My heart flips in my chest but I don't let on that his words mean something to me. And it pisses me off that they do. I'd already decided to end things, yet here I am acting like a lovesick idiot. What's wrong with me?!

"He right, you know," Papi says over his shoulder as he prepares the tea. "Dat boy still got it for you. Why you so red, Lola-mami? Maybe you still hot for him, too? Hmm?"

I slap Papi's hands away when he tries to tickle me. "Stop that, he'll hear you."

"Goot!" he says even louder, chasing me around the room. "Let him! Maybe he realize you da whole enchilada. Dat he should marry you pronto."

"Actually, I already did."

I freeze in my tracks. Drax is leaning against the doorframe, making Dad's ratty old robe look positively erotic and watching our silly scene. Oh, and blabbing about our drunken Vegas adventure.

"Excuse me?" Dad says as he hands Drax some Sleepytime.

"Nothing!" I interrupt, turning Drax around and pushing him toward my room before he can take the mug. "He's making a joke. Ha ha, good one, Draymond."

Papi's attention is laser-focused on Drax's backside, but I can see in Dad's eyes that he knows something is up. Luckily, he's not as nosy as Papi, so I may have a chance get away from this whole thing without them ever finding out.

I slam the door shut and whirl on Drax.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Why does he always smirk when I'm annoyed with him? Why?!

"Problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem. I didn't tell my dads about...that. I didn't tell anybody, and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same."

The smile falls away and fire blazes in his eyes. "I'll do whatever the fuck I please, darlin', and right now, I want to do this."

With the speed of a panther, he's got my hands pinned above my head against the door and his body is pressed against mine. I react viscerally when his lips crush mine, wrapping a leg around him and thrusting into him. I'm enveloped by a heady mix of his scent and seawater. I could breathe it in all day. It stirs something feral inside me, something wild that I'm afraid to set free.

But something else sneaks in there, another scent I know but my foggy brain won't allow me to recognize. It's especially hard to concentrate now that he's nibbling my ear, exactly in the spot that drives me into a frenzy.

I suck in another deep breath and the mystery smell takes shape in my brain. Whatever it is, I'll forever associate it with this incredibly exciting moment. At first it's fuzzy, like smoke drifting upward, but then it swirls and compresses into the form of a person. Drax flicks my earlobe with his tongue and I grind even harder into him. I've devolved into an animal, grunting my need, but still the vision in my brain continues to gel together until I can see a face.

It's Dad.

Ew!

"Ew! Ew! Ew!" I stutter, slithering out of Drax's hold.

Am I going to vomit? Choking back a retch, I run to the other side of the bed. Granted, it's about two steps from where he's standing but I can't risk him touching me while he's wearing Dad's robe

"What the hell..."

The poor guy's completely perplexed. There I am on the dock trying to give him mouth-to-mouth, pressing my boobs against his back the whole ride here, letting him ravage me against my bedroom door, and now this?

"I'm sorry," I plead, "but that robe...it smells like..."

"What?"

"My dad!"

Comprehension dawns on his face and he barks out a series of laughs that chase away the disgust in my belly and replace it with joy. He's got the best laugh. It's a down-to-your-toes kind of guffaw that would make Oscar the Grouch smile.

"Well," he says, still chuckling, "I guess there's only one thing to do."

And just like that, Draymond Maxwell is standing in my childhood room stark naked, a puddle of faded blue terrycloth at his feet. Everything about him is hard.

Every.

Single.

Thing.

Yeah, that works.

We lunge at each other and land together on the bed, hands and mouths everywhere. It's been weeks since he last touched me but it feels like years. I know we only made love the one time -- if you don't count what he did to me on the way to Vegas, and good lord, how can you not? -- but I miss it. I miss him.

I scrabble at my damp top, ripping it over my head and flinging it and my bra across the room. I don't have time for niceties -- I need him to touch every part of me, right now. And he does. As big as his hands are, they're no match for my girls, but where his hands leave off, his lips take their place. And I'm in heaven.

The sharply defined muscles in his arms and back are mesmerizing. I can't seem to stop running my fingers along the ridges and valleys, sighing when they flex and quiver under my touch. Another part of him quivers against my thigh, reminding me that my snug jeans have got to go.

Reaching down to unzip them, my fingers graze along his length. I swear, I didn't intend to, but his guttural moan encourages me to change tacks and grasp him fully. He rests his head on my chest, panting, and pushes deeper into my hand. As it turns out, I need to use both hands, which is just fine by me.

He sets up a rhythm, then claims my mouth with his. It's not a gentle kiss but there's more to it than the animalistic passion of just a moment ago. So much more. Without missing a stroke, he pulls his head back, brushes a stray curl from my face and gazes into my soul.

Tears spring into my eyes unbidden. Emotion bubbles up inside me and I want to let it out by taking him inside me. I can't stand one more second of not being fully connected to him.

Though I'm loathe to do it, I release him, and wriggle my butt out of my jeans and panties in one fluid motion. He rolls onto his side and languidly strokes himself as he watches my every movement. His eyes never leave me. God, I'm about to explode with need!

I lay back, ready for him to take me, but he decides to torment me a bit first. One hand holds my hands lightly above my head while the other explores my curves. First stop, Nipple Central, where he circles each with his index finger before adding his thumb to roll and pinch it. I arch and gasp and silently beg him to never stop what he's doing.

He eventually does, though, slicking down my tummy and alongside one rounded hip. Stroking up between my thighs, he grazes my mound but doesn't stop. Instead, he skims my other thigh, his powerful fingers tucking under my knee and pulling it aside, leaving me fully exposed.

Slowly, so damn slowly, he inches upward toward the final destination, all the while holding my gaze with those ice-blue eyes of his. He knows I'm powerless to look away, and why would I ever want to?

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine at the moment his fingers make contact. I sigh and arch into him, up top and down below. I want him, I need him. His touch does things to me I never thought possible.

Our tongues dance and mingle as his fingers play me like I'm his instrument. My core is already as taut as a guitar string. It won't take much more plucking for me to reach a crescendo.

He can sense I'm close and drags his hand away. I moan in protest and arch again, to no avail. How can he do this to me? Bring me so close only to deny me. My entire body is tingling, almost vibrating.

He pulls away and searches my face. Whatever he's looking for, I'll give it to him. All he has to do is ask.

"Lola," he murmurs, his voice like warm velvet across my skin.

"Hmm?" I sigh, drinking him in.

"What happens next?" He tucks a curl behind my ear. Why is that so hot? I dunno but I almost climax from the simple act.