Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)

by Stacy Kestwick

  He nodded, rose from his stool.

  “I know the room. Let me change and I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow.

  I WORE RED LACE. The silky sheets, the mountain of pillows, and the filmy panels hanging from the canopy bed were black, the lighting subdued, and the air rich with incense. He’d clearly had this room redone just for photoshoots, because the guest rooms I’d seen, my own included, were all white linen and vibrant, tropical prints. Low, pulsing, bass-heavy music set the tone.

  I’d taken a long shower to gather my courage before coming over, and had almost backed out twice. But then it seemed like just another thing Aubrey would have beaten me at. And, fuck, I was tired of losing to her.

  A bowl of strawberries and a bottle of wine perched on the nightstand. I poured myself a glass because I didn’t know what else to do while he set up, and more alcohol sounded like a good idea. I had to give Nick credit; he didn’t skimp when it came to good alcohol.

  He also hadn’t rushed me. I’d slipped off my simple cotton dress as soon as I’d entered the room, knowing the longer it stayed on, the harder it would be to take off. Then I’d crawled across the artfully disheveled bed, which he swore was covered in freshly laundered sheets, and lounged against the pillows, trying to calm my nerves.

  Finishing off the wine in my glass and plucking a perfect strawberry from the bowl, I took a second to appreciate the way he’d set the scene. The door to the balcony was propped open, allowing the warm salty air to ripple the fabric draped from the canopy. It was voluminous, partially obscuring him.

  It was a clever technique, letting the woman feel less exposed, even though that was the whole point.

  “Wait.” His voice was husky.

  I paused, the strawberry almost to my mouth.

  “Slower.”

  My tongue reached for the fruit, catching the tip and angling it toward my face. I took a bite, savoring the sweetness, tipping my throat back, and licking my lips afterward. Then my fingers.

  Nick worked quietly, efficiently. No flash to startle or disrupt the flow.

  I finished the berry and flicked the stem back to the bowl.

  Squirming against the pillows, I fiddled with my hair, smoothing it over one shoulder. “How exactly does this work?”

  He leaned against the mahogany bedpost at the foot of the bed and smirked. “You’ve done this—you know how it works.”

  I bit my lip and crossed one leg over the other, unsure how to start, although I could tell the wine was starting to go to my head after all those margaritas earlier.

  “You want me to coach you through it? Would that be easier than posing on your own?” His voice was smooth, eyes dark in the dim light.

  I nodded and ran my hand through my hair, pushing it behind my back again, just to have something to do with my hands. I’d left it down, the natural waves slightly messy. My eyes were smoky, and my lipstick matched my pushup bra and boy-short set. My metallic gold nails were the only other touch of color. Smooth, tan skin and red lace on black satin.

  Before I could wonder how Nick saw me, his voice rasped over the music. “Lay back.”

  I slid down the sheets, one leg automatically bending at the knee.

  “Arms above your head, arch your back.” He moved around the billowing fabric to capture me from the side.

  “Eyes up, head back.”

  I tipped my chin, exposing the length of my neck, my mouth partially open. My tongue slipped out, ran along my bottom lip.

  “Gorgeous. Raise up on your elbows, keep arching.”

  I flexed further and pointed my toes, breasts thrusting upwards.

  “Look at me.”

  My head tilted, eyes hooded, and my heart beat loudly in my ears. It was both wanton and glamorous.

  Everything about this scene screamed decadence. And he was right—it was a heady feeling.

  My eyes dipped. Nick was hard. Already. But he stayed at the edge of the mattress, keeping his distance as promised.

  “Relax onto the bed again,” he urged. “Get another strawberry. Start at your mouth and trace it down the center of your body. Watch me while you do it.”

  The chilled fruit slid down my neck, between my breasts, and over my bare stomach, leaving goose bumps and hard nipples in its wake. My bra was thin. I knew he could tell. I loved that he could tell.

  The click of the camera was barely detectable as he followed my actions.

  “Yes, Sadie. Beautiful. Raise your hand up high and feed it to yourself. Pretend it’s a thick, juicy cock. Let your lips surround it. Lick it. Savor it.”

  My pulse picked up as I mouthed the ripe fruit, and sampled the very tip. A small drop of juice escaped the corner of my mouth, and I caught it with my thumb, sucking it clean.

  Nick cursed.

  I finished the berry and stretched, arms above my head, tangling in my hair. I rocked my hips one at a time, tightening the muscles in first my right then left leg before relaxing and curling inward on myself.

  He moved behind me and part of me knew he was catching the line of my spine, the flare of my hips spreading to the curve of my ass. I pushed it out further, then peeked over my shoulder at him.

  His eyes met mine briefly, but it was enough.

  The power—the undeniable, primal power a woman held over a man with just her body—it filled me. I was a goddess in that moment. And I reveled in it.

  I moved without prompting, slowly twisting and bending my body, displaying my soft curves. I taunted, I teased, I tormented. Warmth pooled between my legs and I wanted more. Never wanted this feeling to stop.

  Confidence surged through me and I knelt on the bed, spreading my thighs wide. This—this is what brought men to their knees. The helplessness to resist what hid between a woman’s legs. It started battles and caused wars. Civilizations rose and fell from the power of that hidden honey.

  And tonight—I owned it.

  I traced a finger up my inner thigh, toyed with the edge of my panties.

  The sharp intake of breath from Nick made me bolder.

  Watching him through half-lowered lids, head held high, I skimmed up my side, pausing to circle one pebbled nipple, and ran the edge of my fingertip along my bra strap. I traced my cleavage, cupped myself, offered up my breasts to the camera.

  My eyelids closed as I undulated, rocking my hips. I caressed myself, mimicking all the ways West had taught me felt so good. The ways that made me burn.

  Nick blurred and West flooded my mind.

  His hands roaming my flesh, kneading me, making me ache. His mouth licking and sucking at all the right places to drive me crazy. His weight pressed up against me, urging me higher, faster.

  One bra strap fell, exposing more skin.

  It was West I pictured groaning, reaching down to adjust his hardened length, urging me with his eyes to continue.

  I bit my lip and gyrated my hips slowly, performing for him.

  He nodded, rubbing himself through his jeans.

  I sucked on one finger, then dragged it down my skin, straight to my almost exposed peak. Dipping inside the lace, I pulled on the hard bud, drawing a moan from myself. My other hand dropped lower, teasing the seam between my legs, the scratchy lace providing the friction I sought.

  My name shuddered from his lips. Needy. Worshipful.

  Closing my eyes, I sank back on my heels.

  I shifted both hands to my breasts, feeling them get fuller, heavier, as I played with them. I pinched my nipples until that frisson of pain had me gasping, repeating the action harder, wanting more.

  The bed dipped as he moved closer, no doubt wanting a better view.

  The air was musky with my arousal, and I remembered how he used to kiss me afterward, and I could taste myself on his tongue, our flavors melding together as we tangled our limbs.

  Lowering my hands, my nails scratched a path down my thighs as I unfolded my legs, knees splayed wide. My fingers worked back in from my k
nees, one heading straight for my damp panties, the other grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging.

  My scalp tingled. I’d never told him, but I secretly loved it when he tugged on my long strands in the heat of the moment. When that tiny hint of dominance peeked through and my body submitted to his so beautifully.

  I bloomed under the lace, my finger teasing my opening. I was soaked. And it was all for him. All of this, all of me, it was his.

  I touched my clit softly, wanting to draw this out, wanting to tease.

  His breath came faster, matching mine. I didn’t need to open my eyes to register the change in pace.

  The hand in my hair slid to my exposed throat, the pulse at the base hammering. I could almost feel his lips there, nibbling the tender skin.

  My other hand moved along my slit, forcing the lace between my wet folds.

  I moaned, setting a pace meant to prolong the feeling.

  My back arched and breasts throbbed. Squeezing one then other, the ache built higher. There was no relief, only more wanting.

  I twisted the sheet with my damp palm, abandoning my nipples. My other fingers slipped under my waistband, seeking sweet release.

  My fingers slick with arousal, I slid two inside me, pumping slowly. The way he always did when we were making love, instead of fucking. So I felt every hot inch of him rubbing along every tight inch of me.

  I writhed, my hips pushing into my hand, impatient, greedy.

  He groaned and it spurred me on.

  I moved faster, my thumb brushing along my sensitive clit.

  My breath caught, and my toes curled. I was so close.

  I clutched my breast again, over the bra, the scratch of the lace against my tender nipple zinging straight to the base of my spine, taking me higher.

  Someone’s voice, mine or his, chanted. “Yes, yes, yes . . .”

  My thumb circled faster, pressed harder. Once, twice.

  And then I was floating, his name wrenched from my lips as I exploded, suspended in weightless euphoria as my fingers slowed, but didn’t stop.

  I bucked helplessly through the aftershocks, my skin damp with sweat. They slowed, easing to soft tremors, until I finally withdrew my hand, let it rest on my stomach, just the tips grazing the roughness of the lace. The air, incense and salt and musk, filled my lungs in deep breaths as I came down from my high.

  I licked my dry lips and pushed my tangled hair out of my eyes as I sank farther into the pillows. My body felt heavy but boneless, sated for the moment.

  The bed shifted. Murmured praise I didn’t register, but the tone made it clear he’d loved it.

  Of course he had. He loved me.

  Something small pressed into my palm and my fingers curled around it automatically.

  I yawned, curled onto my side, pulling the slick sheet over my hips. I was so sleepy.

  A gust of air as the door opened, a flash of light from the hallway, and then nothing but the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

  I dreamt of his arms around me, his heavy leg on top of mine, and his hand cupping my breast. His breath against my neck, and his voice in my ear.

  “I love you too.”

  I BLINKED MY heavy eyes, the sun streaming through the balcony door piercing my tender pupils with the agony of a thousand swords. A drumline played a discordant cadence in my skull, and my mouth was sticky and stale. My stomach lurched in warning as I crawled out of bed, still clad in red lace and smelling of sweat and musk.

  Hangovers sucked. But at least I’d woken up alone.

  Thank God for small mercies.

  The journey to the bathroom felt like a million miles, but I eventually collapsed on the floor of the shower, letting the hot water pelt me and the steam hide the rest of the world. Confused thoughts swirled around my head, making the pounding worse. West. Nick. Aubrey. Love. Hurt. Desire. Betrayal. Trust.

  Curling up into a ball, I tucked my head to my knees and cried, letting my tears mix with the water running over me.

  It wasn’t the heaving sobs of heartbreak. It wasn’t the silent stream of embarrassed regret. It was tears of frustration that no matter how much my head told me West was the wrong choice, my heart, my body, my stupid fucking soul clung to him, refusing to let go.

  Why couldn’t I just let go?

  Memories of last night seeped in, even as the evidence ran down the drain.

  Reading West’s words. Sacrificing them to Neptune at the bottom of the sea. Drowning any lingering memories in too much tequila. Spilling my sob story to first Alison—who no longer ranked as my third best-est friend after this morning—and then Nick. Posing for him. Coming for West. Losing myself completely in the moment. Killing any chance Nick would ever be able to take me seriously again. Possibly destroying my chance with this advertising campaign, depending on Nick’s reaction.

  Fucking men. Always ruining everything.

  Because as strong as I’d felt last night, this morning I was a hot mess of indecision and turmoil.

  When the warm water threatened to turn cold, I scrubbed myself hastily, wishing last night was as easy to wash away as my smudged makeup. The hotel shampoo had a hint of orange mixed with mint in its scent, and sent me tumbling further down the West Montgomery rabbit hole. I missed his citrus-and-salt smell on my pillow in the mornings.

  After shutting off the water, I toweled myself dry, scouring my skin with the terrycloth until my skin was pink. Using the side of my fist, I rubbed at the condensation on the mirror, and peered at my reflection.

  My cheeks were pale and my eyes were red, but otherwise I looked the same. Somehow, I thought slut would look different on me.

  Because as much as last night had been about West for me, Nick had been the one to watch it. Watch me shamelessly fuck my hand and moan my pleasure. Watch me come undone and scream another man’s name.

  While I recalled the gist of what I’d done, I had no memory of Nick’s reaction.

  And maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

  Hurriedly wrapping my hair in the towel and my body in the white hotel robe from the hook on the back of the door, I gathered up my clothes from the bathroom floor and the small memory card on the nightstand. I managed to make the walk of shame without running into any other resort guests before shutting myself into the sanctuary of my own room.

  After dumping the lingerie in the trash can—embarrassment flooding every inch of me—I halted abruptly when I spotted a breakfast tray ready and waiting for me on the small table. Approaching it cautiously and lifting the lid, I found greasy bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs, and loaded hashbrowns awaiting me. Hangover food. And ibuprofen. Nick must have arranged it.

  A small paper airplane sat between the tiny ketchup bottle and my glass of orange juice. West still wooing me from across the ocean. Even as he hung out with that bitch Aubrey.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one confused about what I wanted.

  Pushing them both from my mind, and ignoring the note for now, I swallowed the pills and dug into my food. It was still warm. This resort was fucking magical. And the bacon, my God, bacon did not taste like this on Reynolds Island.

  By the time I finished, and my belly settled down and acted like it wasn’t going to reject my food offering, I was sleepy again. My head still throbbed, my ears still rang, and the sun was too damn cheerful to handle.

  Pulling the curtains shut, I collapsed on the bed, wet hair and all.

  A CRACK OF thunder startled me from my nap. I tried to check my phone to see what time it was, but the battery was dead. Connecting it to the built-in charger on the nightstand, I looked at the bedside clock. Four-fifty in the afternoon. I’d slept through most of the day like a rock.

  Yawning, I took a quick inventory. Head felt better. Eyes were less scratchy. Stomach was growling but okay. And the dark sky and stormy weather outside fit my grouchy mood perfectly.

  At least with the rain, it wouldn’t seem weird that I wasn’t outside interacting with anyone. I threw on some yoga pa
nts and an oversized T-shirt. After opening the curtains so I could watch the storm, I picked up my phone again. It had just enough charge to let me use it while plugged in.

  As it powered on, my notifications went crazy. Eighteen messages and seven missed calls. All from Rue.

  Alarmed, I opened the texts and read through them.

  Call me.

  Now.

  Why aren’t you answering?

  We need to talk.

  Are you okay?

  Don’t worry, we can handle this.

  Grrrr, pick up already.

  Sadie! This is important!

  What have you done?

  I didn’t waste time reading any further.

  Punching the icon on my home screen that was my shortcut to call Rue, I waited while the phone beeped and clicked its way through connecting the call internationally.

  “Sadie?!” Her normally husky voice was an octave higher than normal, and my heart pounded in my chest.

  Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

  “Rue?” My hand tightened around the phone. “What’s wrong?”

  “Have you looked yet? Seen them?”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Seen what?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and paused. This time her voice was a whisper. “The naked pictures of you online.”

  I DROPPED THE phone. It clattered against the nightstand before bouncing under the bed, still tethered by the cable charging it.

  Scrambling to my hands and knees to retrieve it, I put the phone back to my ear, sitting on the floor with my back to the side of the bed.

  “What did you say?”

  “Check your email—I sent you the link. We nee—”

  I disconnected the call. I didn’t need to hear anymore.

  Nick.

  Fucking Nick.

  How could he? I’d trusted him. He pressed the memory card into my palm, but technically, the camera itself had some built in memory he could have utilized.

  He sure didn’t waste any time, did he?

  Had those images uploaded and distributed in less than twenty-four hours.

  And, hell, they’d already reached my friends?