Pleasure Beach

by P. J. Mellor

  “Ah, sure.” He grabbed the corkscrew and relished the feel of the handle digging into his palm.

  “I’m glad you accepted my invitation, Jack,” she said from behind the stainless-steel refrigerator door. With a bump of her hip, she closed the door and walked toward him with a sweet smile on her face.

  He didn’t trust that smile.

  “Why?” He took a step back, valiantly avoiding physical contact as she walked by.

  “Well, I always felt like you didn’t like me very much.”

  “I didn’t really know you.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was Mardee’s little sister’s friend.” She shrugged a shapely shoulder and he wondered how much movement the tiny straps would take before they gave way. “I know I was sort of a nonentity to you.”

  “I really didn’t think about you one way or the other.” It was a blatant lie. Coward that he was, he had avoided Royce like the plague ever since he was horrified to realize the woman gave him an instant boner whenever she was within a mile of him.

  Mardee had noticed, but chose not to discuss it. Mardee chose to ignore a lot over the last six years. He knew she, her friends and family all thought he couldn’t commit because he was a major player. Hell, yes, he looked and lusted.

  In his mind. He’d been faithful to Mardee while they were together.

  His hostess bent over the table to straighten a fork. It hit him. He was not in a relationship at the moment. He was free.

  Free to pursue the crazed, lustful reactions he’d experienced whenever he was near Royce St. Claire for the last six years.

  If he wanted.

  3

  Royce gathered the dirty dishes and prayed her legs would support her weight. Why did she get weak in the knees just looking across the table at Jack?

  Baiting him over lunch had been fun, but she honestly could not recall the taste of a single bite. It had taken all her concentration to keep from squirming under his heated gaze.

  Standing now, she was once more in command of the situation. She leaned over the table to retrieve his plate, allowing her breasts to sway slightly beneath the gaping neckline of her dress.

  Jack’s eyes, riveted to her cleavage, widened. Color flooded his face, tingeing the tops of his ears.

  But he didn’t move so much as a finger.

  Damn! This was much more difficult than she’d imagined when she’d decided to play with him.

  She hadn’t counted on the constant yearning and restless feelings inspired by just thinking about him.

  Why hadn’t he made a move? Was she that unappealing? She leaned closer, feeling the ribbon trim of her bodice scrape along the edge of her nipple.

  C’mon, Jack, take it! You know you want it. What good was planning a little slap and tickle if your chosen playmate refused to cooperate?

  Still, Jack sat. For all the good it did her, he may as well have been carved out of stone.

  Strolling around the table, her erect nipples rubbing the silk with each step, she reached past him for his wineglass, ‘accidentally’ brushing the side of his face with her breast.

  His breath heated her skin, but still he made no move.

  She chanced a glimpse. His heated gaze locked with hers. Relief flooded her when she realized he was not totally unaffected.

  Steam practically wafted off him.

  “Unless you want me,” he said in a low, guttural growl, “I suggest you remove your breast from the vicinity of my mouth.”

  Her breath hitched. This was what she’d hoped for, but was she brave enough to carry it through to the logical conclusion?

  “And if I don’t want to move it?” Her breathless whisper sent a bolt of disgust through her.

  “Drop the strap and find out.”

  Jack may have interpreted the slow movement of her hand up her opposite arm as seductive, but in reality it was the only way to stop it from shaking.

  Finally, finally, eyes locked with his, she felt the edge of the spaghetti strap and hooked her index finger beneath it.

  An almost infinitesimal tug was all it took. The rounded silken strap fell to her elbow. The triangle patch of fabric covering her nipple followed, baring her left breast to his hungry gaze.

  Still he did nothing, his warm breath bathing her distended nipple, setting off aching shards of awareness throughout her body.

  “Tell me what you want, Royce.”

  She bit back the urge to scream for him to take her in his mouth.

  “S—suck it,” she finally managed to whisper.

  “No.”

  No? Had he really said no?

  Humiliation burned her cheeks.

  Before she could straighten away from him and cover herself, his hard hand grasped her right shoulder, anchoring her in place.

  One thumb, so much rougher in texture than her own, rubbed back and forth, over her shoulder, beneath the other strap.

  “I don’t do things halfway,” he explained, still toying with her strap. “If I’m going to make the effort to suck a woman’s nipple, I want both of them.”

  With that, he slid the other strap to her elbow, effectively pinning her arms to her sides.

  His warm hands closed over both breasts, driving rational thought from her mind, making her weak in the knees. And wet, oh, so wet.

  He tugged her closer, urging her to straddle his lap as he covered her lips with his.

  She sighed into his mouth. Yes! After all these years, she was right where she wanted to be. Okay, well, almost where she wanted to be.

  She’d heard Jack was a great kisser, but great was always open to interpretation. As his tongue slid along hers, his hands sending delicious sensations through her breasts, she decided he’d been horribly underrated.

  He sucked and nibbled her lips, dipping back into her mouth occasionally, then made his way downward.

  She became spineless, pliable, arching back to give him greater access.

  His mouth replaced his hand. His tongue circled her aureola with maddening slowness before flicking the very end of her nipple with the hardened tip.

  Every thought, every flicker of sensation centered on that one spot. She scarcely breathed, her heart tripping within her chest.

  Finally his mouth covered her aching nipple, drawing it deeply into his wet heat.

  She bit down on her lower lip, hard, to keep from keening her pleasure.

  Through the damp silk of her skirt, his hardness made the glorious announcement: She was not the only one turned on by his actions.

  The realization emboldened her. Unfortunately, her straps restricted her movements so she could not reciprocate by exploring his golden body.

  When his mouth moved to her other breast, the explosion between her legs took her by surprise. Before she could stop it, she was in the throes of a full-blown orgasm. Waves of pleasure washed through her again and again until she was limp and weak, hanging in his arms.

  He stood, lifting her high, and strode into the living room to place her on the sofa.

  After arranging her limp body to his satisfaction, he lifted her skirt. Cool air caressed her moist, heated skin, but she was too wrung out at the moment to move a muscle.

  Hot hands skimmed her inner thighs, gently parting her legs for further exploration. Immediately, moisture surged indicating how responsive her body was to him, even in her weakened condition.

  He knelt between the vibrating muscles of her thighs, his breath fanning her exposed core.

  “I knew it,” he whispered against her folds. “I knew you were pantyless.” His tongue barely touched her sensitized feminine lips.

  He placed a gentle kiss on her opening, then smoothed her dress down into place.

  Stunned, she could only gape as he straightened her straps and bestowed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

  “Thanks for lunch…and dessert.” His cocky grin was back. If she’d had the strength, she would have slapped it from his handsome face. “I’ll let myself out.”

  With that, he was gon
e.

  Royce blinked and struggled to sit up. What had happened to make him change his mind?

  Jack ran as fast as the iron erection in his shorts would allow, not slowing until he gained the cool safety of his own house and the master suite.

  Stripping, he walked into the bathroom and stepped beneath the icy needles of the shower.

  He looked down. Obviously, cold showers were an urban legend.

  Speaking of legends…the hot number next door had been more difficult to walk away from than he’d anticipated. But the look on the little tease’s face was worth it.

  Just the thought of her sweetly weeping pussy had his cock pulsing with renewed interest.

  Maybe he should have taken what she so obviously offered.

  Thoughts of his lifestyle, his past, flashed. All his life he’d been overindulgent. He drank too much, and had pretty much nailed anything that moved in his direction.

  Until Mardee.

  After he’d met Mardee, he still looked, but that’s where it ended. After their breakup, his first thought was to get laid by as many women as possible after such a long dry spell. So far, he’d scored exactly…nothing. Zero. Hell, until Royce, he’d begun to wonder if his cock still worked.

  Just the thought of Royce had the questionable member leaping to life.

  Though it was a relief to know he wasn’t impotent, why Royce, when no other women had affected him?

  He tended to gravitate toward buxom blondes whose chest measurements exceeded their IQ. Although Mardee had been no dummy, she met the other requirements.

  When he and Mardee had first met, they’d set the sheets on fire. He frowned. Funny, when he tried to bring up mental pictures of Mardee, all he could see was Royce, her dark hair in disarray from his pleasuring her, eyes shining. Of course, those thoughts brought others: her rosy nipples glistening from his mouth, her flat belly and plump, bare sex, swollen with arousal.

  With a growl, he stepped out of the shower and jerked his towel from the heated rack.

  “Get out of my mind, Royce St. Claire!” Throwing the towel into the hamper, he stomped into the closet and tugged on his tightest running shorts.

  If he couldn’t will her out of his mind, maybe he could wear her out of it with exhaustion.

  4

  Royce watched Jack’s retreating back get smaller as he ran down the beach. With a sigh, she dropped the sheer curtain back to her kitchen window and began loading the dishwasher.

  A lonely afternoon of tanning on the deck held no appeal. She glanced at her rumpled dress. Shopping was definitely in order, but seemed more of a chore than she was up for at the moment.

  A sad smile tugged at her mouth. She could chuck the whole idea of beginning a new life and just while away her days with nude sunbathing and working through every night until the numbness overcame her again.

  Numbing her brain with work had been her salvation once. It could happen again.

  She looked back at the tiny dot that was Jack. Maybe.

  Slow steps took her up to the full-length mirror in the master bath where she let her sundress fall to the tile floor in a silken puddle.

  A golden tan kissed most of her body. Her breasts were still firm and full, waist narrow, hips slender. Long legs tapered to slim ankles and feet that were average.

  Her eyes narrowed. If she were a man, would she find herself appealing?

  Many men had, over the years. Up to and including Gerald, the man she’d found endearing until he’d crossed the line.

  As usual, her thoughts came back to Jack, bringing with them the familiar surge of moisture. Her sex looked pouty, slick and bare from her recent Brazilian wax. After the initial pain, the pleasure had been worth it. The air clicked on, blowing a gentle breeze across her dampness, reminding her of the way Jack’s breath had fanned the same spot mere minutes ago.

  Had she done something wrong? Been too eager? Too easy? Was she too fat? Too thin? Was he not over Mardee? According to Wendy, the split had been a mutual decision with no ill will on either side. Of course, Wendy only knew Mardee’s version.

  It was unfathomable how any living, breathing woman could agree to ending it with Dr. Jack McMillan.

  She touched her damp folds and groaned. Jack. She ached for Jack.

  She had to have him. He wasn’t totally immune to her. She knew the stirring of arousal when she felt it.

  The mere thought of clothing made her nerve endings scream their frustration. She wandered downstairs and filled an ice bucket. With a will of their own, her eyes looked down the beach.

  Jack jogged past her house and up the steps of his deck, then disappeared through his sliding door.

  Before she could tell herself all the reasons why it was a bad idea, she ran up the steps and threw on a billowy purple silk caftan and, all but tripping in her haste, skipped back down the stairs and out the door.

  If Jack turned her down again, there was always her vibrator.

  One way or another, she would get satisfaction tonight.

  Jack stood beneath the stinging spray, its icy needles taking his breath away. But not, unfortunately, his erection.

  He closed his eyes and willed Royce from his mind, tried to think of baseball. But all that came to his mind’s eye was Royce, dressed in a catcher’s pad—and nothing else.

  “Royce!” he called with a growl.

  The glass door opened, cooler air whooshing in around his heated body.

  “Yes?” She stood at the open shower door, nude, moisture from the spray glistening her golden, perfect body.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them.

  She was still there. Still gorgeous. Still sexy as hell. Why was he fighting the inevitable?

  He opened his arms and she stepped into the shower and his embrace.

  Her sharp intake of breath had him grabbing for the controls to warm the water. Instant steam filled the cubicle. Within his arms, she gave a slight shiver, her hardened nipples erotically rubbing against his chest.

  On tiptoe, she nibbled his lower lip, causing a riptide of sensation to tear through him. His heart tightened, warning him this was more than a casual sexual encounter.

  Her shoulders were warm and silky beneath his palms. It took all the willpower he possessed to gently pull her away from his willing body.

  Questioning violet eyes looked up at him. Her full lower lip shone with moisture. Crystal water droplets hung suspended from her beaded nipples. Self-preservation kicked in. Swallowing a groan of sexual frustration, he croaked, “This doesn’t mean anything. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her brows drew together, creating frown furrows.

  “This”—he pulled her against him, flattening her breasts against his chest—“this is all there can ever be.” He palmed her buttocks. “I just want you to know that, going in.”

  Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Who said I was looking for anything else?”

  “It’s what you want?”

  She nodded, her wandering hands threatening to short-circuit his thought process. “It’s what I want,” she said with a whisper.

  He gripped her waist. “You got it, babe. Spread your legs and hold on.”

  He lifted her up past his shoulders and then down to impale her. Their gazes met. A slow smile curved her sexy mouth.

  She leaned in and licked his chin, then wrapped her smooth legs around his hips. Her inner muscles clenched around his cock, making his knees go weak.

  “Do it,” she whispered next to his ear.

  He didn’t need to be told twice.

  “Oh, my,” Royce said when she could gasp through the desperately needed air wheezing in and out of her lungs. Her heart thundered in her rib cage. Against her back, the cool tile felt slick. Every muscle in her body vibrated. Had it not been for Jack’s arms securely around her, she would have collapsed into a sated pile of mush on the shower floor.

  Against her ear, Jack’s breath still came in harsh pants, his heart beating a furious duet w
ith hers. “You,” he said on a breath, “can say that again.”

  He slid to sit on the tiled floor, holding her firmly on his lap. Warm water sluiced over them from the multiple showerheads.

  Royce turned her face into the hollow of Jack’s shoulder. “We’re going to drown.”

  “I don’t care.” His breathing was as labored as hers. “I don’t have the strength to move.” He reached back to grope for the controls. “Give me a minute.”

  The water slowed to a trickle. He leaned his head against the shower wall, eyes closed. “I think you killed some brain cells.”

  “Mmmm.” She snuggled closer. “I think it was a mutual massacre.”

  After a few minutes he shifted and hugged her closer. “Dynamite sex, Ms. St. Claire.”

  Silence. Damn. What had she done? Attacking Jack in his shower was not part of her master plan.

  She attempted to pull back.

  “Royce?”

  “Look, Jack, while I appreciate your willingness to cuddle, an admitted rarity among men, I need you to just shut up.”

  5

  Jack shifted, the tile floor flattening his buttocks, and looked at the woman he held so intimately on his lap. Now that his heart rate had slowed to something resembling normal, he questioned the sanity of participating in the sexual gluttony that had just transpired. Especially after her last statement.

  And that’s all it had been—sexual gratification. Regardless of how earth-shattering and mind-blowing, it was just sex.

  Just sex.

  The ridiculous feeling of tenderness was expected, given how Royce had just rocked his world. If he took her words at face value, it was obviously one-sided. He’d be fine in a few seconds.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. This was a mistake. I—”

  “Good God, woman, can’t you shut up and just enjoy?” Two could play that game.

  He knew his words were harsh, but her saying that it was a mistake cut more deeply than he cared to admit. And it was the final straw.

  No wonder he’d never liked the woman.

  He shoved her away and yanked the towels from the rack, tossing one at her as he stepped from the glass enclosure.