STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1) by Meghan Quinn Page A

back the chuckle. “They’re from Old Navy,” I answer, making her laugh. “What’s so funny about that?”
    “I don’t know. You just don’t seem like an Old Navy kind of guy.”
    “Don’t be so quick to judge.”
    Tilting her head to the side, she smiles and says, “Want to join me?” She pats her towel and scoots over.
    There is no way in hell I’m going to pass up this chance, so I sit down next to her, sharing the width of her towel.
    We sink our feet in the sand, stretching out our legs and leaning on our hands to prop up our chests. The waves beat down on the sand in front of us and the sun reflects off the blue of the ocean, making sunglasses a necessity. Days like this I’m grateful I live in California.
    “So,” she drags out, “I’m surprised you own board shorts. I would have expected you in some small piece of spandex.”
    “Thinking about me in a Speedo?” I tease, making her cute cheeks blush. “I would have sworn you’d try to come up with other ways to get away with flicking me in the head.”
    “There it is.” She looks down and shakes her head. “Only took you about five minutes to mention it.”
    I bump my shoulder into hers. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to mention it? Paisley, you flicked me right between the eyes, with a dart of a finger. I think I bruised for days.”
    Her hands cover her face in embarrassment. I love how real she is, showing her emotions, emotions that are not overdramatized or theatrical.
    “I don’t know what came over me. It was a low point in my life. I’m just glad you didn’t fire me over it.”
    “Please, I would never fire someone over that. Now, if you punched me in the throat without a reason, then we would be having a conversation.”
    She giggles and removes her hands from her face allowing her beautiful grey eyes to dance with my hazel ones. “I could never just punch someone in the throat.” She pauses and says, “Scratch that, I totally could.” Her voice dies off as she winces from her comment.
    “Let me guess, you want to punch Bellini in the throat?”
    “I didn’t say that.” She turns in shock, fear playing in her eyes.
    I just nod, not sure if I can trust her completely yet. I so desperately want to tell her that Bellini and I are living a farce, but I don’t know this girl. Then again, I barely know Bellini either.
    “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I ask, knowing the weather is always a safe topic.
    “It is. I’m surprised it wasn’t overcast this morning. Once I heard the weather report, I knew I had to head out to the beach.”
    “Do you surf?” I ask, wanting to know more about her.
    She tilts her head back, taking in the sun. From the column of her neck, to her chest, I observe every word and saying painted on her skin. Little sayings and phrases I’ve heard before float through my brain, sparking my memory, but I can’t quite place them.
    “I do surf,” she answers me. “Waves were a joke today, though, so I didn’t even bother dragging my board down here. I never want to be one of those surfers riding two-inch waves and fist-pumping the air for nailing something a toddler can ride out.”
    “Wave snob,” I joke. She just shrugs her shoulders, accepting my name-calling.
    We sit in comfortable silence, taking in the sun, feeling the heat radiating between us. From the corner of my eye, I watch her chest rise and fall to the rhythm of her heart. Her skin glistens in the light, and her lips are barely parted, making me wonder what they taste like, what they would feel like gliding across my body.
    Fuck, I want her.
    I want to fucking taste her, to nibble my teeth across her hardened nipples, to feel the weight of her breasts in my hand, to feel the tight confines of her pussy. Just from our short interactions, my body has already begun to crave her.
    But, I just don’t want her physically. I want to know more about her . What’s her background, why is she an assistant for Bellini and me? Does she