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Sweet As a Peach

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“This is the best kind of afternoon,” Briar said lazily, leaning back against the tree with his eyes closed and his arms behind his head. The bark bit into the bare skin. “The kind spent with friends.”

“Friends?” Sandry said doubtfully, those bright blue eyes twinkling. “Friends aren’t usually naked.”

“We’re not naked,” he protested. “Just, you know...shirtless.”

She glanced down at herself, and he couldn’t help but do the same, admiring her soft white skin, her sweet curves. Even in this heat, which could wilt the staunchest of flowers, she looked as vibrant as a rose in spring, freshly bloomed, too pretty for words.

And far too seductive by half.

“I wish I had your magic, sometimes,” Briar said wistfully. She was straddling him, and had arranged her skirts in a most amusing ladylike fashion to cover her legs. “I could just tell that cotton of yours to unravel and leave you naked as a jaybird.”

“I’ve never understood that, you know.” Sandry plucked a peach out of their basket. “How can jaybirds be naked?”

“How should I know—oh, you did that on purpose!”

She had bitten primly into the peach, but hadn’t done it quite neatly enough, and now the juice was dripping down her chin, rivulets trickling down the cleft of her breasts, sticky and sweet and oh so promising.

“Now look at you,” he teased, grinning slowly. “How ever will we clean that off you?”

Sandry squealed.