curse and a prayer. By afternoon, I'm restless, thighs squeezing together under my cover-up, n*****s tight against my bikini top just from the memory.
He texts me around five: "Cabana 7, north shore. 8pm. Wear something easy to take off."
My heart races. I shower slow, shaving everything smooth, rubbing lotion into my skin until it glows. I pick a simple black sundress, no bra, thin panties that won't last long.
