Pleasure Beach

by P. J. Mellor

  The attendant put a steadying hand on Jack’s elbow. He shook him off.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Why don’t you hop on the gurney and let us at least give you a ride home?”

  “I live next door,” he answered through clenched teeth. “I’m perfectly capable of walking the entire ten feet on my own.”

  “Do you think he should be alone tonight?” Royce asked, earning a glare from Jack.

  “Does he have a way to contact you if he needs you?”

  “Last I heard, the phones work,” Jack grumbled. “Hell, at this distance, two tin cans and a string would do.”

  After Jack promised to take it easy and Royce vowed to keep a close eye on him, the paramedics left.

  Jack leaned against the doorjamb and cocked his finger for Royce.

  She didn’t exactly trust the gleam in his eye, so she stopped just out of reach. “Did you decide to stay here tonight?” She knew he was, in all probability, fine and wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to resist if he reached for her during the night.

  He shook his head and winced. “No. I’m going home to take some kick-ass pain relievers and get some sleep.” He gave her the once-over. “I know if I stayed here, that wouldn’t happen.”

  He reached out to pull her by the lapels of her robe until they were breast to chest. He let his hand slide across her breasts to her waist. “Gimme a good-bye kiss.”

  She stood on tiptoe and brushed a chaste kiss across his lips.

  He growled, grabbed her hair on both sides and hauled her mouth back to his for a much deeper, harder invasion.

  Her knees took on the consistency of melting rubber just as he broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, then tilted up her face to look eye to eye.

  “Rest, hot stuff,” he said, brushing his lips across the tip of her nose. “We’re not through yet.” One of his hands slid down to grasp her buttocks, the feel intimate and erotic through the thin silk barrier. “Not by a long shot.”

  With a light tap on her fanny, he turned and let himself out.

  She watched his progress, absently rubbing the spot he’d tapped. If she’d known for sure he was unhurt, she would have dragged him up to her bed and had her wicked way with him all through the night.

  She smiled at the thought. Who would have thought Royce St. Clair, terminal goody-two-shoes, could get so down and dirty? Maybe it was Jack’s fault. He seemed to be the only man capable of wringing that kind of passion from her.

  Shortly after going to bed, she threw off her covers and strode to the desk in the corner. If she wasn’t going to sleep or make love, she may as well catch up on her reading.

  Naked and needy, she couldn’t concentrate. Her vibrator held no appeal. At least not when she knew what she craved slept just on the other side of the wall next door.

  She opened the balcony door, the cool night air caressing her bare skin, the sea air calming her, and grabbed a pad and pen from the desk before padding outside.

  The all-weather chaise pad felt scratchy against her bottom. A quick glance confirmed that the beach was deserted. The glow from her bedroom gave enough light to see what she wrote. Clothing was definitely optional.

  Sexual mores and the modern male’s inability to commit. A comprehensive study by Royce St. Clair, PhD.

  She tapped her pen on the arm of the chaise before writing:

  Test Subject One: a successful thirty-six-year-old cardiologist. Never married. One less than serious relationship that lasted six years. High libido for a male his age. While his peers settle down he becomes more sexually aggressive, copulation a way of life.

  Feeling pretty sexually aggressive herself, she went on to list the various ways they’d had sex and catalogued the ways she intended to use him in the very near future.

  An hour later, she closed her notebook and struggled not to squirm in frustration. It was a bit daunting to realize her latent sexuality. The various ways to copulate she’d listed surprised even her.

  Tossing the notebook in the direction of the desk, she headed for the shower.

  Her tiled stall now seemed big and lonely. Closing her eyes, she worked her shower gel into a rich lather and let the bubbles slide down her body, pretending they were Jack’s hands or tongue.

  Frustrated beyond belief, she grasped the handheld showerhead, spread her legs and let the pulsing rhythm of the water ease her aching need. On fire, she didn’t admit defeat until the water ran cold.

  Stepping out of the shower, she gave a cursory swipe with her towel, and headed to bed.

  With her every nerve ending on alert, the sheets scratched her nudity. Her nipples felt almost raw against the top sheet. She reached for her coconut body balm on the nightstand and scooped out a dollop. The coolness immediately soothed her heated skin where she smoothed it over and around her breasts. Cool relief streaked downward, along with her hands. Past her navel, swirling over her hips, down her outer thighs to her knees. Then back up, ever so slowly, inching up the inside of her thighs toward her core. Dare she?

  Needy and achy, she shifted restlessly, spreading her legs wider, her hips lifting from the sheet. Searching. Longing.

  Her thumbs flicked the swollen nubbin. With an indrawn breath, she arched up off the bed, her breasts tingling.

  Jack. Jack, I need you. Her finger slid deeply within her wet passage. Not enough. I want, I need you, Jack. Another finger joined the first. She keened her need, arching rhythmically now. Her right hand slipped through the layer of balm to rub and pinch her nipple. Harder. Faster.

  Behind her closed eyelids, she saw Jack, his heated gaze locked with hers while he pleasured her. She pinched her nipple to the point of pain, imagining his teeth taking her, his tongue laving her. Deep within, her fingers pushed her harder, faster, toward her peak, her thumb constantly flicking her engorged nub.

  She reared off the bed, shrieking and crying Jack’s name when her release finally came.

  Her hands absently petted while her inner pulsing quieted.

  Jack, she thought as sleep claimed her, come back to me.

  Jack flopped to his back and bit his lip to keep from crying out at the pain galloping down his spine.

  A few experimental manipulations after he’d come back home confirmed he’d done no serious injury. But, damn, it hurt. All the soft tissue along the spine was probably bruised all to hell.

  The hot jets of his tub or the hot tub on the deck would probably work wonders, but he was too sore and stiff to make the trek.

  Blindly groping along the nightstand until his hand closed around the rapidly warming bottle of beer, he rolled to his side.

  With the longneck poised mere millimeters from his mouth, he stopped. Was he thirsty for beer? Did he really think alcohol would make the pain more bearable? Maybe Mardee had a point. He knew he didn’t have a problem with alcohol. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t well on his way to one.

  With a groan, he set the bottle back on the ledge and fell back against the pillow.

  Okay. Admitting you might have a problem was the first step. What was he going to do about it?

  For that matter, what was he going to do about the riot within his body whenever he was near Royce?

  Royce finished oiling up the next morning and cast a glance toward Jack’s silent house. Usually he was out on his deck stretching before his morning run by the time she came out. Not today.

  Maybe she should go check on him. After all, he would come to do that for her. Wouldn’t he? It was the neighborly thing to do.

  While her mind warred with her heart, Jack’s sliding door opened and he stepped out.

  Relief washed through her. More glad to see him than she cared to admit, she called, “Good morning! Glad to see you’re among the living.”

  He mumbled something and rubbed his arched back. The man obviously had no idea what his partial nudity did to her each morning.

  “What?” She shifted on her chair, hoping to catch a better view of all th
ose rippling muscles.

  He walked to his railing and braced his arms on the edge. “I said, ‘Barely.’ My back is killing me. I feel like someone pounded on me with a two-by-four.”

  She winced. Her weight no doubt contributed to his pain. Had he not shielded her with his body, she’d be the worse for wear this morning, too.

  “Anything I can do to help?” Dang. She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so suggestive. Must be the early morning. She hadn’t used her voice much yet. She cleared her throat. “I mean, do you need anything?”

  He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head and grinned at her. “I can think of a whole list of things you could do for me to make me feel better.” White teeth flashed. “But we’ll have to wait until I get some of the kinks worked out of my back.”

  Heat surged to her chest and cheeks. “Maybe I didn’t mean it the way you took it.”

  He winked. “And maybe you did.” He tossed a towel onto the railing. “But right now I’m going to take a long soak in the spa.”

  His back gleamed in the sunlight as he stiffly lowered himself into the water. With his sunglasses again lowered to shield his eyes, he turned and said, “Wake me up if I’m still here when you’re ready to go in. I don’t want to drown.” He settled back, arms stretched along the lip of the tub.

  Two hours later, hot and restless, she looked over to find him in exactly the same position. “Jack,” she called, wrapping her towel around her, feeling oddly exposed. “I’m going in now. Jack?”

  No answer.

  With a shrug, she stepped into the coolness of her house and waited a beat for her eyes to adjust. She’d take a quick shower and then go check on him.

  Her notes fluttered on the top of her desk as she walked by on her way to the shower. Maybe she was wasting her time with Jack, but what else did she have to do these days? Commitment was a foreign word for him. She’d known that from the beginning. But he was a hell of a lover. If physical gratification was all she could have, she’d take it.

  Mind made up, she showered in record time and dressed in her sexiest lingerie beneath her only other sundress, a rather plain-looking pale pink cotton print. As soon as she could get her obsession with Jack out of her system, she really needed to buy new clothes.

  But for now, less would definitely lead to more.

  “Jack?” A cool hand rested on his sun-baked shoulder. “Jack? Wake up,” Royce said from somewhere near his ear.

  A slow rotation of his head worked the kinks out of his neck. He stretched, opened his eyes and said, “Hi. Must’ve fallen asleep.”

  His gaze took a leisurely trip from her shapely bare arm to her tanned chest, semimodestly covered in another sin-with-me sundress. What would she have on underneath this time? The tub blocked his view from her hips down, so he stood and finished the tour.

  Her sundress fastened with little pink flower-shaped buttons that marched down to a midshin hemline. Luckily for him, she’d left most of the buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing amount of tan cleavage and leg for his viewing pleasure.

  His bathing suit instantly tightened at least two sizes.

  Royce seemed to be enjoying the view herself.

  “How’s your back?” she asked, one hand shielding her eyes.

  “Better.” He grunted as he stepped out of the tub to stand before her. “’Course, it would probably feel even better if I could have a massage.”

  Her slow smile sent a streak of heat through him. “I think that could be arranged.” She dragged one fingertip down his chest, past his clenched abs, then paused with it hooked under his elastic waistband. “Why don’t you go inside and get comfortable? I’ll be right back.”

  His breath hitched when she dipped her finger inside his trunks, her fingernail grazing the engorged tip of his sex.

  Then she turned and left.

  9

  Royce wiped her palms down the sides of her sarong robe and willed them to stop shaking. She’d formulated a plan of sorts, and reached for the basket of props.

  Jack wasn’t going to know what hit him.

  Shower sounds registered the moment Royce stepped into Jack’s house. With a smile, she nudged the deadbolt on the bottom of the slider with her toe. Had she possessed a DO NOT DISTURB sign, she would have hung it out as well.

  “Take no prisoners,” she whispered on her way up the stairs, and got to work.

  Jack turned off the shower and paused. It couldn’t be steel drums he heard. He stepped out and towel-dried. It was definitely island music. Coming from his room, along with the unmistakable sound of surf via his open patio door.

  Slow steps took him to the bedroom door. His room glowed from possibly hundreds of candles, in every shape and size, set on just about every available surface.

  Beside his round bed, Royce smoothed his spare set of red satin sheets into place. She must have sensed his presence because she looked up and smiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, walking slowly in his direction. “I wanted to make you as comfortable as possible.” Her gaze took a leisurely trip from his face down his nude body, pausing at his already more than interested cock, before completing the tour.

  He wanted to rip off the flowered number and lick her all over.

  Their gazes met.

  She stepped aside and motioned toward the bed. “Lie down.”

  He could do that.

  He obeyed and wondered what she planned to do with his monster erection, jutting like a tent pole.

  When she stood, just staring at it, he reached for the sheet.

  “No!” Her hand on his arm stopped the sheet’s progress. “I need you naked.” At his raised brow, she stammered, “I—I’m going to give you the massage you asked for.”

  She cast another glance at his erection. “Roll over, please.”

  It was a bit uncomfortable, but he managed, only to all but leap off the mattress at the first touch of oil being dribbled down his back.

  Soft, warm hands immediately began rubbing the oil in, kneading the sore muscles along his spine. He sighed and relaxed. The smell of coconut surrounded him.

  Downward she worked, rubbing and kneading the backs of his thighs, his calves, manipulating his ankles. Oil was worked into the soles of his feet, between each toe.

  If it were anyone else, he would have drifted blissfully to sleep. But since it was Royce, his body refused to totally relax while images of what else her hands were capable of ran through his mind.

  “Jack?” she whispered.

  He turned his head toward the sound and cracked open one eye.

  Royce stood beside the bed, hands clamped primly in front of her. “Do you want me to leave so you can get some rest?”

  He smiled and rolled over, his reaction to her touch springing free. “Does it look like that’s what I want?” He reached for her hand, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed. “Besides, you’ve only done half the job.”

  She cleared her throat. “Okay. Lie back. Please.”

  A smile tugged at the sensual curves of her lips. Before he had much time to wonder what her lip gloss would taste like, she reached up and casually flicked a button by her upper arm. The sarong fell to the floor.

  His breath caught. Before him stood every guy’s wet dream.

  “No tan lines.” He finally croaked out the first thing to come to mind that wouldn’t get him slapped.

  She shook her head, smiling as she poured more oil into her hand. “Nope. I wear the kind of suits that let the tanning rays through.”

  To his surprise, instead of stroking the oil over his eager body, she slid her well-oiled palms over her breasts. A little shimmy followed as she generously oiled herself from silky tanned shoulders to her ankles, then back up. She cupped her breasts, gleaming in the candlelight. His heart tripped.

  She took a step closer to the edge of the bed, swirling the tips of her index fingers around her oiled nipples.

  Just as he began to reach for her, she poured more oil into h
er palm and placed her slick hands on his nipples. From there, she left a trail of fire as she headed south, rubbing and stroking along the way. Things were definitely leaping to life.

  But she bypassed his eager member in favor of massaging the oil into his legs and feet.

  His breathing echoed in the room, drowning out the soft sounds of island music and even the persistent surf while he watched her leisurely oil herself again. Damn, but she looked like she was getting off on touching herself.

  Finally—finally!—she poured out more oil and climbed onto the mattress. But wait. She was way too far away for him to reach her.

  “Relax, big guy.” She rose up on her knees, the tips of her breasts grazing the edges of his knees. “I’m in charge now.” She nudged his legs apart by crawling between them. “And I want to do a thorough job,” she said, her oiled hands closing around his testicles.

  Before he caught his breath, she ran her fingers up and around his penis, dragging the tip of her finger over the head.

  “Royce,” he said in a ragged voice, “you’re killing me.”

  She laughed and kissed the pulsing tip before pouring more oil.

  He watched in detached fascination while her slick palms moved up and down his shaft. Of their own volition, his hips began moving in counterpoint.

  Their gazes locked, she leaned down and rubbed his cock between her breasts. The heat of oil and skin against skin was so erotic, he forced his mind to recall baseball scores, chores he still needed to complete on the house for it to be ready in time for the renters. Anything but how much he yearned to flip her over and bury his cock so deeply within her that he’d never find his way out again.

  Besides, he didn’t want to miss a second of her performance.

  She finally stopped torturing him and crawled up the length of his body until their slick chests were nipple to nipple.

  “I’m just making sure it’s all rubbed in,” she said in a husky whisper.

  “Well, in the interest of being thorough, I need to tell you there’s a spot you missed.”