Amelia was a bit surprised to see Charlie shedding his clothing almost immediately. When he dropped his boxers, she realized the masseuse meant all the way nude. She averted her eyes and turned around to undress herself.
“Come on … Don’t deprave me,” he was wheedling, and Amelia spent a moment relishing the thought that Charlie Delmonico was almost begging her for something. Then she gave in.
She turned and lifted her dress, revealing a bra and thong set. She reached around to unclasp her bra and it fell to the floor before she bent to retrieve it and her dress and put them in a chair.
“Leave the thong on,” he growled at her from his spot on his table, erection proudly jutting up to reach skyward.
She did as he commanded, and slipped under the sheet, using it to cover her breasts. Charlie had covered himself as well, and was currently cupping his cock, squeezing it tightly, while he stared at the ceiling.
“Christ, Amelia,” he began. “Your body is fantastic.” He looked like he was going to say more, but a soft knock at the door interrupted him, and a man and woman came in wheeling a tray of heated stones, towels, and various oils.
The woman rubbed on Amelia while the man worked on Charlie. It didn’t take long for her to succumb to the skilled touch of the woman. She was completely relaxed and almost asleep by the time she finished and left her alone with Charlie.
Her mind was wandering around all the sex they could have. Him kissing her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Her breasts, he would pay special attention to, laving them with his warm tongue. Then he would go lower…
“You ready to go back to the room?” His voice, husky with his own relaxation, broke into her reverie. At some point in the massage, she’d rolled over, and now she found herself pressing her pubic bone into the table, unfulfilled desire pulsing through her.
“Actually …” She was so relaxed, she should stop talking and just nod, but she couldn’t. “I was thinking sex might not be off the table.”
Had she really just said that out loud?
A muttered curse met her ears, and her eyes snapped open. He stared at her, disbelief etched in his strong features. He was sitting on the edge of his own table, reaching for his trousers. He tugged them on and grabbed at his shirt, shrugging it on, before wrapping his underwear in his jacket and reaching for her things.
He tossed the dress at her and stuffed her bra in his pants pocket.
“Let’s go, then.”
Chapter Fourteen
Charlie could hardly believe it. He hadn’t had it this bad for a woman ever, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t fucking touch her beyond what she’d promised him. In spite of the fact his fantasies had him fucking ruining her, he’d been the perfect gentleman.
But she’d given him the green light, and here he was, in the wrong damn place for all the filthy fantasies he’d had.
He hustled her out of the spa area of the hotel, and decided to take advantage of the beachfront, taking her around the outside. There was a party on the beach, tiki torches, portable bars, a giant fire, and people everywhere.
But not by their room.
He stopped her outside the sliding glass door and pushed her against the wall, holding her face in his hands.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He hated how needy he sounded, but if she stopped him as soon as he lost control, he wasn’t sure he could stop.
She stared at him with those deep fathomless eyes of hers and licked her lips before nodding.
He kissed her then, aware of the group of people fifty yards behind him and not giving a shit. Every other kiss before this one had been for show, for the people watching. Now, as he was sure no one was really watching them, he wanted them to. He wanted them to see she was giving herself to him.
She was his.
Using his hands, he pressed her mouth to his in a punishing kiss, demanding apology. She’d been so beautiful, so untouchable, and she would regret that he’d had to wait so long to taste her without pretense.
She moaned, and he used the desire to ramp her up more. He was about to burst, but he would take his. Eventually. For now, he would show her what she’d been missing by holding out.
He kissed down her neck, sucking and nibbling until he got to her shoulders. Removing one strap, he realized the fabric of the dress was stretchy, and he tugged it down to free a breast.
Which he practically mauled. Amelia’s sweet hands had found his hair and tangled in it, pressing him closer. She was leaning on the wall, her shoulders supporting her, while she arched into him. He reached for the hem of her dress, tugging it up and wrapping one leg around him as he delved into the darkness under her dress.
She was gasping his name.
“Feel it, Amelia. Feel what you do to me.” He thrust his erection into the juncture between her thighs, letting the hard ridge of his cock do his talking. She moaned as she rubbed against it, and he replaced it with a hand, teasing the fabric of her white thong aside and finding her needy, wet heat.
It didn’t take much. His kisses, one hand tweaking the nipple of her breast, and the other buried in her sweet pussy, before she fell apart on a cry, yelling his name into the darkness.
Where the partygoers surely knew she belonged to him now.
He kissed her once again, breathing hard, as he straightened her dress. Whispering against her lips, he told her the things he wanted to do to her.
“You have no idea. I want to spank that ass, while I twist your hair between my fingers and pull. Choking. I’m going to rip that ass in two.” He had to breathe deeply to form a complete sentence, this woman messed with him so badly. “I’ll fuck you so rough you will be ruined for anyone else but me. Me, Amelia. You’re mine.”
It was like a switch flipped, and she stiffened. Her trembling legs no long shook, and her eyes weren’t dazed with lust anymore. Disgust filled her eyes now, and he took a step back to see her fully.
She pushed him the rest of the way and ran inside.
No fucking way was she stopping this.
He followed her in, slamming the door behind him.
“What the fuck?” He should have known. She was a goddamn prick tease. He’d seen it in her naiveté. He should have known she’d balk at him.
“I don’t want you to hurt me. I’ve been there, done that, thank you. Not interested.”
“I don’t want to marry you. I want to fuck you. Jesus. Do you do this with every man you fuck? It’s a fuck!”
She flinched every time he said the word, and he relished it. “Fuck! Fuck!” She was shaking again, but it was anger. Her face was red, but not with the blotchy haze of desire. She was pissed at him, and he just kept going, he couldn’t stop. “I don’t want to marry my fucking secretary. I want to fuck her. Maybe a blowjob. This doesn’t mean hearts and flowers. Are you so stupid you thought it did?”
Now she was crying. He wanted to lick the tears and knew as soon as he thought it, it was wrong, but it was an urge he had anyway.
“No, I didn’t think it meant hearts and flowers, Charlie.” She spoke through her tears, and it was one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful things he’d ever heard. His dick was still hard, throbbing against his zipper, begging for a release. “But I won’t let you hurt me.”
Realization hit him. She didn’t mean the emotional hurt. Maybe this was salvageable.
He ran his hand through his hair and tried to figure out how to fix this, even as he realized he’d never had to work so hard to get a woman into his bed in his life. Was she worth it?
He thought about how tight her pussy was with just a finger, and realized he needed his dick in that. He thought of the birth control pills on the bathroom counter and imagined going in bare.
Fuck.
Yes. She was worth it.
“Okay. Sit.” She did, automatically. Her knees folded and she landed on the edge of the bed. “Take off your clothes.” He just needed a little more finesse than he’d sh
own earlier. When he’d been talking, he told her of fantasies he had, but he realized she wasn’t the type of woman to go there without a little warming up. He knew that; he had just forgotten in the heat of the moment.
She sat there, not taking off the dress, so he sat next to her and peeled one strap off one shoulder.
“Pleasure and pain go together for me. I’ve always liked sex a little rough.” He kissed her shoulder, then sucked on the skin. Then he bit it gently, and she flinched before he licked where he’d bitten her. He tasted the oil from the massage, but she started shivering. “I have never made love to a woman, not since I was too young to know what anything meant.” Slowly, he inched the other sleeve off of her with his other hand and tugged her dress down to expose both breasts.
“Your tears are exquisite, Amelia.” He gave in then and licked her face, tasting the salty tracks of her tears with a groan, even as he squeezed a nipple before testing the weight of her breasts in his palms. “Fucking beautiful.” He leaned back and watched her. She still sat up, rigid, but she wasn’t shaking anymore, and she watched him carefully to see what he would do next. His girl was even leaning toward him, slightly.
“I long to see my handprints on you, red where I’ve marked you in passion. A passion born from desire, Amelia, not pain to hurt. Pain to pleasure.” He dipped his head to her breast and engulfed it with his mouth. She arched into him, and he pulled back, sucking on the nipple only. Hard. She hissed in air.
“Feel what that does to your pussy? It’s clenching and wet, isn’t it?” He looked up at her, and she nodded at him. “Your body knows.” He went back to mouthing her breast, tugging and pulling with suction, then biting softly on the nipple, letting go to suck his teeth against it. “See? Pleasure and pain. The slight bit of pain heightens the pleasure.”
He had no idea what sort of nonsense he was spilling at her, but she seemed to be eating it up.
“For future reference, I like pain too. Scrape your teeth up my dick when you’re blowing me, sink your fingernails into my skin, scratch them down my back while I’m fucking you. All of it. More. I love it.”
“Oh God,” she whispered.
“Yes. Now lean back and let me fuck you, Amelia.”
As if he’d lit a fire under her ass, she scooted up the bed, pulling off her dress as she went. She started undoing the straps of her sandals, but he stopped her.
“No. Dig those heels into my ass while I’m fucking you.” Standing, he shed his clothing, eyeing her the entire time. She timidly took off her panties, and he was rewarded with a wet spot in the crotch of them.
Fucking gorgeous.
He lowered himself over her, then moved down, sucking and biting as he went, until he got to her pussy. Lifting her legs over his shoulders, she did, in fact, rest the sharp heels on his back, and the scratching of them on his skin had a rumble of awareness moving sharply up his spine.
And then he dipped his head and tasted her.
**
Amelia had gone into this with a certain amount of trepidation, but so far, he hadn’t really hurt her. His words outside had scared her, sure. Especially when pictures of Jackson hitting her and using her hair to drag her around the house so he could hit her some more filled her mind. But Charlie had only caused a minimal amount of pain and it was in tandem with some serious pleasure, so she was intrigued.
When he latched his mouth on her clit and started sucking hard, all thoughts of Jackson fled. As they should. Charlie’s mouth seemed to fit over her nether regions in just the perfect way, the suction of his mouth so intense, she nearly screamed as she dug into the sheets with her fingernails to find some tether to reality.
Her thighs shook, and she pressed her feet down, indeed digging the heels of these shoes into his back, trying to find some purchase somewhere. Charlie made a noise she could only take as approval, and she remembered how he’d told her to dig into his back. He liked it. The warmth his noise sent into her pussy was yet one more sensation for her to register.
But she was too busy flying. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. The sensations of him were everywhere. One hand twisting her nipple, while the other wrapped around her thigh, keeping her spread for him, even while she was squeezing them closed against the torturous pleasure.
It hurt. It was delicious.
Her hands started stroking his hair, gripping it, then stroking again.
Charlie unwrapped his hand and delved fingers inside her. The sloppy noises of her wetness as he sloshed in and out of her should have been embarrassing, but instead they added to the eroticism of the experience. She wasn’t Amelia Flores. She was something else. She was wanted, lusted after, and being pleasured out of her mind.
Charlie used his teeth on her now; his sharp incisors pinched her flesh, scraping against it, while his fingers spread and scissored inside her. Then something foreign started happening—a stinging sensation down there in a place she’d never felt it before.
Somehow, he was pushing a finger inside her rear. It was an invasion, and she couldn’t stop it. Her pelvis came off the bed to writhe away from him, as she tugged on his hair to pull him up, but he twisted her nipple painfully in response, shoving the digit in deeper, and she succumbed to the darkest pleasure she’d ever imagined.
Charlie made a noise into her, his teeth replaced by a flicking tongue, and the pleasure turned to a white-hot inferno of carnality. She was pushing herself into his mouth; his fingers were pulsing in and out of her holes, and she felt so full and wanton and needing more, but it was all too much. She was about to die, and she needed more.
Then she was a quivering mass of sensations in the bed, while he was kissing the inside of her thighs, and rising from his perch between her legs. He shoved his pants down his legs, and removing his shirt, and she could only stare, rendered mute by the sight and what he’d done to her.
His eyes were darker than they’d been, and his shoulders quivered with restraint. Charlie’s hands went to her hips, and he flipped her over, tugging her into a kneeling position, one hand on her shoulders to keep them down.
Then he plunged inside her, stretching her already sore tissue. Again and again, each thrust taking her breath away. His hands on her ass, spreading it. Then only one hand. When his other hand returned, he pressed something against the tight ring of muscle.
“No,” she pleaded. Once had been enough, but she’d been mindless with pleasure. Now it had gone, and he was riding her, sticking what had to be his thumb inside her. “It hurts.”
“Only for a moment. You’ll stretch.” His voice was ragged and he ignored her plea.
He was right though. As he moved inside her, stroking places in her depths, she did, in fact, stretch to accommodate him. The initial burn gave way to simply pressure, and he pushed on something inside her, until she was climbing that terrifying, painful precipice again.
He leaned over her, biting her shoulder as his other hand went around to rub at her clit. He was balancing on an elbow, to keep the totality of his weight off her, and as he rubbed and pinched, his tongue was doing things to her neck and shoulder and in that moment, Amelia had the impression that she was taken care of, that her pleasure was important. Necessary.
That’s when she fell apart again. She tried not to think about the thumb in her asshole, but rather the cock inside her and the fingers on her nub and the mouth on her neck, but at his grunts of release, the twitching of him inside her, the hot jets of his release against her inner walls, she began contracting her orgasm once more.
She cried out and fell forward, unable to take any more from him.
Charlie lay on his side next to her, breathing heavily, and used one arm to tug her into a spoon. He shushed her, making soothing noises in her ear, calling her beautiful.
That’s when she realized she was crying.
Chapter Fifteen
The rest of their time in the Cayman Islands passed in a blur of pleasure and pain, sunshine and salty
water. They drank fruity drinks on the beach, took a tour of the sea around them, saw dolphins and sharks, and schools of colorful fish. He put sunscreen on her body, especially her rear end, toying with the tight puckered hole he was so fond of, and gave her more than one climax on the white sands of the beach.
He’d devoted the remaining time there to showing Amelia his distinctive brand of enjoyment, and instead of giving her a sense of peace, it only served to make her more conflicted.
What would happen when they got back to the States and he resumed his job? Would she still only be his secretary? Or would she be more?
Sitting on the sand, she was glad for her sunglasses so he couldn’t see her eyes. The word girlfriend didn’t apply to a man like Charlie. He’d said as much when he’d thought she was angling for a relationship with him. He didn’t do hearts and flowers, and she’d do well to remember that.
At night, the orgasms he gave her brought tears to her eyes, and he’d lick them off, muttering words about how beautiful she was in her pain.
The pain wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced before. It was the complete darkness of a hurricane, just before the beauty of the storm that left devastation in its path.
It was the devastation of impending death, before the beauty of peace.
It was everything.
And nothing. Because she didn’t have a word to pin to it. Like her own existence. Did she only exist as Charlie’s secretary? His secret lover? It was like Gram, only knowing her as a pretend ward, coming in at night after a day out, where Gram imagined she went on social calls and outings with friends, as ladies of leisure in eighteenth century society did. But Gram didn’t know her. And neither did Charlie. Not really. But he seemed to know her body, and this week, that was all that really mattered, wasn’t it?
Sometimes it seemed she was pretending for all of it, except the times with Charlie, where her pleasure pain was his chief goal.
“You need more sunscreen on your back.” His words were enough on the surface, but she heard the underlying desire. Their beach was relatively private, owned by the hotel, and at the moment was nearly empty. The only people on it were a hundred yards away.
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