Beach House No. 9

by Christie Ridgway

  “But we have so few days left to…relax together, Jane. How could this single time hurt?”

  True, she thought hazily, though the logic felt a little wobbly. Then his big hand cupped her cheek and his thumb brushed across her mouth. She went wobbly and, just like that, knew it was the first caress of the night.

  Because she was going to give in, of course. Maybe another woman would resist a man who said I don’t do serious with women, never have, but after her last romantic disaster she wasn’t in danger of going silly and emotional with another unavailable male. Been there, done that, got the trampled heart.

  But that didn’t mean she would walk away now.

  He was studying her face, his thumb dragging slowly and deliberately across her bottom lip. It had been leading to this since that night in L.A. Since before then…since that first afternoon when she’d walked into Party Central and found a dangerous pirate alone in the crowd.

  It wouldn’t last. Of course it wouldn’t last. Nobody expected a commitment from a pirate. You knew he would steal, though. Your breath, your good sense, your ability to make more token protests, or your insistence on negotiating some favorable terms. Still, she hesitated another moment.

  Griffin was as persuasive in his own way as Rebecca had been in hers. “You need to give me what I want, Jane.” He slid one arm around the small of her back even as his thumb kept up that slow back-and-forth. “You need to give it to me the way I want.”

  Seduction dripped from the low-voiced words. Jane swayed toward him, and when he made yet another pass across her mouth, she dipped her chin and sucked his thumb inside. His breath hitched, and the reflexive twitch of his arm jerked her closer against him.

  He was aroused. The bulge in his jeans was hard against her, and she couldn’t help the way her hips pressed into it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He tucked his fingers in the waistband of her shorts and tugged, canting back her hips. “What part of the ‘way I want’ don’t you understand?”

  In answer, she ran her tongue over the pad of his thumb. He grunted, then popped it free of her clinging lips. He placed his own on hers and kissed her, that helpless heat washing over her again. Her fingers curled in the sides of his shirt, and she hung on to him as his tongue plunged inside her, possessing her, plundering, as only a pirate could.

  With his hand still fisted in her shorts, he walked her backward, she retreating as directed by the forward press of his hard thighs. On the hallway runner, she stumbled, and he was forced to yank her close to keep her upright. She moaned as they were pressed together, and she ground her pelvis against his, needy for deeper contact.

  His mouth lifted and he cursed. “You stop,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m going to make it good for you.”

  “It is good,” she said. Her hands slid up his sides and curled around his neck. “Kiss me again.”

  He succumbed to her demand for a moment, but broke this kiss too soon. His hands grabbed her wrists and he unwrapped her arms, then spun her around so she faced forward. Still holding on to her, he herded her down the hall to his room.

  Inside it was dimly lit and smelled of Griffin, layers of citrus and sage, peppered by temper. He hadn’t made his bed, and its sheets lay rumpled and wild, just like the man himself. As well she knew, he didn’t sleep much…and she realized that tonight his insomnia might keep her up too. She trembled.

  “That’s right, honey-pie,” he said, his breath blowing hot against her ear. “We’re gonna get you all shivery.” His hands went to the hem of the sweater, and he lifted it, sliding the thick material along her body. It brushed against her braless breasts, catching on the already-stiff jut of her nipples.

  Griffin groaned as he tossed the garment away with one hand, widening the fingers of the other over her chest. His long fingers were able to reach each sensitive peak. He nuzzled her neck, his mouth hot against the tender skin.

  Jane writhed, rubbing her backside against his groin. Then he threw off his own shirt, and she moaned as his chest crowded her back. His fingers plucked at her nipples, and her head lolled against his shoulder. She tilted her face. “Please, Griffin.” His mouth covered hers.

  Again, he plundered. Again, she pushed back, wiggling against him. He muttered, breaking the kiss so he could turn her around. They looked at each other, their pants coming fast and heavy, the sound louder than the ever-present breath of the ocean outside.

  He bent his head, nipped her bottom lip. Jane’s womb clenched at the little pain, her nipples curled tighter. She ran her palms up his sides, her thumbs riding the rippling muscles. He grunted into their kiss, and then he slanted his head for another fit. When she sucked on his tongue, his hands found the soft lace of her shorts and he yanked.

  They fell to her ankles.

  Griffin stepped back. There was a flush across the bridge of his nose. His mouth was wet, his gaze intensely blue in the half-light of the room. “You wore that underwear for me,” he said.

  How could she have? How could she have known he would choose tonight to undress her? They were more lace, a stretch of pale pink that sat low on her hip bones and was banded by flirty black ruffles.

  “Admit it,” he said, his voice rough.

  She started to shake her head, but then—oh, God, she realized he was right. All her big talk about one-night stands had been just big talk. Without conscious awareness of it, she’d been hoping for this. Planning for this. She’d been wearing her prettiest panties every day.

  Because of him.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, moving close again.

  But when she tried stepping back, her feet tangled in the pooled fabric of her shorts. She lost her balance, and Griffin tried stabilizing her. His grab was just a fraction too late, and she landed on her knees…right in front of that tempting bulge of denim. Another shiver rolled down her spine, and she looked up. Griffin was staring at her, his chest moving like a bellows as her fingers rose to the top button of his jeans.

  He was hard—everywhere—as she tugged down the tab of the zipper. Glancing up again, she peeled the heavy fabric and his soft cotton boxers away from his hips. His hand sifted through her hair as she leaned forward and drew a line on his shaft with the tip of her tongue.

  With the flat of it, she rolled over the crown, wetting the plum-soft skin before drawing it into the cavern of her mouth. His soft groan ratcheted her arousal. Her nipples tightened again, the points tingling as she swallowed more of him. She curled her fingers around the root of his shaft and balanced herself with her other hand on his steely thigh. Her mouth set up a languid yet steady rhythm, and she breathed along with it, her pulse thrumming loud in her ears.

  It was carnal and beyond hot, and she imagined herself on the deck of his pirate ship, the Jolly Roger fluttering in the breeze above her head as she was captive to his desires. Her imagination had always been her most seductive partner, and it worked again for her now. Her panties were wet, and she took her hand from his thigh to reach inside them and touch—

  “Damn it!” Griffin suddenly yanked her to her feet.

  “What? What?” She was dizzy as he lifted her from the floor and half carried, half tossed her onto the bed. Then he was on the mattress too, and he stilled, taking in her body splayed on his sheets, wearing only the pink-and-black panties and the girlie sandals. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Her voice seemed to shake him from his stupor. He slipped her shoes off her feet, dropping one and then the other over the side of the bed. His fingers played with the waistband of her panties. “I’m the captain of this orgasm,” he said, as if he’d been privy to her little fantasy. “This time I’m the one who’s going to give it to you.”

  He slid the last piece of her clothing free, and she watched him tuck the little ball of fabric in his bedside table drawer. “You only get them back if you let me give you your climax. Take it yourself, and I take the underwear.”

  Panty ransom? She would have laughed, but he was giving
her a burning, smoldering, serious look. So she stifled her little nervous giggle. “Okay.”

  He stacked a couple of pillows against the wood-slat headboard. Next, he pushed her up against them, propping her there. “It’ll give you a good view,” he said. “Now put your hands here and here.” He moved them himself, making her curl her fingers around a slat on either side of her head.

  It was Jane who was breathing hard now. Her breasts trembled with each inhale and exhale. Still wearing his unfastened pants, he swung a leg over her body to straddle her, his head at the level of her stiffened nipples. “You hold still,” he instructed, and then he bent his head to them.

  She bowed into the wet heat, the avid tugs. Griffin tightened his knees against her legs, keeping her thighs pressed close together as he sucked her into his mouth. At first it was just the taut bead of the nipple, then he widened to take in more of her breast, then he drew his mouth away, letting the soft mound slide out until his teeth caught only the tight nub. She cried out at the little sting and then cried again when he lifted completely away. But he only moved to the other breast, performing the same salacious, delicious acts on it as one hand played with the already wet nipple.

  Desire flowed outward from his touch. Her fingers tightened on the slats as he continued working over her breasts. Holding still became impossible. She twisted her torso, her lower half still caught by his powerful thighs. Then he was scooting down, trailing kisses toward her navel. He insinuated a leg between her knees, and then he was grasping her there, one in each hand, opening her to his gaze.

  Chills raced over her body. He looked at her soft, swollen center. “Pretty,” he said, his nostrils flaring, his blue eyes blazing. One finger swiped through the drenched tissues and he brought it to his mouth. Sucked.

  Jane’s breath seized.

  “Tasty,” Griffin said, then slid lower.

  Oh, God. She understood his intention, and instantly shifted her legs, trying to bar him access.

  He glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

  “I don’t… I’ve never…” She couldn’t get out the words.

  “Well, I do,” Griffin said. “And there won’t be any ‘never’ about this.” Then he slid his palms from her knees to her inner thighs, widening her body, opening the delicate folds of flesh.

  She really was the captive of a pirate. Because he was plundering again, his mouth taking her prisoner. The wet thrust of his tongue had her making a high, keening noise. Then it took a short excursion north, where he worried her clitoris with the tip, lashing it with tiny, measured strokes of pleasure.

  He dipped low again, penetrating her with a firm wet thrust, then back up to the knot of nerves that now was pulsing with its own demand. Over and over, down and up, back and forth, in and out. Jane’s muscles went tense, started a fine tremble, and she could only hold fast as she watched his dark head move between the paleness of her thighs.

  The view, as he’d known, only took her higher.

  Each of her short pants ended in a moan. He glanced up, and she saw it all, his hot blue eyes, his extended tongue, his mouth glazed from her own wetness. It twisted her arousal tighter, and then he went after her clitoris again, sucking it into his mouth as two fingers speared her body.

  His impalement tossed her overboard and into wave after wave of orgasmic bliss. She pitched and rolled with pleasure, wanting to ride them forever. Griffin stayed with her, his mouth easing as the seas calmed. On her final shudder, though, he still possessed her, his fingers deep inside of her.

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her face.

  “That’s putting you first, Jane,” he said.

  In the haze of postclimax bliss, the words didn’t register. She only knew that she needed more of him. She protested as he slid his fingers from her and caught at his arm as he moved across the bed.

  He laughed, low and smug. “I’m only getting a condom.”

  It took too long. But finally he was over her, inside her, filling her again, and her inner tissues twitched as he worked her with his penis, finding the last twitches of the orgasm still waiting for him there.

  His thrusts were heavy and decisive, and she opened wide in every way to accept him. His mouth found hers, and she opened there too, taking in the thrust of his tongue. She twisted against his chest, her sensitive nipples abraded by his hair.

  “Can you go again?” he said, his voice breathless.

  “What?” Her brain wasn’t working; only her body made sense to her now. Her body and his.

  Instead of answering, he reached between them and found her clitoris once more. He stroked it gently, an irresistible counterpoint to the intense driving rhythm of his shaft. She lifted into both, her hips rolling upward, and then she was shuddering and Griffin was pushing deep, deep, deeper, drowning them both in sharp, sweet bliss.

  When she came to herself, he was sliding back into the bed. He had a warm washcloth that he drew over her face and neck, down her midsection, and finally to the still-throbbing place between her thighs. He held it there.

  She felt drugged by sex and intimacy. He used the intoxication to worm yet more out of her. “You think I should relax, Jane? Then fine, we’re going to be relaxing like this a lot. Until we leave Beach House No. 9, I’m saving all my one percent for you.”

  Drowsy and pliant, she could only murmur. “Yes, sir. Aye, aye.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  GRIFFIN FOUND Jane standing at the shoreline, her toes being teased by the foamy outermost hem of the incoming surf. Approaching her from behind, he sighed a little at how very Jane she looked in a lemon-colored two-piece bathing suit. Petal-like ruffles cut high on her tush, and he knew there were matching ones edging the deep vee of the halter-style top. She looked both sweet and tart, like a lemonade Popsicle.

  She made him hungry.

  He slid one arm around her waist, and she squealed. He growled in her ear as he pulled her back against him. “The eels have landed.”

  With a twist, she squirmed out of his hold. “You scared me!” But before he could respond, she clutched his arm with one hand and pointed with the other. “But I’m glad you’re here. You need to rescue the boys.”

  Duncan and Oliver stood in the surf, the water swirling around the flapping hems of their hibiscus-print swim trunks. They were tan despite the sunscreen his sister slathered on them. Oliver, the fairer of the two miscreants, had a white triangle of goop on his nose. Between them they held an inflatable raft, but they were having trouble keeping it steady. Every time they tried to throw themselves on it, belly down, it popped free of their weight and dumped them in the shallow water.

  “Sweetheart, they’re fine.” The breeze blew a piece of her golden-hued hair across her face, and he caught it with his hand and tucked it behind her ear. “Where’s your lotion? Your nose is turning pink again.”

  She cast another anxious look toward the water. “Are you sure? I told Tess I’d keep an eye on them while she gets Russ some juice. The baby’s been very fussy today.”

  “You have to stop involving yourself with my sister’s kids.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks to you, I had to suffer through an hour-long meeting with Old Man Monroe about the presentation to Rebecca’s class. He was so cantankerous I let Private dig for bones in his flower beds before we left.”

  Not only had the antique been his usual curmudgeonly self, he’d been his usual nosy curmudgeonly self. “What’s changed?” he’d demanded. “You look rested, son, like you might actually be sleeping.”

  Griffin had shrugged a shoulder. “You’re my worst nightmare. Guess I’m just getting used to you being next door.”

  The coot had slapped one age-speckled hand on the tabletop. “It’s that pretty woman. She’s smart, so I don’t know what she can see in you, but Jane’s doing you some good.”

  He hadn’t denied it. Jane was smoothing some of his rough spots, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it either. They both understood the situation was temporary. Tho
ugh very satisfying.

  “Hell’s bells, boy,” Rex had said, his mouth dropping open. “You’re smiling.”

  “So?” he’d countered, not even bothering to scowl.

  “So don’t screw this up,” the old man had cautioned. “You’ve got a good reason to beat back that darkness inside you now. Don’t use it to shove her away instead.”

  “Griffin?”

  Jane’s voice jerked him back to the present. “What?”

  “The boys,” she said, “I’m worried about your nephews.”

  “You need to stop that,” he said, putting Rex and his ramblings from his head. “I’m going to make a rule. No more contact between you and the devil’s minions.”

  “You and your rules,” she scoffed, with a little flounce that fluttered the ruffles at her ass.

  “Don’t you forget them, either,” he said, enjoying the way her cheeks went as pink as her nose as he pointed his finger at her. They’d come to an understanding three days before, and he didn’t mind mentioning it again because it always made her blush and shiver. “You must be the first to get naked. You must be the first to—”

  “I get it, I get it.”

  He grinned. “So you do, honey-pie. Each and every time, by my hand or my mouth or by my—”

  She clapped a hand over his lips. “Stop.”

  “Not gonna,” he said against her palm. Then he grabbed her wrist and drew it low, twisting it so her body was brought flush to his. “Not as long as we’re living together at Beach House No. 9.”

  His kiss took the sass out of her, and he reveled in her pliant warmth. His free hand cupped the back of her head as he took the kiss deeper.

  She broke away, breathing hard.

  He grinned at her and the hard points of her nipples that were pressing against her swimsuit. “Oh,” she said, glancing down. Clearly flustered, she crossed her arms over her chest. They covered the little buds but plumped the tantalizing curves of her cleavage.

  “That meeting with the old man still has me all wound up,” he lied. “Think we could go inside and find some way to take the edge off? I’m pretty certain I need to relax.”