Lily’s nose wrinkled at the stuffy, stale air in the sealed house. It was hotter inside than outside, only slightly cooler on the screened-in porch. The heat had pulled every unsavory scent from the old place, heated it up and left if hanging in the air like soup.
Toby pulled his shirt over his head and threw it aside while expelling a burst of air that choked his lungs. Lily put her cup down and placed her cold hands on his bare chest. He reacted to the touch of her icy palms on his searing skin. She stood on her tiptoes. Her lips made contact with his neck and parted slightly, drizzling the melted ice down his back. Toby took her cold tongue in his mouth until it wasn’t cold any longer, and then pulled her onto the bed.
"It’s too hot for this," he moaned. "My dad will find our dead bodies here in the morning."
"Naked," she added, reaching for her cup and another mouthful of ice.
Lily left little rivers and puddles on his torso, and then lightly blew on him. Toby’s muscles contracted from the sensation. He gasped when she finger-painted his skin with icy water. Her clothes slowly fell away one piece at a time, like a finely orchestrated striptease. She massaged his flesh with her hot skin and more ice, cooling his outside temperature, but raising his internal thermometer.
"Is this one of those things?" Toby asked, his voice husky with desire.
"You mean one of those things that I do for you?" she whispered.
Lily filled her mouth full of ice again and crept down his chest, unzipping his shorts.
"Oh my God," Toby groaned, clenching his teeth from the painful pleasure. "Turnabout is fair play."
"I’ll be sure to save you some ice," she murmured before refilling her mouth with ice, followed by him.
The sky lit up with bursts of fireworks that cast a pastel glow on their glistening skin. The display popped with each tendril of color painting the heavens. The smell of powder flooded the porch, combined with the applause from the far side of the riverbanks, left an imprint forever in his memory. The show lasted the duration of their lovemaking, or vice versa. The grand finale of the pyrotechnics mirrored the climax of their encounter.
Lily Tucker is down on her luck and considering a career strutting her stuff around a pole when she gets a call about an unexpected inheritance. It’s every girl’s dream—her estranged grandmother’s kicked the bucket, leaving Lily a house on a private island in Wonderland.
When she reaches Wonderland, though, she finds a house that’s more like a hovel, a job waiting tables at the local diner, and a crime wave that seems to begin and end with Lily herself. Sexy deputy Toby can’t decide if he should arrest her or drag her off to bed—until it becomes clear that Lily’s not the criminal. She’s the target.
What do you think? Is love making anything like a fireworks display? Is that a fantasy, a myth or a goal? Leave me a comment with your email address and I'll enter you in a drawing for an ecopy of Lily in Wonderland.
Don't forget to share the love with the other brilliant authors.
When Sparks Fly blog hop.