Crashed(book three)(181)

“Down boy!”

And there’s the voice that will make me go limp.

“’Sup, Becks.”

“Apparently you, if you don’t stop looking at her like you want to bend her over that lounge chair and f*ck her into oblivion,” he says, taking a long sip of his beer.

Well, that’s always a thought.

I groan. “Thanks for the visual, dude, because that’s really not helping right now,” I reply with a roll of my eyes and shake of my head, before looking around to make sure the boys are far enough away they can’t hear us talking about how I want to defile their sexy-as-f*ck guardian. And my God is she a walking wet dream. I shift in my chair again as I watch her squat down and adjust the top of her suit before slathering sunscreen all over Zander.

I shake my head thinking about her concern earlier in picking which swimsuit to wear with the boys coming over for a pool party. Even in the red one piece that she deemed matronly, every f*cking curve of hers is on display like a goddamn road map tempting me to take it out for a test drive.

Dangerous curves ahead? Fuckin’ A. Bring. It. On. I’m a man that lives for danger. The thrill I get from it. And f*ck if I’m not itching for the keys, right now.

Talk about revved and raring.

“By that sappy ass look on your face, I take it things are going good?” Becks asks as he sits down beside me and snaps me from my dirty thoughts.

“Pretty much.” I pop the top off of another bottle with the opener and take a drink.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna get all domesticated and shit on me now.”

“Domesticated? Fuck no.” I laugh. “Although the woman is hot as f*ck in her heels pushing that grocery cart in front of me.” I can visualize it now and damn if the thought’s not making me ache to take her.

“You—Colton Donavan—stepped foot into a grocery store?” he sputters.

“Yep.” I raise my eyebrows and smirk at the look of shock on his face.

“And it wasn’t just to buy condoms?”

I can’t help it now. I love f*cking with him. It’s just too goddamn easy. “Nah, no longer a requirement when you hold a frequent flier card to the barebacking club.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, are you trying to get me to choke on my beer?” He wipes beer off his chin that he spit out.

“I got something else you can choke on,” I murmur as my eyes are drawn back to Rylee bending over, my constant semi wanting to fly full staff. I’m so focused on her and my corrupt but oh-so-f*cking awesome thoughts of what I can do to her later that I don’t hear what Becks says. “Huh?” I ask.

“Dude, you are one whipped motherf*cker, aren’t you?”

I look over at him ready to defend my f*cking manhood when I realize it’s right where I want it to be, held in Rylee’s f*cking hands—the perfect mixture of sugar and spice. So I laugh out and just shake my head, bring the beer to my lips and shrug. “As long as it’s her * doing the whipping, I’m f*cking game all day long.”

Becks chokes again but with laughter this time, and I pat him on the back as Ry looks over at us making sure he’s okay. “My God! That must be the best motherf*cking voodoo * ever to tame Colton f*ckin’ Donavan.”

“Tame? Never.” I chuckle and shake my head, leaning back on the chair behind me to look over at him. “But some *—er friend—made me realize how much I like the f*cking alphabet.”

“That friend deserves a shitload of beer as a thank you then.” He shrugs. “That, or a mighty fine piece of ass in return.”