Beautiful Dark (Beautiful Rivers Book 3)

by J. L. White

  The wet sound of his fingers fucking me is briefly overtaken by another swell of laughter from the women, then it’s all drowned out by the rushing of my pulse in my ear. I’m clamping hard on his fingers. My thighs begin to tremble and I’m panting short and hard against his hair.

  “That’s right, baby,” he says. “You come all over me.”

  “God,” I bite out.

  I’m gripping the arm rest on the door and clinging to his broad back. Squeezing so tight. Feeling like I’m going to come undone.

  He starts pumping me fast and hard, finger fucking me deep while banging my swollen clit with the palm of his hand. “I’m gonna eat the fuck out of this pussy when we get home.”

  My climax explodes and I’m whimpering again and again, I can’t help it. I think I’m being quiet, but I don’t know. I’m overcome with all of it. His hard cock pulsing in my hand. His teeth nipping the hard peak of my breast. His masterful fingers demanding I contract with pleasure over and over. The fact that we’re doing this in the open, with car doors shutting just down the way.

  I’m trying not to thrash around and make it so fucking obvious what’s happening in this car, but my orgasm is the master of my body and he is the master of my orgasm. He doesn’t let up. He draws it out like a master violinist drawing strings over a bow. My heart is pounding thickly. My pulse is surging in my ear. My cunt is throbbing and straining.

  My scent blooms in the air and the wet sounds of him working me reverberate in the car. It starts to relent and I take in huge, gasping breaths. I come down in waves, awash with pleasure, until I’m leaning heavily in my seat, his fingers resting inside me.

  “Holy god.”

  He lifts off of my breast slowly, and while part of me wants to sink deeper into the seat and bathe in the afterglow, I’m still gripping his cock. And I still want to taste it.

  He slowly removes his hand and sits back, watching me as he dips his glistening fingers deep into his mouth and sucks my juices off.

  I give him a slack grin, still high from my orgasm. I weakly reach for my leggings. Eyes still locked on me, he laps twice against his palm, then sucks on his fingers again.

  “Getting the rest?” I ask quietly, working my clothes back up my legs.

  “Every damn drop,” he says, going for his pants like he’s going to put himself away.

  “No!” I whisper urgently. “I want to suck it.”

  He looks around, as if he’s just now realized we’re in a fucking public garage.

  I lift my hips, bringing my leggings and panties up over my rear.

  “Not here,” he says.

  But turnabout is fair play. I quickly lean over and bat his hands away, inhaling his scent before taking the thick base in my hand. I run my tongue over the ridge on the head, lapping up the bit of precum pooled at the tip. He sucks in air between his teeth, his hand going to the back of my head.

  The taste of him only makes me more hungry for it. I’ve never done this before, not even with him, and now I’m wondering why the hell not. The feel of his thick cock in my mouth and in my hand is so good, I’m starting to ache between my legs again. I thought this was just something girls did for guys, to please them, but I’ve barely gotten started and already know I’ve been missing out.

  I go at him, not sure what’s gotten into me. So often it’s like this with him: instincts I didn’t even know I had taking over. But I want him so much. I want to swirl my tongue around the tip, reveling in the way he responds to my touch. I want to take him in a little more, and a little more, until I’m taking him in as deep as I can get him. He’s angling himself up more to me, and gently pushing my head down. He’s breathing hard, letting out low, deep moans.

  Encouraged, and getting worked up myself all over again, I follow his clues: sucking hard where he likes it. Letting my teeth trail lightly down his shaft as I maneuver up and down. My saliva coats his shaft and pools at the base near my hand, and still I keep going. I’m throbbing again.

  I get another taste of precum, which inspires a fresh surge of wetness between my legs. His cock has been getting harder and harder. I switch into a quick rhythm over the top of his shaft, my hand working the bottom. I increase the rhythm, flicking my tongue fast and hard over the underside of his cock with each thrust. His thigh clenches under my arm. Then every part of him I’m touching seems to get as hard as it could get

  He’s gripping my hair so firmly, it’s pulling at the roots. “I’m gonna come,” he warns. But I already knew. I feel it in his entire, massive body.

  I get a thrill of anticipation. I have no idea if I’ll be able to handle what’s coming. I get the passing notion I could choke on him. But mostly I want it, and I don’t let up.

  His body jerks hard and he groans lows and deep as a warm rush explodes from his cock. My pussy clenches with pleasure as I swallow and suck eagerly. I want it all. And god, there’s so much of it. It keeps coming and I take it all, feeling like the queen of the fucking world.

  As he finishes, I slow my movements, following his lead. I keep him in my mouth, playing with him slow and gently until he softly taps the underside of my chin with his finger. I come off him, gently sucking off the moisture as I go. He exhales sharply and shudders slightly.

  I grin up at him, feeling more physically satisfied myself, even though I was so hot a minute ago I felt near climax myself. He looks down at me, his face washed soft with lingering pleasure. He brushes my hair gently, cupping the back of my head as he brings me up to him. We kiss slowly, deeply. I smell him. I taste him. I taste myself.

  When we pull apart, we stay close, our breaths mingling as we look at each other. We smile a bit, the thrill of doing something so reckless and hot lighting our eyes.

  “You. Are. Naughty,” he breathes.

  I grin. God, this is so much better than a phone call. “You started it.”

  “That’s true.” He gives me another kiss, then smiles broadly. “You’re welcome.”

  I get Mason for five whole days. He took a couple vacation days from work and I’m ditching at least one session in four of my classes. We fly to Cabo San Lucas tomorrow and won’t come home until the day after Valentine’s Day. He’ll get a little time to check out the renovations at the house, then fly back to Illinois that night. I’m trying not to dread another separation, and just enjoy the fact that he’s actually here, and that we’ll get a long weekend in such a luxurious location.

  We won’t see my cousins until we’re all back at the airport tomorrow morning, so we have tonight to ourselves. It turns out we’re both pretty hungry—a need that’s easier to recognize now that certain other urges have been taken care of, for the moment—so we eat at one of my favorite Mexican food places that’s right on the boardwalk. Afterward we walk along the water, talking and laughing, until our kisses get too heated to ignore and we head back to my place.

  We spend most the night fucking like we’re making up for lost time. Because we are. Then there are the in-between moments. The moments when our voices are low and quiet, and I’m tucked so safe and snug inside his arms. His embrace has lost none of its magic.

  In his arms, I actually believe that his mother will come around, instead of worrying that I’m being horribly selfish and reckless with everyone involved. In his arms, that little knot of darkness that lives inside me shrinks to nothingness. Just, nothing. As if it never even existed.

  It’s truly a wonder how the sanctuary of Mason’s arms makes me forget, even if just for a moment, all the things that scare me.

  Chapter 21

  Mason

  Rayce isn’t on the morning flight down to Cabo San Lucas. Apparently, this is two of three trips Connor’s plane is making from Swan Pointe to the wedding destination. His fiancé Whitney and her entourage went last night, so she could spend today getting ready for the big event. Connor, Lizzy and Brett, and Corrine and I are on this flight, along with four of Whitney’s family members they picked up in San Francisco earlier. Another flight will tak
e a group this afternoon, mostly with people from L.A.

  I’m told Rayce will be on that shuttle because he has work to do this morning. Corrine and Lizzy go out of their way to reassure me that this dedication to work is normal Rayce-like behavior, as if to make sure I know his absence has nothing to do with me. But I still wonder. Nevertheless, I’m here. If it seems like Rayce needs space from me during the wedding and reception, I’ll do my best to give it to him. Fortunately there’s so much going on at events like this, it shouldn’t be hard to do.

  I have to say, though, I could get used to this private jet thing. The seats are black plush leather, equipped with comfortable arm rests, and wide enough to give even a guy like me plenty of space. And the leg room! Don’t even get me started.

  There are two seating clusters on this plane. The first is toward the front, and has four seats, two facing forward and two back, with the aisle down the middle, so people can talk to one another easily. Whitney’s relatives are up there.

  The second cluster consists of two seats on one side of the aisle, facing one another, with a mahogany work table that can be set up or folded down, and a sideways row of three chairs right next to one another, so if you pull up the armrests, together they make a plush couch. This is where Corrine and I are sitting, and we do have the armrest between us pulled up. She’s leaning against me, and my arm is wrapped over her shoulders.

  Connor’s on the other side of Corrine, angled against the back and arm, legs stretched out, looking like he could use a nap. Apparently, between preparations for the wedding and getting the resort ready for his two-week absence, the last several days have kept him hopping.

  Lizzy and Brett are in the seats opposite us, the table between them holding a half-eaten tray of meats and cheeses, and their empty wine glasses. I had a beer and called it good, but I complimented Connor on the stock in his mini bar, along with the ridiculously luxurious lavatory this plane has. There’s a pilot and co-pilot, but the copilot has doubled as a steward and taken care of our needs.

  It’s a completely foreign experience, but one I’m enjoying, I won’t lie.

  Beyond the luxury of the trip so far (and we’re only just on the damned plane), I’m relieved with how things have gone with her family. There’s been no awkwardness between any of us. No animosity. For most of the trip, I actually forgot who they are. Sort of like I have with Corinne. They’re nice people, and it’s been fun to talk to them.

  I’m actually pretty impressed with Connor, and have prompted him with plenty of questions to keep him telling me more about his travels all over the world. That led to him sharing how he and Whitney met. It’s not that I’m a romantic sap or anything, but it’s a pretty incredible story.

  His face sort of lights up when he talks about her too, and I’m glad to see that. Sometimes you see people get married, and wonder what in the heck they’re thinking. But this is a couple I’m rooting for.

  In fact, I realize as I’ve been listening to him, that I’ve settled a little deeper into my seat, tucking Corrine’s head a little closer against me, resting my hand on top of her head. The soft floral notes of her shampoo tickle my nose. Her body is warm and snug against mine. She’s lightly tracing her fingertips over the top of my thigh, and I’ve been stroking her hair, not really realizing I was doing it at first.

  Once I do realize it, I’m struck by two things. First, that I already feel comfortable enough around her family to openly show her this affection and not worry about what they might think about us. And two, I find myself imagining what would it be like to have the kind of love Connor has for Whitney. What would it be like to find your person? The one person you feel built for.

  I can’t help but wonder if Corinne could turn into that person for me. If she did, what would it mean to be part of her family, and her be a part of mine?

  In spite of the rich warmth I feel deep inside me just by being here next to her, there is also a pinch of pain as I ask myself those questions. Because in our case, I’m not sure the answers will ever be pretty.

  Cabo San Lucas is an interesting city, with a mix of modern buildings and newer areas, with older ones. Many of the buildings are pastel colored or white adobe, and some of the main streets are lined with palm trees. We’re taking town cars from the airport, and Corrine and I are eyes all over everything. Connor’s in the car with us, and explains this is a tourist town and more developed than some of the more traditional Mexican towns along the coast. He points out different places he knows, and even gets the driver to take a detour past a lesser-known restaurant he tells us we must try while we’re here.

  The area surrounding Cabo is arid, rocky hills, which is somehow different than I expected, but the city itself has more greenery alongside a healthy share of cacti. When we get to the coast I see for myself why so many people come here. The ocean is impossibly beautiful. It really is as blue as it looks in the pictures. Corrine was right. I can’t wait to get on that beach.

  It’s almost enough to distract me from the one thing that makes me even more nervous than seeing Rayce again: meeting Corrine’s parents. Her father is Grant Rivers’ brother, but I’m past worrying about that connection. I care more about the fact that he’s the father of the woman I’m dating, and she says that’s all he cares about, too.

  “But he’s nice,” she reassures me. “He’s excited to meet you.”

  Uh-huh. Because that’s the word dads use when they’re getting ready to meet the guy dating their daughter. Excited.

  We eventually pull up the curving drive of a massive house I’ve been told is damn near 10,000 square feet, and that’s not an exaggeration. That’s the actual, literal number. There’s an abundance of windows all along the back side of the house that give a gorgeous view of the ocean. The man who owns it apparently met Connor during his travelling days, and Connor ended up investing in his tech start up. Took the hell off, it did. I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong line of work.

  We get to the upstairs loft which is probably a good thousand square feet all by itself, and is where the ceremony will be held. This event, which I’ve more than once heard referred to as a “simple” affair with a “limited, family only” guest list, still involves several grandparents, aunts, uncles, something like thirty cousins, and a handful of people close enough to either the bride or the groom to be considered family anyway.

  In addition to our arrival party of nine, there’s another twenty people here already, with more to come. Connor hired another charter jet that originated in Seattle, so her parents and their spouses are among those here. There are greetings between family members all around, and I’m introduced to everyone.

  Corrine’s parents and their spouses are actually pretty nice. In fact, Corrine must have tipped them off about what I do, because not long after meeting them, her dad asks if I want to check out the sports cars the owner has in his ten-car garage.

  I cannot jump on that fast enough. Corrine smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I guess I’m safe to leave you now,” she says, winking at me and leaving to attend to her bridesmaid duties. That was a pretty clever hand-off, I must say.

  Her dad and I and several others head to the garage and I have a grand old time almost right up until it’s time for the ceremony to start. Her dad did ask the obligatory dad questions, but it wasn’t a big deal. It’s hard not to feel comfortable with a guy when you’re bonding over a 2016 Aston Martin Vanquish.

  In the middle of all this, I get a call from Mom, but of course I can’t answer so I let it go to voice mail. She doesn’t leave a message, but sends a text. She’s decided to finally get a new disposal and wants to know if I’ll replace it for her.

  Of course. She finally reaches out to me and I have to put her off.

  Me: Sure. I have a pretty busy weekend. Is next Saturday all right?

  Yes, I feel guilty. But I wasn’t going to tell her where I was going with things the way they are between us. I hope she doesn’t stop by my apartment, but even if sh
e does, my truck’s in the airport garage, so hopefully she’ll just think I’m out. She hasn’t been stopping by lately anyway.

  I know I’m going to have to straighten things out with her eventually, but it’s just going to have to wait.

  It’s when I’m sitting in a row towards the back that I get my first glimpse of Rayce since Thanksgiving Day. The crowd has all been settled, a string quartet begins to play, and Connor and the groomsmen take their places up front.

  Rayce is the best man, of course, which gets me wondering, again, why he would choose to work this morning instead of fly down with his brother and help out. But Connor didn’t seem bothered by it, and even remarked on the plane that everything was done on his end and there was nothing left but to put on his tux and say ‘I do’, so maybe it really wasn’t an issue.

  Besides, even though I have my doubts about how Rayce really feels about me being here, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to put his brother in a bind just so he can shy away from me.

  Connor is watching the back of the room anxiously, waiting for his bride to appear. He’s smiling, and lets out a little nervous exhalation through pursed lips. Rayce notices, smiles, and claps his brother encouragingly on the shoulder. A soft twitter of acknowledgement flutters around the audience.

  I am struck yet again by the character trait that is so obvious in the young patriarch of this family. Even as angry as I was on Thanksgiving Day, even as little as I cared for him in that moment, I could recognize it then too. Rayce feels responsible for them all, and I’d wager a bet that his caretaking of them is as natural as breathing.

  Or maybe Rayce isn’t the one I’m thinking of.

  The bridesmaids appear at the back of the room, all in slim coral dresses and looking lovely as bridesmaids tend to do, but my eyes never leave Corinne’s face. With apologies to the bride she’s the most beautiful woman in the room. Her smile is both youthful and elegant. And positively radiant.