by Dylan Allen
“Does asking for my panties make him an asshole?” I ask and then slap a hand over my mouth when her jaw drops. “Forget I said that.”
“Regan, there is no TMI between us,” she says when she recovers from her shock “It’s just…that’s hot. And he’s hot. He talks dirty and made you come without even touching you. Go find that man right now. If you don’t, I will. Did he have a big dick?”
I throw my head back and laugh, I don’t answer the last question, but my body tightens at the memory of his thick length.
I haven’t even considered an affair. But if I were to pick a man to do it with - that stranger, with his sharp, strong jaw, his full pink lips and the quiet, calm strength he exuded from every single part of his incredible body – would fit the bill.
My thighs clench at the thought of having that big, muscular body between my thighs. I haven’t had a man like him, ever.
My phone buzzes with a text and I look down. “It’s Marcel,” I say and read his text.
“Why aren’t you answering my calls? This is ridiculous.”
I delete it.
Matty’s hand covers mine and squeezes. “Play it cool and don’t be obvious, but the guy from the shuttle is here and he’s watching you,” Matty says under her breath.
I look up and pretend I’m looking around until I see him.
He doesn’t look away when he sees me notice him. I smile and wave.
After a beat, a smile tugs up one corner of his mouth and he waves back.
Matty nudges me “Go! Take him back to your room. Have fun.”
Why not?
It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone, much less been able to act on it. And this is the perfect place. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. And there’s no denying the chemistry…
My phone buzzes again. I look down and frown when I see my mother’s name. Her timing is impeccable, as always. I turn away from Mr. Hot God, stand up and walk to a quieter section of the restaurant before I answer.
“Mommy?” My stomach lightens and my heart skips a beat when I hear my son’s teary voice.
“Henri, what’s wrong honey?”
“Where are you?” His little voice sounds so far away and yet I’m sure that if I closed my eyes I could reach out and touch him.
“Didn’t you get my letter today, baby?” I left each of them a note for every day I’m gone. My mother called it overkill, but it’s the first time I’ve been away for this long without them…and so soon after I went to visit Jack.
“Yeah, I did. But you didn’t say where you are,” he complains.
“I’m saying bye to a friend,” I remind him, gently.
“You can do that on the phone. I want you to come home.” I stiffen at his demanding, petulant tone. He sounds so much like his father. In fact, I’m sure he’s repeating something he’s heard his father say.
I keep my voice even and free of my internal irritation. “Of course, I miss you. And I’ll be home soon, Henri. Aren’t you having fun with your grandmother?”
“Not at all,” he declares, and I can just picture his frowning pink-lipped pout. “Uncle Tyson took us to Truluck’s again. He knows they don’t have a kid’s menu and he eats all this raw, slimy stuff. And he wouldn’t speak French with Martinez and that made Eva mad. Nana can’t work any of the TVs and she makes us practice our handwriting every day. I want you to come home.” He’s out of breath and fully in the grip of his misery when he’s done listing his grievances.
“I’ll come home early,” is on the tip of my tongue. But it’s stilled by the promise I made to myself that guilt over being away from my kids wouldn’t intrude on this trip.
I miss them, but I need this time to myself desperately. “I’ll talk to your grandmother about your handwriting, and I’ll be home on Sunday afternoon. We’ll spend the whole day together,” I promise.
“Will Uncle Remi be back soon, too?”
“I think so,” I say and pray I’m right. Remi has done this before - taking off without a word. But never for this long. My kids love him more than just about anyone else. He’s more present in their lives than their father and his extended absence has been felt keenly by them. Especially by Eva.
“Where’s your grandmother and does she know you’re using her phone??”
“She’s in the bath. Eva stressed her out, so she needed to relax.” He affects my mother’s voice and I chuckle. He’s an excellent mimic. I normally chastise him for his impersonations - I don’t want him poking fun at people. But he’s so spot on and it’s more of an homage than a mimic and his answering giggle feels like a perfect place to say goodbye. “Alright, honey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Wait, can you help me turn on Paw Patrol, first? Evie’s locked in her room and she’s got that keep out sign on her door.”
My ten-year-old is on the cusp of tweenhood and her patience for her twin brothers’ antics is virtually non-existent, and the last thing I want is to be refereeing fights over the phone. “Of course, darling, but let me go somewhere quiet and I’ll call you back.” With a sigh of longing and one last look across the pool, I head inside.
Chasing Venus
Stone
The view of the horizon from my poolside table is breathtaking. That kiss of sea and sky is a siren song extolling the vast and limitless adventures I’ve yet to take. Proximity to water is the thing I miss most living in Pamplona. It’s a stunning town set deep in the valley of a mountain range in Eastern Colombia called Valle del Espiritu Santo. It’s a humble, charming community that settled in the 16th century. It bustles with commerce by day and vibrates with revelry by night.
But the excellent food, the welcoming people, and the endless promise of adventure that can be found within a day’s drive of the city, can’t compare to the crash of waves and the cool, constant breeze that wafts over me like a Sea of Cortez’s sigh of contentment. This water is always where I find equilibrium. I could stay here forever.
A loud shriek pulls my eyes to the other side of the pool just in time to see a woman fly through the air and land in the water with a splash so big that several cries of complaint rise up around us.
When I turn back toward the horizon, I scan the dining area and see Regan Wilde sitting across the pool in all her windswept, golden brown glory.
She leans back in her chair and I get a view of her upper body that makes my mouth water.
Her white romper opens from her neck to her navel, exposing just a hint of the rounded full breasts beneath. A gold chain glints against her exposed chest and snakes a trail down her flat, toned stomach and disappears into the waistband of her shorts.
Beautiful is too tame a word to describe her. Even when I was just a boy who didn’t know my ass from my dick, I knew she was something rare and special.
I take a swig of my beer to wash down the nostalgia that’s clouding my judgement. All of that was a whole lifetime ago; In this lifetime, Tyson Wilde, her younger brother, is one of my best friends and one of the few people in the entire world that I trust.
I met him when I tried out for the track team at U of H. He brought a box of Shipley’s glazed donuts to practice and offered them around. Everyone reacted like they were nuns being asked to suck a dick.
Except me. We paired up for team workouts and discovered that a weakness for glazed donuts was just one of the things we had in common.
When the teamwork out was done, everyone else was laid out, legs turned to jelly, lungs ragged with exertion. I headed outside for a run. Tyson, who’s competitive streak asked if he could join me. I humored him and said yes but warned that I was setting a six-minute mile pace.”
“Why? You tired?” he asked before he took off. At the end of a fast, hard, flat out run that left us both gasping for breath he extended his hand, a grin of respect on his face and said, “I’m the Tyson Wilde, not to be confused with my less handsome, much older brother Remington.”
My heart was already racing from the exertion of the workout, but like a de
er who sees the headlights too late, I blurted my name and said “I think we’re supposed to be enemies”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking a feud that has nothing to do with me is a dumb reason to not work out together. I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
We laughed, but I’ve never told my brothers about our friendship and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t either. But when he talks about Regan, I feel guilty pretending not to know her at all. He’s as protective of her as I am of my brothers. If he knew that she has been the inspiration of every wet dream I’ve ever had, he’d probably kick my ass.
I don’t want to risk my friendship with Tyson. We don’t talk often, but when we do, this trip will come up and how can I pretend I had no clue his sister was here?
Determined to do the right thing, I grab my phone and shoot him a text.
“Just saw Regan at my resort.”
“You’re in Cabo?” His answer comes back instantly.
“Yup. Just saw her.”
“Is she okay?”
I recall her tears
Why wouldn't she?
“Her marriage is over.”.
” I pump my fist at that. Hell, yes.
“What happened?” I text back and hold my breath for his answer.
“He’s fucking the nanny.” He responds.
“Woah.” What kind of idiot has sex with other women when they’re married to Regan Wilde?
“Yup. Buy her a drink and help her get laid.”
If only he knew just how much I’d like to do that, he wouldn’t ask.
“By anyone *but* you. You dirty fucker,” his next message reads. I laugh nervously
Duh. And I think she can buy her own drinks and get laid just fine if she wants. I’ll just say hi.” If she happens to climb on my lap and ride my dick again, I most certainly won’t say no.
“I’ll text her, let her know so she doesn’t think you’re some random hitting on her and kick you in the balls before you can introduce yourself.”
“I’m looking at her right now. Tell her to look up and she’ll see me.”
“Cool. Getting a call, later.”
I watch her intently now. She and her friend are still laughing and talking. I wonder what she’ll think when she realizes Stone is me. She looks down at her phone and frowns.
I hold my breath when she looks up suddenly and scans the pool area. Tyson must have texted her. I stay stock still and wait for her to find me.
Her gaze moves past me and then comes back suddenly. She lifts her sunglasses up and a smile spreads on her lips.Her smile is so bright, I feel the heat of it from all the way over here.
She looks…excited to see me. Maybe she’s forgiven me for stabbing that dude and cussing her out that night.
I wave.
She lifts her hand and waves back.
Her smile disappears abruptly, and she looks down at her phone, again.
Her expression becomes a frown, and as she lifts it to her ear, speaks briefly and then with a quick, but heated glance in my direction, she stands to leave and that mouthwatering body of hers comes fully into view. The crocheted hem of her shorts skim the tops of her supple, shapely thighs. The sight of which set my palms tingling. I stand, intent on following her, and nearly collide with the server standing at my table with a tray of food balanced on one hand.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, as I lose sight of Regan. I sit, a frustrated sigh slips past my lips before I press them together and give the woman a halfhearted smiled. “That’s mine?” I ask.
Her brows furrow and her smile flattens as concern creases her eyes and she reaches for the small pad of paper in her shirt front pocket. “You are leaving? Or, maybe I have the wrong table?”
“No, no, this is right. Sorry, go ahead.” I gesture at the table.
She nods, but there’s a bemused smile on her face, as she lays my food out on the table and the aroma of sweet roasted garlic, caramelized onions and sizzling Carne Asada makes my eyes roll back in my head, and my empty stomach growls its demand.
I start building my fajita and plan my assault.
Even if Tyson’s intel about her marriage is right, Regan Wilde is still out of my league.
But being close enough to touch the one horizon I’ve always wanted to explore, the adrenaline junkie in me can’t resist. It’s a long shot; she might not be so keen now that she knows I’m not a stranger.
I attack my meal with gusto and eat every bite.
It’s said that fortune favors the bold. I’ll need all the stamina I can get because the next time I see her, I’m going to put that theory to the test.
Head Start
Stone
I’m sitting at the bar, watching the entrance of the restaurant for her, when the intangible, but unmistakable sultry citrus scent of her fills my lungs. I stop typing mid-sentence and lay my phone down, just as she slides that fine ass of hers onto the bar stool next to me.
“Long time, no see,” Regan drawls, in her smooth as cream, sexy as fuck voice. Her impossibly dark eyes glint like obsidian coins, as she drags them over my face in a frank, possessive appraisal.
“Have you come to bring me your panties?” I drawl.
She shakes her head no, but a slow smile lifts the corners of her lush mouth, before she leans in, so close, that her lips touch my ear when she speaks.
“I wanted to see if you were recovered. I felt guilty leaving you in such a state of obvious need when I got off…on your lap.”
She draws back, and the twinkle in her eye is as intoxicating as her scent and as captivating as her smile. God, the things I want to do to her…aware of where we are and of the rapidly withering integrity of my restraint, I lean away from the temptress and sip the warm, bitter dregs of my beer, so that I can speak without clearing my suddenly parched throat.
“It’s nice to know there are still women out there who don’t just hit and quit it. Thank you for your concern, unfortunately, I’m far from recovered.”
“I could take your word for it, or you could come to my room and let me see for myself.” Her gaze is unflinchingly direct, the invitation in them, unambiguous.
I’d been prepared to wear her down. That she’s the one, propositioning me, slackens my jaw and scrambles my wits. I look from her face to the card and back again, as I try to force my brain to work.
At my hesitation, doubt clouds her dark eyes, and she glances down to my lap. Her frank gaze lingers there, watching my hardening dick demonstrate what’s trapped on my tied tongue.
Like the proverbial cat eyeing her bowl of cream, the tip of her tongue strokes her gloss-slicked lips. God, how I want to fuck that mouth.
As if she heard me, her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes hooded, luminous, and clear of the uncertainty that flashed in them, a few seconds ago.
“You may be something of a tease, but your dick certainly isn’t,” she drawls.
I lean in until I’m close enough to smell the juniper on her breath and the brush of her soft exhales tickle my lips.
“Those are fighting words. I must defend my honor. My dick challenges your mouth to a duel.”
Her eyes widen, her chest heaves, but her smile is sure and sensual as she reaches into the back pocket of her tiny shorts. “I accept.” She pulls a keycard out and slides it over to me. “Give me ten minutes. Room 3260. At the top of the hill.” She steps off the stool and with a wink, she saunters away. I watch her until she leaves the restaurant and try to catch my breath.
My pulse quickens the same way it does at the start of a difficult race. I know she’s not a thing to be won or a mountain to be conquered, but damn if I haven’t wanted to do both since the day she wrapped her arms around me and changed the course of my entire life.
When she got married, my hope of catching my Venus stopped being a deferred dream. At sixteen, on the cusp of manhood, I discarded it as the fruitless fantasy of a boy too young to know better.
Today, there’s too much between us for anything more than a
tryst.
I live on a different continent.
She’s married.
She’s my best friend’s sister.
My brother is fighting like hell to rebuild our family’s tattered reputation and I promised to help him. Getting involved with the wife of a man he does business with would shatter that oath.
I signal the bartender and order two fingers of whiskey, throw it back and set my timer for ten minutes.
When the alarm trills, I settle my tab, drop some cash in the tip car, and make my way up the hill. I wave away the shuttle that slows to pick me up. I need the walk to clear my head. At this point in my life, the kind of trouble she spells is the very last thing I need.
I churn the same arguments while I make way to her room. Yet, I never consider turning back because for each argument, there is a single, compelling rebuttal that resounds until it becomes a refrain; The woman of my every dream just offered herself to me.
So, tonight, I’m finally going to have what I want, how I want. And I’m going to enjoy her very much.
I Want More
Regan
“If you didn’t know me, would you want to fuck me?” I prop my iPad against the bathroom mirror. I step away, place my hands on my hips, throw my shoulders back and wait for my friend Charlie to give his verdict.
His dark eyes bug out of his head. “If my wife walks in right now, which she might ’cause she gets twitchy when you call, she would flip out. Put some damn clothes on right now.” His volume progresses over the course of that sentence and by the time he’s done, he’s shouting. He winces. “Please?” he pleads in a hushed voice.
I open my mouth to argue. His wife’s jealousy is annoying as hell. But the last thing I want is to make it even more difficult for Charlie to be my friend. I position the camera so he can only see my face and flash him an apologetic grimace and perch on the edge of the claw footed tub. “Sorry, I’m just freaking out because I’m about to be naked in front of a man for the first time in five years and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”