I was wet just from him saying my name in that unhinged voice. The timbre in it is almost too much to take.

Almost … but the need for revenge trumps it.

I curl both hands into his shorts, clutching his briefs too.

“Ave …” He shakes his head slowly, but when he swallows hard, I know I’ve got him. Jake is a lot of things, but he’s still just a guy who would let the world end around him if it meant that a woman was going to get on her knees and take him in her mouth.

“You know what I’m craving, Jake?” I lace each word with as much seduction as I can, which isn’t hard because … I’m so damn aroused.

His lips part and I know he can’t even speak. Yeah … I’ve got this.

I give him a sexy, sly grin. “Revenge.” Yanking as hard as I can, I pull down his pants, snatch the flashlight, and run like chased prey to the tent.

“Oh my gosh. Oh shit. Oh, oh, oh!” Panic inflames my veins as I navigate the uneven terrain while thinking of what I just did, but more than that … what I just saw.

Holy Batman! I saw Jake’s junk and it’s not at all junky. It’s almost as perfect and big as his feet. When it sprang free, it nearly poked my eye out. Skidding into the tent, completely breathless, I zip it shut and punch the air a hundred times in celebration before shoving Swarley off my sleeping bag and sliding into it until just my eyes peek out of the top.

I did it! I’m the queen, not a princess. Queen Don’t Mess With Me Avery.

My lungs hold my breath hostage as twigs crack beneath the approaching footsteps. Not even the thick sleeping bag hides the visible shaking of my body. I’m nothing more than a bundle of adrenaline and hormones.

Horny.

I’m so horny I could hump an inanimate object like Swarley does.

Light flickers and Jake unzips the flap and picks up the flashlight that I accidentally dropped while hurrying to get inside here.

“How old are you?” He pins me to the ground with a stern glare.

I don’t blink, but what he can’t see is my grin, and it’s every bit as big as his stupid, ridiculous, making-fun-of-Avery grins.

“Five? Are you five, Avery?” He shrugs off his tee.

I allow one blink to prevent my eyes from drying out. De-panting someone is not really a five-year-old prank. It’s probably more of a thirteen-year-old prank, but I don’t actually correct him because I’ve never pulled someone’s pants down out of revenge. Had I done it before, then I surely would have known to keep my face at a safe distance from the springy appendage.