Sexy Beast

by Ella James

  And then he lowers his mouth back to my clit. All it takes is three slow strokes of his soft tongue. My body convulses as my mind shorts out.

  Somewhere far away, I feel his thumb leave me; he draws his fingers out. I try to curl over on my side, but he’s pushing my legs open.

  I can’t breathe. “I can’t breathe!” Tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Yes you can.” His fingers are on my cheek, and I can smell the sweetness of myself. His hands are in my hair. Somewhere, thunder claps.

  I’m shivering. I clench my teeth.

  “Oh God.” I can’t believe he did that to me!

  I suck a deep breath in and notice something pressed against my core. It’s warm and smooth, moving slowly in a circle, re-arousing tattered nerve endings. My eyes can barely focus enough to see his swollen, purple head, but I enjoy the feeling of it. I’m growing hungry for him, parting my legs a little wider, when he leans forward, stretching his magnificent torso out over my chest, and clasps my hands in one of his. He presses them into the sand over my head and looks down at me with black, hypnotic eyes.

  “I’m going to fuck you. Now.”

  His eyes bore into mine and my lips tremble as I nod.

  I watch as he takes himself in hand—he’s that long—and, positioned with his head between my swollen lips, he balances his weight on his arms, restraining both of mine, and rocks his hips.

  The moment his thick cock punches into me, I’m blinded. Deafened. I know nothing but the fullness of my cunt. My hungry, swollen, dripping, ravaged cunt. I’m stretched so tight. He’s buried so deep. He rocks against me and I swear to God he’s rearranging me inside. I’m trembling violently, quivering, stretched painfully around him but deep within me, pleasure ignites.

  He starts to fuck me, hard and fast, brutal. I return it thrust for thrust, lifting my ass off the ground, throwing my legs wide, opening myself so I can take every inch of him. I’m so wet and warm, so drunk. I need him, all of him.

  I clutch his shoulders. Claw his neck. His balls punch my pussy, sending shockwaves to my clit. I hear him groan, but I can’t even open my eyes to see his face.

  “Red…”

  “Fuck me.” It’s barely a whisper as he does just that. He drags himself out of me slowly and pushes viciously back in—over and over, making me groan and grunt and whimper.

  I’m so wet that when he shoves deep inside me, the base of him glides deliciously against my clit. My eyes leak. My heart gallops. My chest tightens. I wonder if it’s possible to fuck to death.

  Then I feel him expand inside me. He’s pressed so tightly into me, I’m not sure my pussy will ever let him go. Suddenly he lets go of my wrists. Hard fingers clench the soft skin of my ass, lifting me up, clutching my hips as he groans, pulls halfway out, and slams me one final time.

  I come with a primitive scream.

  I can feel his body quake as he unloads inside me, but my mind is somewhere else. Heaven, maybe.

  I’m limp and helpless when he pulls out, leaving me soaking wet and sore.

  I’m so exhausted, so empty now, I can do nothing but curl into a little ball and shut my eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Red

  I guess he dresses me. Dresses himself. It’s not until he’s crouching in front of me with my bags on his shoulder, drawing me close to pick me up, that my synapses start firing again.

  I’m wet and cold.

  There’s sand in my hair. In my bra. In my underwear. Once my focus shifts down there, I’m stunned by how sore I am. Sore from over-use. I’m wet, too. My panties are tattered and soaked, and not because it’s raining. My legs feel unsteady, like I’ve just stepped off a roller coaster. My stomach is tight and fluttery, as if moths are bumping around inside, trying to force their way out my throat.

  Oh, this is so not good.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I just have some kind of mental break?

  No Red, you were horny.

  He’s a stranger. A stranger I can't trust!

  I look at Race, and even now, I still can’t see straight. I don’t see a strange man. I see a man my body appreciates.

  I feel pleasantly off-kilter. Breathless. Excited. I take a deep breath and work to keep my face impassive. He doesn't need to know that I want to lick his tanned throat and smell his wet, dark hair and throw my head back and let him mark me like an animal.

  Of course he knows!

  Rage. Embarrassment and horror.

  But that was the most fabulous sex of my life.

  I didn’t know sex like that existed.

  Dammit, it was way too good! Addictively good!

  That’s as far as I get before he throws me over his shoulder and starts toward the shadowed trees.

  I see the beach spread out behind us as he strides across the rain-pocked sand. It’s deep tan, zigzagged with lines of black silt—the ocean’s scribbles. Waves crash to the shore, but they’ve petered out some since last I looked. Behind them, the boat shimmies in the current. It’s getting dark. The cloud-strewn sky seems to hang low over the horizon line.

  I can’t see mainland anywhere. Can’t see anything but this island.

  As we move into the trees, the rain peters into a dribble. Further beneath the cover of pines, oaks, and other leafy, moss-flung trees, it’s almost dry. Every few steps, a raindrop hits my head or shoulders. I look around, trying to pin down some specifics on exactly we are, but it’s no use. It’s all just trees to me. Trees that rise up from a boggy ground of decomposing leaves and pine-straw. Trees where moss sways gently in the breeze.

  A part of me wants to jump down and run from Race, but where would I go?

  I lean my cheek against his neck. My stomach quivers, almost as if I’ve been kicked in the gut—and all because of his scent: sweaty man and sex and saltwater.

  I wonder what kind of man he is. I know he’s a sex god, and controlling. And an asshole. Manipulative. Doesn’t like people. I shut my eyes and breathe slowly.

  Yeah, you’ve really gone and done it this time, Red.

  As if he hears my thoughts, Race looks down at me. I can feel him more than see him, since I’m turned toward the trees behind us.

  I don’t move a muscle as I contemplate my options. How do I even know what they are when I know so little about him?

  Who likes solitude so much they want to live alone here?

  Who has millions to throw into the purchase of an island?

  Who has the power to put money into my bank account, then yank it out?

  The trees quiver around me, as if they know the answer but they simply cannot speak.

  Suddenly I can’t handle being carried by him anymore. I lean back so I can see his face, which is still gorgeous, even now that the sight of it fills me with a shame so strong it verges on panic.

  “Put me down,” I manage, sounding almost normal.

  He sets me on the ground, and my eyes are pulled up his delectable body, to his face, as if my gaze is being controlled by a magnet.

  His hair hangs wet in his eyes. He brushes it back, and I can’t help feel a renewed burst of lust. The dark, dramatic eyes; the chiseled jaw; smooth cheeks; biteable lips. Lips that kissed my pussy. And that short, soft beard that tickled me. The memory leaves me so unsteady, I don't know what to say.

  This is probably nothing to him. I bet he’s used to getting whatever he wants. If not in life, with women surely.

  I glance through the trees behind him, where I can just barely make out the boat, bobbing against the shore, and the waves rolling into the sand. I jerk my thumb that way and manage to loosen my too-tight throat enough so I can tell him: “What happened back there, that is not the norm for me. At all. Ever. That was you getting lucky because I’m going through a weird time in my life.”

  He looks me up and down, igniting a trail of heat from head to toe. His face is hard to read—just thoughtful, maybe. “Weird?”

  I bite my lip. “It’s nothing that you need to know about. But it doesn’t
have to do with you—what happened. It had to do with me. I was having a reaction to some things that…to some difficult things. Not you. ’Cause you’re an asshole.”

  His lips twitch, as if my calling him an asshole is amusing. “‘What happened?’” He arches one brow. “You mean the fucking we did.”

  “Yes. We fucked, okay? I know that.”

  He’s staring at me, prodding me with his eyes. I’m not sure to what end.

  “It was very nice, okay? You’re a total stud. In every way. And I enjoyed myself. I’m not going to lie about it. I’m sure I couldn’t if I tried.” I grit my teeth, because I fear I may be blushing.

  He smirks. “No, you couldn’t, Rojo.”

  I wipe my hands on my jeans, even though my hands aren’t wet and my jeans are. It’s a nervous habit. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop calling me that.”

  His smirk deepens. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well I’m not a ho. I’m really not. And I mean it when I say nothing like that is going to happen again.”

  He folds his arms across his chest and looks ridiculous standing there with my bags on his shoulder, in an I-conjured-this-man-from-my-dreams sort of way. I have a brief and random longing to touch his beard. This leads me to realize I didn’t touch his dick one time during our…exchange. I wonder if that was intentional on his part. I remind myself that I don’t care.

  He’s smirking at me again. The smirk smooths out, but his lip is twitching like he wants to smile. “You think it won’t.”

  “It definitely won’t. You paid me to come here—” And I did come, didn’t I? My sex-starved inner horn dog wags her tail. I am definitely blushing now. I take a deep breath and try again. “You paid me to see this place. Not have sex with you. And I’m aware it’s not like you dragged me into it or anything, but let’s be honest, you enticed me back there on the boat. You’re a practiced seducer. I have no doubt.”

  I purse my lips at him, and he smiles. He tries to hide it, but it’s definitely a smug little smile. It’s there and gone, leaving me longing to see it again. Which is ridiculous.

  “So anyway, I just want to let you know I’m not just going to…do things like that. Not again, anyway. I’m staying in Gertrude’s house, in her room with the door dead-bolted.”

  “You know what I think?” Smirky bastard.

  “I don’t care what you think.”

  “I’m going to tell you anyway.” He steps a little closer, and I notice his clothes are sticking to him just like mine are. I can see every line of his beautiful chest through that soaked dress shirt. I bite my cheek and he leans in even closer, so all I can see is his face, and the rumble of his voice fills my ears.

  “I think you need a door that locks from the outside if you want to be sure you don’t fall legs-spread on my cock.”

  That deep voice permeates my mind. It gets inside me. I wrap my arms around myself, but I still feel an ache low in my belly and warmth between my legs.

  I stand up straighter. Twist my lips into a frown. “You’re a jerk, Race. It’s painfully obvious to me. First you tried to manipulate me into giving you this island. Then you seduced me. I don’t know what I can expect from you next, which is why I think we should part ways. Right here, right now.”

  His eyebrows arch, and even that simple movement sends a bolt of lust straight to my girly parts.

  “Give me my bags.” I hold my arms out, and he leans close enough so I can smell his breath and feel his heat. As he slides them on my shoulder, his fingers whisper across my arm and my body goes molten.

  I step back. “Can I have the key?”

  A self-pleased little twitch of his lips makes me want to punch him in the nose. “If you insist, Red. There's a key under the flower pot with yellow polka dots. Let yourself in. Look around if you want. I don’t think she’d mind you poking around, as long as you don’t take anything.”

  I close my hand around the strap of my bag. “I would never do that. I’m her granddaughter, remember?”

  Another subtle lift of his brows. His cheek tugs up a little, but it’s not a smile. It’s a kind of tired, kind of doubting look—one that seems to say he’s over messing with me. “You sure you don’t want company on the walk?” He shifts his weight, drawing my gaze to his long, muscular legs.

  “Yes.” I lick my slightly chapped lips. “Very sure.”

  He nods. “You’ll find a folder on the desk in her office. Top of the pile. Everything in there is yours. To get there, you’ll want to take this path,” he says, pointing at something behind my shoulder. I turn to see a ribbon of pale pebbles that curls between the pines, rolling in the opposite direction of where Race was carrying me before we stopped. “It will lead you all the way to Trudie’s cottage. Just keep on through the woods until you see it. It’s about five hundred yards from here, near some rocks.”

  I glance briefly at the treetops, where, in between the leaves, the sky is gray. It’s not going to be sunny again this afternoon, but I have at least two hours until dark, if I’m correct about the time. “I think I can handle that,” I tell Race.

  My eyes cling to his face. I just can’t help myself. With his ripped physique and worn-out clothes, he looks like just the kind of trouble that would await a woman in the woods at dusk.

  I huff my breath out, hold up a hand in a casual wave. A wave that’s meant to tell him I’m totally over the crazy monkey sex we just had.

  “Bye, Race. I mean Wolf.” I smirk over my shoulder. “Thank you for the orgasms.”

  Chapter Three

  Red

  As soon as I’m more than a stone’s throw from Race, I drop the smirking-girl-in-charge-of-her-own-sexuality façade and let a wave of anxiety wash over me. I’m way out of my element here: on the island, and with him.

  Not that there is any ‘with him.’

  Not that I’d ever, in a million years, want there to be.

  My nickname for him—Wolf—is totally appropriate.

  I definitely feel like Little Red Riding Hood right now, clutching my bags as I walk slowly through the woods, to grandmother's house. I keep my gaze up in the trees, where rain drips from thin, squiggly moss; where pine needles tremble in the wind; where I can see swatches of sky through the treetops. Rain drips only occasionally on my forehead, in my hair, where it tickles as it makes its way down toward my neck. Birds call over the dim noise of the waves. I can see the ocean if I glance out to my left. It’s grey-blue and looks choppy, as if it’s underlining the fact that I’m stuck here tonight. Stuck on an island with a man I know almost nothing about, one who, inexplicably, I can’t stop thinking about.

  I remember the way I cried when I came on the beach. The way I felt right before I got off for the last time. How super intense it was. I wonder if it was that good for him. I hope it was.

  I still can’t believe I did that. Sure, Race is obviously an all-star player, but I have a will of my own. Why did I do it?

  It’s probably my pent-up sexual frustration. After Carl, there’s been no one. Jobless, going-broke me didn’t have the confidence to put herself out there. I told myself there was no need. I had Mr. Happy, who I suddenly wish I’d tucked into my bag.

  I remember how Race looked in between my legs, smirking as he licked me. I wish I’d had the chance to touch his dick. I would love to—would have loved to give him some of the same pleasure he gave me.

  As soon as I get to Gertrude’s place, I’m taking a cold shower. Or maybe a warm shower where I put my hand to good use.

  Thinking about following up my experience with Race by pleasuring myself in my grandmother's bathroom makes me depressed. I feel lonely again. Lonely, unemployed, and probably just played by a master manipulator.

  I pick up the pace, eager to put as much distance as possible between Race and me. I’m grateful when, a minute or two later, the pebble path leads me out of the woods, into a grassy clearing where two weeping willows, swaying on either side of the path, herald a spacio
us cottage: stone with lots of glass and a roof made of adorable wooden shingles. The cottage is situated on what looks like the tip of the island. It’s surrounded by a rocky beach where waves crash in sprays of white. Two gulls circle above it. A garden sprawls behind it, overrun with delicate purple flowers, spindly yellow ones, pink snap roses, monkey grass, ferns, a young maple tree, and a sea of ivy that climbs the glass walls of the sunroom on the back of the house.

  So Gertrude had a green thumb. A green thumb and a black heart… I scowl at my own bitterness. I guess I’ve still got some hard feelings. I shove them aside and walk across a stone patio surrounding the garden. I’m looking for the pot that—

  There it is. Beside the baby maple tree.

  I lift it up and find an ordinary-looking, silver key. The sunroom door is teal green, with glass panes in the middle. I can see the cozy-looking furniture inside before I push the door open: two small, lipstick-colored couches and a wicker-backed rocking chair resting atop a cream rug that almost looks crocheted. A Tiffany’s style stained glass floor lamp beside the rocking chair. A big, leather trunk serving as a coffee table, stacked with magazines and a tablet. I step slowly inside, feeling like an interloper, half expecting Gertrude to step through the doorway that leads back to the rest of the house and tell me she was only testing me.

  I’m sure I failed the moment I let Race shove his fingers inside me.

  I stand there for a second, waiting for I’m not sure what, but the only thing I hear is…shit. Is that a cat purring?

  He’s fat and orange, sitting in a green wing-backed chair I hadn’t noticed before. His gaze flicks to me before he lifts one of his front paws and begins to lick it.

  My eyes are already watering.

  I put a hand over my mouth, but it’s no use. I’m madly allergic to cats, and one is sitting within sneezing distance of me. The bastard continues purring as I sneeze twice into my palms.

  Along the wall to my left, I notice a quote done in black brush-script: “The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline toward the religion of solitude. –Aldous Huxley”