Pleasure Beach

by P. J. Mellor

“Oh?” Her voice sounded distracted while she rubbed her chest against his, her gaze riveted on the sight.

  “Yep,” he said at the same time his hands tightened on her waist and he plunged his well-oiled cock deep within her wetness.

  Her widened gaze flew to his, then she smiled and they both sighed.

  Sighs soon turned to grunts, then moans.

  “Jack?” Royce opened her eyes after a search with her hand touched nothing but cool sheet. “Jack?”

  “I’ll be right there,” he called from somewhere downstairs.

  “Are you okay?” she called, sliding toward the edge of the bed.

  “Great.” His voice, so close, startled her. He stood at the door to his bedroom, magnificently naked, his shoulder resting against the frame. “Your massage worked wonders.”

  “Good.” She pulled the sheet a little higher. “What’s behind your back?”

  “Toys.”

  “Toys?” she squeaked.

  “Uh-huh.” He nodded and walked to the edge of the bed, twisting when she tried to see what he held. “No peeking. Now it’s your turn to lay back and enjoy.”

  “But—” Could she do that? Could she relinquish total control without any sort of commitment? Her gaze swept Jack’s already semiaroused body. Absolutely.

  She lay back, willing her bones and muscles to relax.

  Coolness seared her skin when Jack stripped the sheet from her.

  “No hiding,” he said at her questioning gaze. “Okay, now spread your legs. And close your eyes.” At her continued stare, he reached to stroke her hair from her cheek. “Trust me.”

  At that moment, she realized she did, indeed, trust Jack McMillan. With her life.

  With her love.

  Even if he didn’t want it.

  10

  Jack looked at the woman sprawled before him. He’d like to think she would do these things with only him. But this was Royce. Her reputation preceded her.

  She’d been an itch he couldn’t scratch for six long years. That had to be the only reason she had whatever the hell this effect was on him. It had to be.

  He picked up the first jar and dipped his finger into the scented cream. The label called it coconut-flavored body frosting. As soon as he’d smelled it, all sorts of erotic images flashed through his mind of how he’d use it on Royce.

  He painted circles around each of her nipples, then licked it off. Tasted like coconut cream pie. He drew lines down her stomach with arrows pointing down, then cleaned them off with his tongue.

  She twitched and tried to close her legs, but he was having none of that. Spreading them farther apart, he knelt between her knees and slowly dragged a fingertip full of frosting up the inside of each thigh with arrows pointing at her pussy. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d written the word mine on each arrow.

  He chanced a quick glance at her face to make sure her eyes were still shut, then made quick work of licking off the evidence.

  His cock throbbed with eagerness, but he held back. He was too involved. He’d wanted her too long to quit now.

  Pushing up her legs until her knees touched her rib cage, he drew a line of frosting along her opening, licking it off before plunging his finger into her wetness.

  Her hips bucked off the mattress. He stroked her buttocks, murmuring endearments until she calmed down. His tongue replaced his finger. Beneath the sweetness of the frosting was something much sweeter. More addictive. The sweetness of Royce St. Claire.

  Suddenly voracious, he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough of her tender sweetness, enough of her smooth soft skin, enough of her essence when she climaxed. And she definitely climaxed. Over and over.

  He crawled up next to her when she lay spent and whimpering, and brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek.

  Fighting down the tender feelings that screamed for him to take her in his arms and never let her go, he brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  Her eyes fluttered open, almost black with her passion. Delicate nostrils flared with each deep indrawn breath.

  He couldn’t resist. He covered her breast with his hand. Mine. Beneath his palm, her heart beat wildly.

  “Rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  At her barely whispered, “No more,” pain lanced his heart.

  It resumed its normal cadence when she continued to say, “I don’t need any more props. All I need is you.”

  A hot, melting sensation filled him. He had to get away before he embarrassed himself.

  “I still have a few fantasies I’d like to try out.”

  He stood and gently drew the sheet over her, then placed a lingering kiss on her moist forehead. “I’ll hurry.”

  His erection banged against him as he strode down the stairs, a painful reminder of his as-yet-unquenched desire.

  Returning to his room, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Could he go through with his plan to fuck her brains out then forget her?

  For self-preservation, he had no choice.

  “Royce,” Jack’s voice said from somewhere above her. “Wake up, sweet thing. I need you.” She smiled and opened her eyes.

  Jack’s impossibly erect penis, liberally coated in the coconut frosting, bobbed right in front of her face.

  She may have been a late bloomer, but even she knew what he wanted. Although the idea of oral sex with any of her other suitors over the years had all but gagged her, she found she had to exercise considerable control to keep from licking her lips at the thought of such an intimate act with Jack.

  In one movement, she rolled over, gripped his thighs and took him into her mouth. The body frosting was interesting, but she was anxious to taste what lay beneath and she impatiently sucked and licked until she felt the clean smooth skin over his rock-hard arousal.

  Above her, Jack groaned. Beneath her hands, his thighs quivered. She sucked harder, swirling her tongue up and down, around and around. Just as things were getting interesting and she had to clamp her legs together to keep from squirming, he gripped each side of her head and gently pushed her away.

  She watched the crimson head bob, its skin taunt and shiny.

  Jack looked ridiculous when he wrapped her sarong around his hips, blocking her view.

  “C’mere.” He helped her rise from the bed and led her to the little sitting area by the edge of the open patio door.

  At her back, the waves crashed against the beach, salty air caressing her still heated skin. Her nipples pebbled, whether from the cool air or arousal, she didn’t know. Or care.

  She was too eager to see what Jack had in mind.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  Jack had been busy. He’d rearranged the candles she’d lit to surround the sitting area, and placed what appeared to be a white fur rug half over the chair and matching chaise to flair out onto the floor.

  “Straddle the chair, Royce, with your back to me.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  The fur tickled her in intimate places. May as well let go of all her inhibitions. Spreading her legs as wide as possible while remaining seated, she gave an experimental wiggle and caught her breath at the feel of the fur stroking her bud and swollen lips.

  She watched over her shoulder as, naked again, Jack crawled across the rug until his chest was flat against her back. He reached around and manipulated her nipples, eliciting a moan.

  “You like that, don’t you?” His breath was hot against her ear.

  She could only whimper and moan, arching her neck in an attempt to kiss or lick or do anything to any part of him that she could reach.

  Jack urged Royce downward. The fur both caressed and stimulated every nerve ending along her body. Wild in her need for Jack, she tried to pull him around for a kiss, but he resisted.

  “Jack! Please! Now!”

  “Now? Are you sure?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear, his voice setting off vibrations deep within her.

  “Yes!
” Writhing against him, shameless in her need, she couldn’t think, could only feel.

  “Shh.” His hot breath scorched her ear. “Easy. Let me help. Relax.”

  Warmth from the fur was replaced by the cooler air drifting in from the open patio door. It swirled around her, licking her passion-heated skin. In the next instant, soft fur again cupped her breasts as Jack placed her face down on the edge of the chaise, her legs spread impossibly wide.

  His large hands cupped the sides of her breasts, stroking. His heat warmed her back milliseconds before he entered her with enough force to topple her from her perch, had he not held fast.

  Moisture surged from her weeping sex, drenching them in passion, each forceful thrust a counterpoint to the silken glide of her skin against the warm fur. Her nipples tightened and ached, heavy with her impending release.

  She rode the wild surf of passion with him, then let the tidal wave of release wash over her. The next moment, Jack’s breath hitched, his magnificent body stiffened and he ground into her one last time.

  He tugged, and in her weakened state, she slid to the floor to sprawl across his lap.

  “You’re killing me, woman,” he finally managed to say a while later.

  If she could’ve formed a coherent sentence, she would have replied. Instead, she arched her neck and licked his chin.

  He laughed and gave her a brief squeeze. As hugs go, it could have been better, but hope soared through her. It was the first sign of affection he’d given her. Sex didn’t count.

  “Let’s take a quick shower and go out to eat,” he said, rising and pulling her up. “There’s a great seafood place down the beach.” He turned her to face him and bent to look in her eyes. “Or do you have to work tonight?”

  A date! Jack was actually standing before her, albeit nude, asking her to go out in public with him. That had to mean something.

  Willing her pulse to a normal cadence, her hands not to shake, she said, with what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone, “No, I have tonight off. And I’m starving.”

  She turned and headed toward the bathroom, then paused and looked back. The sight of him nearly took her breath away. It was all she could do not to drag him back onto the bed and ravage him. Instead, she asked, “Is my sundress all right or is it dressier?”

  He grinned and walked toward her, intent clear in his eyes. “The dress is fine. But you won’t be wearing it for a while, babe.”

  Royce breathed a sigh of relief as she sank down into the padded booth of the Purple Crab. After their last lusty joining in Jack’s shower, she hadn’t been entirely sure her knees would support her weight on the short walk to the restaurant. Across from her, the candlelight did wondrous things to Jack’s rugged good looks. Maybe she wasn’t all that hungry after all….

  She supposed dinner was good, judging from how packed the place was, but she couldn’t taste a thing except the memory of Jack’s kiss.

  Snap out of it, dummy! You’re acting like a besotted teenager, not a perfectly responsible adult. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, honing in on what Jack was saying.

  “…So, what do you say?”

  Uh-oh. Say about what?

  “Um, I’m sorry, Jack, I think I may have gotten some water in my ear. I couldn’t hear you. Could you repeat that last part?” Smooth, St. Claire, smooth.

  “I said they have a great patio bar here. They have all kinds of furniture out there, even hammocks made for two. They’ll serve your drink anywhere you tell them to. What do you say? Want to share a hammock and a piña colada?”

  “Sounds delicious.” And she didn’t mean the drink.

  At least an hour and several drinks later, she found herself impossibly tangled with the sexiest man on the planet in the hammock from hell.

  For the third time in as many minutes, she swatted his hands away from the buttons on her sundress.

  “C’mon, Royce, don’t be a prude.” His expert fingers flicked open the first few buttons and delved into her gaping bodice to brush back and forth across her nipple while he nuzzled her neck. “We’re at the back edge of the patio; it’s dark. No one’s gonna see us.”

  Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the thrill of exposure. Maybe it was the proximity of the man of her dreams. Something short-circuited her saner thought processes.

  The results would go down in Purple Crab, if not Pleasure Beach, history.

  11

  All it took was placing her hand just so over a strategic part of Jack’s anatomy. The man went wild. Suddenly he had eight hands and they were everywhere. All she’d worn beneath her sundress was a lacy thong, which launched out into the darkness to disappear somewhere on the beach.

  “Jack!” Her reprimand lacked something, given the giggle. What was wrong with her? She never giggled. “My underwear is not a slingshot.”

  In answer, he growled and flicked her earlobe with the tip of his hot tongue. Shivers scampered to every nerve ending in her body.

  Cool air bathed her from neck to toes, causing her already aroused nipples to pucker even tighter. Jack’s hands obviously moved faster than the speed of lust.

  “You cold?” There was no doubt where he was focused. “I can fix that.”

  His hot lips closed over one distended bud, drawing it deep into his mouth. She shifted her weight to give greater access and to possibly ease some of the ache she experienced at his touch.

  “Touch me,” he demanded against her breast, his voice sending vibrations to her heart. He grabbed her hand and guided it to his spectacular erection. His spectacular bare erection. When had he undone his shorts?

  His mouth claimed hers with a groan, his tongue dancing a passionate tango with hers, filling her senses with the taste of coconut and rum.

  The next second, he was on top of her, his penis probing her swollen, aching flesh. The hammock swung violently in great lurching arcs.

  Her half scream, half whimper was muffled by his mouth. “Shh,” he whispered against her lips. “We have to be discreet. We don’t wanna get kicked out of here.” Jack’s speech was definitely slurred. How much had they had to drink? “We’ll take it nice and slow. Don’t want to rock the boat, er, hammock, and arouse suspicion.”

  Her arms went around him, partly to hang on and partly to make sure his butt was covered. It was. She let her fingers trail around. Sure enough, he’d simply parted his button fly and freed his erection. The sides of her dress formed an effective shield from prying eyes. Jack was right. If they didn’t get too rowdy, no one would ever suspect what they were doing.

  The thought made her impossibly wetter.

  A sharp pain scraped along the inside of her left ankle. “Ow! What was that?”

  “Sorry, my foot slipped through the hammock. S’okay,” he assured her, “I can still fuck you without a problem.”

  Jack must have been drunk. After their respect talk, he never used that kind of language. She meant to push him off, she really did. Instead she found her arms clinging tighter, pulling him closer as he barely flexed his hips, plunging in and out of her wetness in slow, languid strokes.

  It was heaven.

  It was hell.

  The first wave of her orgasm surged over her, taking her by surprise. Jack swallowed her gasp, but her excitement was evidently contagious. His back stiffened, his hips began to jerk, harder and faster with each thrust.

  “Jack,” she warned, digging her nails into his shoulder beneath his open shirt. “Easy. Slow down or we’ll attract attention.”

  With a grunt, he stopped moving, his weight pressing her deeper within their macramé sling. Soon their heart rates returned to normal. Well, normal for people who’d just experienced orgasmic sex in a public place.

  “How are we going to get out of this thing without being exposed?” she whispered, more than ready to go back home to continue what they’d started.

  Against her back, his hand jerked, whacking her between the shoulder blades. The hammock swung in a deep arc again. He jerked his foot, ca
using them to hop against the swaying motion.

  She sank her teeth into the cord of his neck to keep from shrieking, wrapped her legs around his, her arms around his neck, and held on.

  The hammock took on a life of its own. Back and forth, with an exaggerated hop on each side. Jack’s chest pressed against her face, impeding breathing, while he moved both legs and one arm against her.

  “What are you doing, McMillan?” she said against his flexing pecs, her urgent whisper rasping her throat.

  “I can’t get my foot out…and my watch is tangled in the webbing by your head.”

  The next few minutes passed in a slow-motion blur as they jerked and tossed wildly before the hammock executed a few loops before spitting them unceremoniously onto the hard-packed sand.

  Somehow her sundress skirt ended up over their heads. Her lungs hurt. Cold sand ground into her back while the ocean breeze whispered along her side. Jack still rested atop her. She couldn’t feel him inside anymore, which she guessed was probably a good thing.

  Her dress was flipped back, a bright light temporarily blinding her.

  “Dr. McMillan! Are you all right?” The maître d’s voice floated down to her burning ears.

  “We’re fine.” Jack growled his reply close to her ear, his voice vibrating things deep inside her that had no business being vibrated. “Turn the damn light off, Mike!”

  Darkness immediately followed. Jack shoved the man’s helping hand away and made a big show of getting up. It gave them the time they needed to right their clothing. Sort of.

  Face burning, Royce turned her back to the patio patrons and made fast work of rebuttoning her dress.

  “I don’t understand it,” Mike said, scampering beside them as they hobbled toward the exit. “This sort of thing rarely happens anymore. Not since we redecorated.”

  “Yeah?” Jack shielded her with his arm as they stepped through the gate to the public beach. “Maybe it’s defective equipment.”

  After Mike assured them he’d check it out, they made their way up the beach.

  Royce glanced at Jack’s profile and felt her knees go weak. Equipment malfunction. Yeah, right. She couldn’t resist. “Your ‘equipment’ seemed to work just fine from where I was, Jack.” With a laughing whoop, she barely avoided his swipe at her derriere, then ran down the beach. He followed at a more sedate pace.