by Billie Dale
I hazard a glance up from under my lashes, hoping to find concern, refrain, perhaps a bit of disgust, though my ego would suffer I’ll take one for the team. Do I see any of this?
Hmmm… gritting teeth, flexing jaw dusted with scruff, pulsing vein in the neck, and eyes gawking back with equal lust. He’s testing the make-the-right-choice part of my brain. He waggles his brows, cocks a dimple pulling side grin, and bye-bye angel on the shoulder. I flick that bitch right off there. Faster than a vampire on a virgin neck, I plant my lips on his.
Twenty-Eight
Joey
She dumped me in a sand trap. I hated making the boyish man who showed me my accommodation cry, but this is not cool. Air-conditioning, ESPN, plush bathrobes, room service. For fuck’s sake, I’d bow down for indoor plumbing at this point. She did this on purpose and I will pay her back, the little minx.
I discovered the sand eater and climate-controlled bedroom, but no way am I sleeping in this with my son. While Cash would love to build castles in the middle of the sitting room, I’m on vacation and deserve some diva pampering.
Here…*hands over man-card* …I don’t deserve it after that last statement.
Wanting reaffirming manliness, I follow the path prepared to punch whoever I need until they relent her room number, but it won’t be necessary because I hear her. Freaked, muffled words carry on the stagnant oppressive breeze. Jesus, why did Sam and Mazric pick the surface of the sun for their destination? How do people live in this shit? My balls stick to my legs and before I switched to flip-flops, half the beach was in my boots. Did I mention wearing open toed footwear requires me to relinquish my nuts? No self-respecting man should ever wear something called a thong whether it refers to shoes or underwear. One splits your nuts and the other your toes. Same difference.
I kept my jeans on because I don’t own a pair of shorts and the friction burns the hair off my legs. No joke, the temperature of hell must be cooler than this damn island.
A few steps from her tent I hear her negotiating with Thing One and Two over the sleeping arrangements. She’s rambling about being between them in only the way a nervous Preslee can. For a split second I see her with them and the picture flips my blinding rage switch. I don’t think they’d cross any boundaries, but the greedy jealous gremlin inside says it’s not happening. When she slips out to shower, I step inside and send them down the beach to my cabana.
Lucky for them they don’t argue. Miguel promises to drown me if anything happens to her, but they hightail it out of there before she returns.
If her drool were a flammable substance, the slightest spark would raze this place to the ground. I like how she looks at me. Dressed in her tiny shorts and tank with her nipples screaming look at me. I’m dead. Dig the hole. Cover me in soil. This is the way I perish. Hard and infuriated. I’m glad it’s me she’ll be sharing a bed with.
Torturing her with my choice of television starts out innocent enough, a little playful keep-away. When she collapses on top of me and her tight hard nubs tease my chest, I struggle to fight my erection. Then she flinches the delicious piece of tail in my hand and all control fails. In the confined space her peppermint scent blankets me. Her devilish eyes flick up and I squint mine shut, holding my breath while picturing fat men in Speedos dancing the conga. Then she attacks my mouth.
Gloves off. Man down. Fuck it. My dick wins.
I hesitate for a microsecond before dropping the remote and grabbing the back of her head, using my leverage on her ass to pull her atop me. Hands full I forget the past, lingering hurtful shadows, and those stupid teenagers who bought into the happily ever after lie. She’s a curvy, smoking hot, half-dressed siren and she’s singing my song.
My tongue sweeps against her lips, tasting the mint of her toothpaste and the salt of the chips she ate. Her silky strands slip through my fingers as I dominate her lips. We’re a tangle of limbs and fingers. Moans whimper from the back of her throat when she grinds against my bulging briefs. The culmination of resisting her for weeks boils, erasing any chance of savoring her. If I’m not inside her soon, I’ll leave embarrassing proof of her effect on me before I ever remove the scraps separating us.
I shove her shirt above her breasts, not bothering to take the time to remove it, but needing them exposed for my feasting eyes and tongue. Our hands twist and collide trying to free our lower halves. A gap forms between our heads but I’m not done with her lips, so I chase catching nothing but air. Instead my fish making mouth meets her firm round tits. My plight to undress her stops. Unable to resist the curvaceous treasure dangling before me, I cup one in each hand, splaying my fingers across the sensitive mounds, kneading the taut flesh. I lave each pink nub, working back and forth, sucking each between my teeth before soothing the nip with sweeps of my tongue.
Her body writhes and her mewling gasps fuel me. I want her thrashed with ecstasy, screaming my name so loud the waves carry it to the moon. Hands on her hips I roll, planting her on the mattress. Hovering above I peel her shorts down her legs. Before the fabric hits the floor, my scruff marks her thighs. As much as my body begs, I need a moment. One cluster of seconds to inhale her scent. She watches me from under her lashes. Her plump kiss-fattened lips glisten as much as the ones I gaze at. Her wetness turns my dick to stone and the tart aroma of her arousal has me grinding into the mattress to ease the pressure. My nose traces her seam, filling my lungs with her essence.
I grip her thighs spreading her wider, holding her in place. My tongue circles her opening, slicks up her cleft, and flicks a rapid rhythm against her clit until its swollen and full. I latch ahold nipping it with my teeth. Her moans become tormented pleas begging for more.
She’s all things good and evil spread out before me with her back arched and tits pushed toward the sky. Her chest heaves with her pants, and the faster I devour her the farther she bends, until the only thing anchoring her to the bed is my hold on her hips.
If memory serves, she gets off best during foreplay. It’s one of my favorite parts of sex with her. Her hot spots stayed ingrained in my head and I’m dodging them all to keep her teetering at the edge. But I can only handle so much. I rise on my knees, lay my thumb on her clit with one hand, dipping the middle finger of the other inside. She’s so wet I slip in another, scissoring to stretch her.
“Joey,” she whines, bucking her hips. Her stormy eyes flit between pleasure and murderous. I’m done teasing. Leaning forward I latch ahold of her nipple, sucking it hard, and flicking it with the tip of my tongue. I fuck her with my fingers, slamming against her pelvic bone, and with each deep reach I curl into her sweet spot. My thumb on her clit works hard circles. Her insides tighten. “Yes, yes, oh. Sorry, Jesus, I don’t want to be nun,” blurts from her mouth as her legs quiver. She comes undone on my hands. Finger still plunging I release her nipple, dipping down I lap up every drop until she stops shaking and her body sags.
Twenty-Nine
Preslee
I haven’t experienced an orgasm, which wasn’t self-induced, for far too long. While self-love takes the edge off, it’s legions better when provided by another human. Oh, why am I lying? It’s him. I grovel at the altar of his skilled tongue. This man forgot nothing about my body. Every lick, nip, and tease he made with the precision of a well-informed Preslee Carmichael sexual expert.
In my line of a work, a man with a goatee is one who wants a beard and can’t grow one. It’s frowned upon in Hollywood circles. You’re either clean-shaven or groomed scruffy. But the coarse hair on the chin delving into the right place is perfection. I can cup his cheeks and revel in the smooth soft skin, while fantasizing about grinding my clit on the roughness. Best of both worlds.
And boy howdy his prowess and vigor pushes my buttons. I’m so lost in him; my head can’t process anything beyond simplistic Neanderthal chase, catch, club over the head, and devour. Fireworks on Independence Day has nothing on the light display popping behind my eyelids when I came apart on his hands. The tight edge he teetered
me on turned my body into a pressure cooker. I’d forgotten how amazing this all feels. But the big O is never enough, no, I won’t reach nirvana until he’s thrusting inside me. My body trembles from the anticipation of the pleasing multiple orgasmic euphoria.
Using my toes and sheer monkey determination, I remove his boxers. A deep dark chuckle shakes his chest. Since I’m already caught dead center on the chain of evolution—you know where the ape morphs to woman—I respond with a grunt.
Hand on his cock, he slips back and forth through my slit. He pauses on my crest, circles, pushes down, avoiding the opening I want him to fill, he glides back up. Over and over. With all his golden muscles on display he towers over me. It’s maddening. No matter how hard I wiggle, I can’t shift him where I crave.
The tip of him stretches me. A breath leaves my lungs in a hissing, “Finally.” I wait for his movement, for his stellar control to snap. My body poised and ready for every delicious inch of him inside me.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he swears, falling back on his knees, taking his cock with him. Well of course he does, he couldn’t leave it behind and say, “Here return it when you’re done,” but damn it’s my favorite toy and I’m not finished with it yet.
Propped on my elbows, I question, “What? Don’t… I mean, why did you stop?” He wears a painful, aching frown, and I swear the engorged purple head of his dick bears the same unhappy expression. Here I am all laid out in my birthday suit, damn near humping air for how bad I want him and he stops.
Neck back, eyes pinched shut, and nostrils flaring, his hands fist in his hair. “Condom. I don’t have a fucking rubber.”
I’m itching with need, but he’s shaking with it. With his revelation, I could slam on the brakes. Offer a helping hand or blowy but I want him to finish me while I watch him lose control.
His body is a true buffet for the eyes and I’m absorbing every second. There is no shame in my game. Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I ain’t got no damn game, he’s just a whole bucket of eye porn. I stop my perusing when I catch his pursed lips and severe questioning brow. “No one else. Nine years. Clean. Might be a virgin again. On pill,” I sputter, unable to form coherent sentences. A nervous chuckle follows my caveman lingo, and it’s laced with a husk I’ve never heard fall from my lips.
He falls forward, spreading my leg farther to accommodate his size. The tip of him meets my opening. “I was tested a few months ago. Haven’t been with anyone since without a condom.”
I push, trying to draw him inside, but I’m too small or he’s too big, it doesn’t work. I meet his questioning stare. Damn it, he wants words. Intelligent permission-giving syllables I’m not sure I can form. Deep breath, large swallow, untie the tongue, speak… “We’re good now, stop playing and fuck me.”
A slight dimple-pulling grin tugs at his lips as fire swirls through his eyes. “As you,” he falls, caging my head in his one arm, while the other grabs his cock, “wish.” His lips meet mine, his hips lunge, our bodies join. My insides burn, stretching to accommodate his length and girth, and it’s the most delicious fire. The tendons in his neck stand out in stark relief. He moves in and out in short, slight thrusts until my wetness eases his glides. Farther and farther until he pulls out and plunges deep, hitting my end. Steady strokes tap out some sort of orgasmic code-breaking Morse code. Cascading waves tighten my abdomen. He rises, ringing an arm under my hips, and draping a leg over his shoulder as he continues to pound, pulling a scream from my throat with each slam.
The sounds of my pleasure and the smacking of our bodies echo off the glass. I’m spiraling up, up until my eyelids pinch shut and my breath falters.
“Keep those eyes on me,” he demands, and I force my sex drunk lids open. My gaze fixes on his abs. Each sinewy flesh-encased ridge flexes and rolls, glistening with sweat. Dear God, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
The visual and physical overloads my senses. I erupt with a soul-shattering orgasm. Body limp and spent, he clasps my hips, pulling me hard onto him for his final thrust. With a savage grunt he fills me with heat. He collapses, hedging to the side to keep from crushing me. Sleep beckons, begging me to succumb. I cringe when he slips out of me, both from the ache and the loss, but I’m too satisfied to protest. He rolls me so we’re back to front. The length of him nestles against my backside and his warmth offers a sleepy time cocoon too hard to resist.
Before exhaustion takes over, “I’m not even close to done with you, Sunflower,” caresses the shell of my ear.
∞∞∞
Soft kisses pepper my shoulder blade and up my neck. Rough facial hair creates goose flesh down my arms and legs. Fingers pluck at my nipple until the tiny bud forms a diamond peak. Another hand glides up my thigh, over my hip, before slipping between my legs to trace my seam.
If it weren’t for the ache in my tender girly bits, I’d believe last night was a dream. But the soreness proves what we did and the feel of him circling my clit begs for more. A damp sheen coats my inner thigh. Want swirls low in my stomach. With the slightest shift he spreads me open, using my wetness to glide inside.
“Oh happy day,” seeps from my lips around a lung-deflating sigh. His chuckle breathes against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. There’s not an inch of us not touching. The hair on his legs tickles mine, as the smattering on his chest dusts my back. One arm embraces my waist. My nails dig into his muscled forearm. The other hand stays behind me with his fingers digging into the thick meat of my upper leg, anchoring me to where we meet.
Where our coupling last night was fast and frenzied fucking, this is slow and caring. Languid deep thrusts allow me to feel every inch of him. Flicks of his tongue taste my skin.
“You’re so tight. Fuck, Sunflower. I don’t want it to end.” His slow, sure possessive strokes sensualize his low raspy praises of how my body feels. My walls pulse and clench around him as our bodies move as one.
A shadow dances on the wall. I catch it between blinks before my eyes roll back in my head. Unsettled, I lull my head to check it out but Joey hits my crux, turning my bones to liquid and my climax overtakes me. Raw and rippling, it shudders from my breast to my toes.
“Yes,” he hisses, “squeeze my cock, baby.” His feral words set me off again and a hoarse scream tears from throat.
I clench, reveling in his girth and how it touches everywhere. His hips speed with spastic jerks and he roars a savage, “Fuck,” drawing out each letter as he grows impossibly bigger. With a grunt he thrusts hard, stilling his hips as he empties inside me.
I’ve never done the whole nasty talk thing—but bejesus on a scooter—when it rumbles out of Josiah Holmes, I gobble it down like a two-bit pube licker sucking down dick.
Minutes from orgasm-induced napping, a fist bangs on the glass of our room. “What the hell happened in here?” I pry open a lid, giving Sammy Lee as much of an evil eye as I can with only one open. Through my blurry vision I see she’s holding remnants of a chair. I shoot up from the bed and take in the scene, which used to be the sitting area.
The contents of my suitcase lay in a wet pile on the sandy floor and both lounge chairs are splintered pieces and torn fabric. Before my pleasure sensors switch to panic, Joey is up and dressed. When Seth and Miguel flank my friend, they eye my nakedness through the clear walls.
Well, this is awkward and embarrassing. My hands fret to cover the important bits when the bedsheets spreads over my shoulders.
“Turn around, fucknuts,” Joey yells.
“Hey,” Sam retorts, affronted by his gruffness.
“Not you, Samantha.” His anger bites on her full name sending a shudder through me.
We dress in silence and exit the bedchamber. I’m stuck in my pajamas because mud coats my clothes. My guards stare down Joey. The trio performing a silent, brooding, pissed-off guardian standoff. I pick through the mess, shaking out the garments before placing them back in my case so I can wash them.
“She was your responsibility. See what thinking with y
our dick got you?” Seth taunts, crossing the line. I glance up in time to see Joey’s fist fly. Seth dodges left but Joey anticipates his movement, countering with his other. The second before it connects with Seth’s jaw, Miguel reaches out, his large palm catching Joey’s like Gina Davis snags a baseball out of the air in A League of Their Own.
“Enough! Damn it! My clothes are ruined and he took all my unmentionables. Here…” I scream waving a piece a paper between them.
Joey rips it from my hand, reading its contents out loud. “You’ll regret touching what belongs to me. I’ll enjoy scalping a chief.”
Thirty
Preslee
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Sam paces the tiny area, kicking up dust with each frustrated step. “How the hell did no one see him? There are so many things wrong with this.” Her shaking hands grip her head, pulling springy strands from her ponytail. Her feet stop and she twists so fast the end of her tail slaps her cheek. Fury narrows her eyes as she stomps toward Seth and Miguel.
“Why in the hell didn’t you two nab this sicko?” Seth opens his lips to answer but she pokes a finger in the center of his chest. “I’m not done yet.” Next, she glares at Joey. “You were asleep right there in a… ” she glances around the small area, “ …whatever the hell this place is, and you expect me to believe you didn’t see him? How is that even possible? And you,” she softens some of rage or I think she does, without my glasses the entire scene is a blur. I search the floor, remembering I took them off last night before bed but I can’t find them in the mess. A ray of sun from the opening flap catches on my spare cases in the corner. I hear Mazric grumble about the whole coast hearing his fiancée yelling. On my hands and knees, I crawl, flipping open both lids to find them empty.