by J. Kenner
Tony knew from the club’s promotional material that there were hard-core areas of the resort, too, used mostly by the regulars or very ambitious newcomers. Orgy rooms and BDSM dungeons. None of that was in the video, though. It was all slow and sensual and full of island heat, presumably to relieve the nerves of any newcomers on the plane and get them in the mood to join the party the moment the plane touched down.
He had to admit, it was working. He was already a little drunk, a lot hard, and not regretting this mission in the least.
He shifted in his seat as he glanced at Emma. The seats they occupied were like any airline seats, but the armrest between them defaulted to up, so that it was as if they were on a tiny sofa. They’d reached cruising altitude about fifteen minutes ago, and the tray in front of Emma was down, holding both their drinks. Not that he needed another. They’d finished off the entire pitcher of mimosas in the limo, and he’d already had a nice little buzz when they walked down the jetway.
Still, he hadn’t turned down the champagne that the attendant had offered him. What would be the point? It wasn’t as if he was driving. On the contrary, he was sitting in a small plane with fifteen other couples, several of whom had unbuckled and, from the intimate sounds drifting up from the back of the cabin, were already initiating themselves into the mile-high club.
Yeah, that refill on his drink was a good thing.
His attention drifted to Emma’s bare legs. The skirt was even shorter when she was sitting, something he’d noted in the limo, but had done nothing about. Now, with the sounds of sex rising around them as inhibitions lowered along with the lights, he wanted to touch her. No, not wanted. Right then, it felt like he had to touch her.
He told himself that it was the alcohol driving his lust. Either that or the need to seem confident in this woman’s body by the time they reached the resort.
Both of those excuses were true, yet neither was the full truth. There was something compelling about Emma. Something he wasn’t prepared to examine too closely. Not just yet.
Her skin, though…
That he would happily examine. As she closed the brochure and shut her eyes, he reached over and trailed his fingertip lightly over the skin right at the hemline of her skirt. He waited for her to open her eyes and look at him, but she didn’t. She did, however, smile as she uncrossed her legs, spreading them just enough to part her thighs.
His body warmed, and he eased his hand up higher, pushing the skirt as he went until he could see the crotch of her pale pink panties. “Take them off,” he whispered.
Her eyes opened into slits. “You want them off, you take them off.”
He raised a brow. “Disobeying me? At the rates I’m paying, I expect complete obedience.”
For a moment, she only stared, then she very slowly dragged her teeth over her lower lip. “Of course, sir,” she said, in the kind of voice meant to make a man hard. It worked. And, interestingly, he also noticed the press of her now-tight nipples against the cupcake T-shirt.
She lifted her ass a few inches out of the seat, then eased up the skirt, fully revealing the tiny silk panties. His breath hitched, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest as those cool eyes looked at him with unusual heat.
And then she slowly wiggled her hips as she eased her panties down, giving him a view of her pale skin and pussy, smooth except for a narrow landing strip. She lifted a brow, then handed them to him. The silk was warm from contact with her body, and he bunched them in his hand, lifted them to his nose, and breathed in the scent of her arousal. “You’re turned on.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be?”
“You are,” he admitted. “The question is, what should I do about it?”
She cocked her head, then spread her legs wider. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Sir.”
Oh, holy fuck. He might be the one supposedly doling out the cash and running the show, but Emma had his cock wrapped right around her little finger.
“Are you wearing a bra?” He could tell by looking that she wasn’t, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“No.”
“I can tell. Your nipples are hard. I can see them against that shirt. Is that what you want? For me to eat you?”
She moaned softly. “I think that would be just fine.”
“Be good, and we’ll see.” He traced his fingertip back and forth along her inner thigh, never coming closer than three inches to her pussy. He watched in the dim light. Seeing her body respond. Knowing she was getting wetter, hotter.
Slowly, he trailed his fingertip along the crease between her thigh and her torso, his other hand stroking his cock, hard inside his jeans. She bit her lip and made the kind of whimpering sound that he wouldn’t have expected from a woman with the kind of hardened resume that Emma had.
The dichotomy of exceptional operative and needy woman made him want to sink inside her. To own her. It would be so easy. Just tug her onto his lap. Watch her eyes as she rode him.
Christ, he wanted that. But not yet, he told himself. Not just yet.
Instead, he wanted to make her melt. He wanted to take her to the edge.
He wanted her to beg, and not only because he knew that in the end the anticipation would make the pleasure that much more intense for her, but because he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he could. She’d put herself in his hands. He intended to make very, very clear that she’d made the absolute right decision.
“Slide your hands under your shirt,” he ordered. “Close your eyes and play with your nipples.”
“Tony—”
“Did I say you could talk?”
She hesitated, but she complied. Her neck arched back, her hands disappeared under that goofy cupcake. And, oh yes, she spread her legs wider without him even having to ask.
“Now that is a very pretty picture,” he said, then sucked on his finger, getting it wet before lightly teasing her vulva, first stroking her labia, then listening to her suck in a sharp breath as he brushed lightly over the hard nub of her clit. She was swollen and ready and it took all of his willpower not to chuck whatever loose plans were in his head and fuck her right there. Why the hell not? Everyone else in the plane seemed to be.
Except this wasn’t about instant gratification. This was about—
Honestly, he wasn’t sure what this was about other than pleasure. Her pleasure. And his. Because watching her melt was giving him a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Probably because he’d never let himself get close to anyone. For him, sex was usually about nothing more than taking the edge off a hard day.
Right now, it was about her. Making her feel. And, honestly, for no real reason other than that he wanted to. Getting comfortable with each other for the island was just an excuse. A good one, but it was as much a cover as their fake names.
No, he wanted this. And the fact that she so obviously did, too, affected him in ways that were both unfamiliar and yet very, very satisfying.
Beside him, she made a soft noise as he slowly cupped her sex, then curled two fingers and slipped them inside her. “Stay still,” he ordered when she started to rock against his hand. “This is just a taste,” he whispered, withdrawing his fingers so he could tease her clit as he watched her squeeze her nipples beneath the shirt, her muscles tight, her mouth open.
He teased her a bit more, taking her to the edge, reveling in the power he held over her. Such an incredible woman, and yet she was melting under his touch. Dear God, he liked that. Hell, he liked it more than he thought he would.
Most of all, he liked knowing that for this mission—his mission—he was the one in charge. Not only of the mission. But of her.
She was panting now, little moans emerging from her throat.
He slipped his fingers back inside her and felt her core tighten around him. And then, because that was the game, he withdrew completely. “You did good,” he said. “I’m definitely getting my money’s worth.”
She made a whimpering sound, th
en opened her eyes as he took her brochure and started flipping through it. “We should probably be familiar with the resort’s itinerary,” he said, keeping his voice casual.
She swallowed, her hands still in her shirt.
“Hands down,” he ordered, and watched with satisfaction as she reluctantly obeyed.
“Bastard,” she said, but there wasn’t any heat.
“That’s Sir Bastard,” he corrected.
She turned her head, eyeing him as she adjusted her skirt so that it once again covered her, albeit without underwear. “I can already tell that I’m going to enjoy our mission. But I want to make one thing clear.” She leaned over and cupped his cock as she whispered in his ear. “In this game, you don’t win unless you make me come.”
He shook his head, gently pushing her away as he purposefully turned back to the brochure. “On the contrary, sweetheart. I win when I make you beg.”
Chapter Eight
With the kind of work I do, I’ve seen a lot of the world. Stunning places like Paris and Sydney and Moscow. And dicey, scary places like underground tunnels where enslaved women forced to work in their underwear put together packages of drugs for cartels.
I’ve pretended to be a showgirl to take down a mafia-type with a bad habit of killing pretty girls. And I worked undercover at an island in the Seychelles as part of a money-laundering sting operation.
In other words, not much surprises me anymore. But I’ve never once walked into a resort and been handed a bag of sex toys instead of a room key.
To Debauchery’s credit, the toys are very high end. There’s also tanning oil, his and hers souvenir towels, a few card games with sensual themes, snack packs of nuts, emergency breath freshener, and condoms.
The goody bag also includes plastic wine glasses with the resort’s logo, perfect for poolside. Where, we’re told, there are serving stations set up for beer, wine, sangria, and harder drinks if that’s your pleasure.
“Meals are served in your room or in the restaurant, and there’s always fresh fruit and chilled seafood poolside.” Mindy, our personal concierge smiles at us. Not only does she look like a Mindy, but with her perky attitude and equally perky body, she fits in perfectly at this lush resort carved out of the island’s vivid greenery.
From what we were told on the shuttle ride over, the island has never had an indigenous human population, but I can’t believe Mindy the Concierge ever lived anywhere else. I think she must have been like Aphrodite, rising from the sea in her bikini top and tied-at-the-hip sarong, under which it is very clear she wears nothing.
Keeping with the theme, I suppose.
And, to be honest, I can’t complain. According to Antonio, his contact isn’t scheduled to meet him until the day after tomorrow. Which means we may have more than twenty-four hours to explore this place.
On a normal mission, I’d be irritated by the excessive downtime. But right now?
Well, the truth is that I could use a vacation. For that matter, I could use sex. It’s been a while. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit—at least to myself—that the idea of sex with Tony is not only appealing, but I’m downright craving it. I liked the way he teased me on the flight. The way he took control. And the way he left me wanting more.
At the moment, what I want most of all is for Mindy to wrap up the pep talk and tour. She’s already led us through the interior of the main building, showing us the entrance to the dungeon, as well as the door to the outdoor walkway that leads to the nightclub, the restaurants, the indoor bar, and the fitness center.
All the guest rooms are cabanas, which allows for more privacy. And for quieter surroundings. Especially since this is the kind of place where shouting and moaning and headboards crashing against the wall is expected.
We’re heading toward our cabana now, with Mindy leading us through one of the many outdoor recreation areas. The area is green and welcoming, with spas surrounded by both high and low plants, to provide minimum or maximum privacy depending on the level of exhibitionism of the guests in the water.
As we walk past a spa with low-lying ground cover, Tony takes my hand. When I glance toward him, he tilts his head to indicate the small, steaming pool. Immediately, I feel my breasts tighten as I watch a completely nude woman arch back in ecstasy from her perch on the stone coping. A man in the water up to the waist is bent over, his head between her legs as another man bends over the first, his hands busy beneath the water, clearly stroking the first man’s cock.
Tony loosens his grip on my hand enough so that he can brush my palm with his finger, and it’s all I can do to keep my knees from going weak from the anticipation of being alone with him.
“There’s a lagoon-style pool on the other side of the building,” Mindy tells us. “And dancing on the deck at night if you prefer an outdoor environment rather than the nightclub. The nightclub requires clothes, but that pool never does. And if you prefer ocean water, there’s a path to the right that leads to the beach.”
She pauses, presumably for us to nod and look interested, which we do. Then she ratchets up the smile again and continues talking and walking. “During the day, we offer a variety of classes—everything from yoga to SCUBA to sailing. At night, we light the torches on the perimeter of the area and anything goes. You can check out beach towels from guest services. And, of course, there is always a staff member nearby to bring you whatever you might need. From condoms to cocktails, just say the word.”
She flashes a toothy smile, as if she’d just rattled off the island’s slogan. For all I know, maybe she did.
“Let’s see,” she continues, obviously running through a checklist in her head. “If you take that path to the right, you can follow the trail around the perimeter of the island. Be sure not to go past the barrier. We wouldn’t want to lose you in the jungle.”
We laugh in appreciation of her little joke as she nods toward a more civilized-looking path. “This way takes us to Wanton. That’s the section of the resort where your cabana is. A great location. Very secluded.”
We walk a few more feet, then pass a pool with a sandy, beach-style entrance. Several women are sunbathing nude, and when I glance at Tony, I can see he’s noticed, too. I feel a slight tug of annoyance, and tell myself it’s not jealousy.
“Do most of the guests mingle with the people they came with?” Tony asks, and I have to fight that tug again, even though I know he’s asking the question in order to suss out how best to find his contact.
“Oh, no. At Debauchery, everyone has the opportunity to get to know any other willing guest in an intimate way.”
I glance up at Tony with what I hope looks like lust in my eyes. He reaches out and squeezes my hand, helping me put on the proper show.
“This is our first time at any resort like this,” he says. “If we wanted to get to know somebody, how would we go about that? Are there events? Any sort of organized mingling? To be honest, we’re both a little shy. The idea of going up to someone in the pool and inviting them back to our cabana is a little overwhelming.”
“I hope we don’t sound like total amateur newbies,” I say, then try out a silly, girlish giggle. Honestly, I’m not sure I pulled it off.
We aren’t actually trying to hook up with another couple. Or with anyone for that matter. Instead, we’re trying to figure out the most efficient way of finding The-Asst. Because God knows the woman herself didn’t bother to set up an organized meet.
After my close-but-no-cigar almost-orgasm, Tony and I had spent over an hour on the plane discussing a plan for locating his contact.
“You really have no protocol in place whatsoever for locating this woman?” I’d asked, after he gave me a detailed rundown of how The-Asst had reached out to him on a dark web message board.
“None.”
“Why did she choose Debauchery?”
“Not a clue. She set the date. She disappeared.” He grimaces. “That’s about the sum of it.”
“No solid information and no clear pla
n for finding your contact, and yet here you are. You know that this could be a trap, right? Hell, it might be a trap that has nothing to do with your past. I’m sure you made enemies working at Deliverance.”
He’d flashed a well, duh look my direction. “Do you think that didn’t occur to me? I told you I didn’t need arm candy. I need a woman who can take care of herself. With brains and skills.” His smile was so sincere that it shot right through me, tingling all the way down to my toes. “That’s why I brought you.”
“Well, that shows some good instincts at least,” I said dryly. “But honestly, you’re taking one hell of a risk.” We both were, but I didn’t say the last part.
“It’s the first lead I’ve had in over a year,” he’d said. “I can’t not follow it.”
I’d nodded, but said nothing. What was there to say? I understood completely.
And now here we are in paradise, where we’ll either find out if the lead pans out or end up fighting for our lives. With both options equally possible. And that is part of why Antonio Sanchez is so fascinating to me. The way he simply dove into this mission, even with such a limited amount of information.
I’ve leapt before, of course. But always in the midst of a mission, when there’s a plethora of other facts that you can cling to like a life raft. He’s diving in at the beginning—and not only is there no raft, for all he knows, the damn pool is empty. It’s ballsy as hell. And exciting, too.
“There must be something you’re not telling me,” I’d insisted right before we landed. “Something else that brought you here. Some other bullet point on your agenda.”