by Monica James
An hour later, we were on our way to LAX, catching a flight to Mexico. This was the first time I’d ever been, and to say I was excited was an understatement. Once we landed, I thought we were going to catch a cab to our hotel, but I thought wrong.
A black van was waiting for us.
Usually, I would have asked a million question, but I happily sat with my hand in London’s as I peered out the window, taking in the sights before me. It was vibrant, full of color and life. When things became a little more remote, however, and we had to catch a boat to our final destination, my curiosity was piqued. Just where were we going?
The picturesque landscape became less populated and more wild. It was a tropical wonderland, as the city was replaced with white sandy beaches and tranquil blue waters.
“Do you trust me, Princess?” His question was laced with pure desire.
“With my life.” And that’s when the world turned black because I was blindfolded.
“We’re about to reach a staircase.” London stands behind me, chest pressed to my back, his hands on my upper arms to guide me.
I cautiously poke out my foot, searching the ground. “There are five steps,” he says, taking his role as captain very seriously. I don’t know why, but this is damn hot. Being led to the unknown with an unspoken promise has a fire burning low.
When I find my footing, we climb the steps slowly, only stopping when I hear the jingle of keys. A door unlocks, and I’m hit with the smell of fresh flowers.
“I’m going to take off the blindfold.”
I nod eagerly.
London’s deft fingers untie the knot, gently removing it from my face. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright sunshine. Blinking rapidly, I finally see that I am, in fact, standing in paradise.
“Where are we?” I ask, gaping at the majestic views which look like something you’d see on the front of a postcard.
“Our home for the next ten days,” London replies, kissing the side of my neck.
I don’t have time to ask any more questions because without warning, he bends low, picks me up, and carries me over the threshold of what I can only describe as a tropical bungalow paradise.
“We have to abide by some traditions,” he explains. I loop my arms around his neck, lapping up this newlywed title. “Ready for the tour?”
My response is to stare around in awe.
He closes the door and carries me through the breathtaking villa. The living room is gigantic, painted burnt orange and yellows, giving it a rustic feel. The windows are wide, allowing the bright sunrays to light up the wicker furniture and pieces of art. The plasma mounted on the wall rivals any cinema.
Next, he leads me into the kitchen. It has every appliance any aspiring chef could need. It’s set off with white walls and a black marble counter long enough to fit a Little League team. The fridge doors are clear, and I see a bottle of champagne inside.
The tour continues, me never leaving the comfort of London’s arms as each room takes my breath away. In total, there are four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a pool, a hot tub, and a hammock for two tied between towering palm trees. However, when we enter the master bedroom, I know he has left the best for last.
The king-size bed is draped in white silk with red pillows, which match the long curtains. There is a white mosquito net hanging from the wooden rafters which somehow adds to the bungalow feel. London walks us farther inside, and when we reach the open balcony doors, I gasp because I see nothing but the crystal blue ocean in front of me.
This private, two-story oceanfront villa literally sits on the luscious sand with secluded views. As we step out onto the balcony, I see a small dock with a motorboat attached. High trees surround us, providing the privacy one needs to bask in the sun…naked.
“Like it?” London asks as I’ve been too dumbfounded to speak. This place is amazing.
There is nothing around us. Just the ocean. The villa is off the grid. It’s just us. “There isn’t another soul for miles.”
“That’s the plan,” he promises hoarsely into my ear. “No one can hear you scream. And scream you will.”
At this rate, we won’t be leaving the bedroom for the next ten days.
Still snuggled against him, I turn my chin to look at my husband. The bright sunshine seems to only highlight his hotness. “I didn’t pack a swimsuit.” My attempts to act coy have the desired effect as London’s eyes flicker fierce.
“That’s okay. They just get in the way.” He cradles me close while I almost combust.
Truth be told, I didn’t pack a lot of things, seeing as most of my clothing was in boxes in storage in New York. London didn’t give me any hints about where we were going, so I didn’t really pack for tropical paradise weather.
“That may be true, but I don’t think you’d appreciate your wife walking around naked on the beach.”
His possessive growl has me grinning. “This is very true. There are some shops about a mile on foot. Or we can take the boat.”
There is so much I want to do. Rolling over every inch of that king-size, silk-swathed bed is one of them, but the tourist in me is desperate to see what this paradise has to offer.
“Let’s walk. The weather is warm, and I want to do some sightseeing.”
London nods, happy with whatever I decide. He gently lowers me to the floor, kissing my forehead when I stand on my own two feet. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful.”
“I wanted us to have a real honeymoon,” he reveals. There is weight to his confession as we have skipped a lot of traditions. So, as silly as it is, I’m glad that we are.
“Anywhere with you is paradise, but this”—I spread my arms out wide—“is just unbelievable. Ten days alone with you here…I can’t wait.” There is promise to my words because I can’t wait for so many things.
The sunlight bounces off the shine of his ring, and I’m instantly hit with the magnitude of what I’ve just said. “We’ve never been alone together for this many days.”
“I know.” He stalks forward leisurely. I take a step back.
“And there doesn’t seem to be a lot of things to do other than relax.”
“I know,” he repeats, continuing his stalking. I bump into the railing. I’m trapped. “As I said”—he wraps his fingers low on my waist and tugs me toward him—“I wanted you to have a real honeymoon, with all the honeymoon…perks.”
“Perks?” I squeak, sounding like a pubescent teen as I lick my suddenly dry lips.
He nods slowly, eyeing me intimately. “And I intend on showing you every…single…one.” The pause between each word has my underwear disintegrating and an atomic bomb imploding within.
These ten days are going to break me…literally…and I can’t wait.
Turns out, we are far, far away from the tourist hotspots, which suits me just fine.
Our walk into “town” was beyond picturesque. We were surrounded by jungle on one side and beach on the other—what an amazing combination. When we reached the main shopping area, I wasn’t at all surprised to see the few stores were locally inspired. No Gap or Old Navy in sight, which added to the remote feel.
It was somewhat surreal to walk the peaceful streets with London because we’ve always been surrounded by noise. But here, it’s simply calm. We took our time looking in each store and then decided to dine on local cuisine, before grabbing a few things to stock the pantry and fridge.
There were a few tours we could take or some cool bars we could visit if we got bored, but the longer I looked at London, the more I knew that wasn’t possible. We walked back to our villa, hand in hand, no real rush to our step because for the first time ever, our lives were a steady pace.
I’m standing in the very chic kitchen, squeezing limes for my homemade mojitos. The day has become quite warm, and after our walk, I’m feeling rather thirsty. The fact London is out in the hammock, topless, sporting Ray-Bans and oozing sex appeal could be the reason I’m suddenly feeling so parched. Although th
is feeling has been lingering all day.
The kitchen windows overlook the massive gardens and in-ground pool. Tall, flourishing trees act as our fencing along the perimeter of the backyard. Being hidden away, it’s easy to forget the outside world exists, and when London props his arms behind his head, every bronzed sinewy muscle rippling and popping, I’m more than happy to pretend that Armageddon is nigh.
Adding fresh lime to our drinks, I grab a bag of potato chips and make my way outside. My feet are bare, and each step brings me closer to the serenity of being able to mosey around in barely any clothing.
I have on short denim shorts and a crop top. It’s stinking hot, but it doesn’t hurt that wearing minimal clothing stirs the sleeping beast in my husband. He cranes his neck to get a better look at me, and I try not to combust.
“Lucky we bought that bag of limes.” I hand him the tall tumbler, which he happily accepts. He doesn’t give me a chance to ask him to shuffle over because he reaches out and drags me into the hammock.
I giggle, thankful I didn’t end up wearing my drink.
He extends his arm so I’m able to use the muscly surface as my pillow. We are quiet, sipping our drinks and taking in the tranquility. This place is really something. “Are you hungry?”
My question is innocent, but the wicked coil to London’s lips certainly isn’t. Even though his sunglasses are shielding his eyes, I know they are devouring every last inch of me. “I could eat,” he replies, drawing me into his side.
We’re both sticky and hot, and the fact he smells like sex doesn’t help my very perverse thoughts.
“What are you thinking?”
I blanch, horrified he can read my very serious need to jump his bones. But I know he’s referring to food…well, in a roundabout way. He is speaking in innuendos, and I know this will end in a glorious mess.
Licking my lips, I try to rein in my lewdness. “We could have tacos?” I suggest. We were told by the shop assistant in the takeout place that they were the best in town. “She said we just have to warm them for ten minutes.”
When he continues to look at me, smug and fucking cocky, I continue to ramble. “Or we could have a salad. It’s rather…hot.” I gulp when he draws the glass to his lips and takes a slow sip. I am mesmerized by his Adam’s apple as he leisurely swallows.
“It is hot,” he says once he’s done tormenting me with the simple gesture of drinking. When he scoops out a piece of ice and pops it into his mouth, sucking in delight, I know the games have just begun.
The sunlight against his skin should be a crime, as it only showcases every hardened, rocky surface of his tanned, ripped body. His washboard abs are coated in a light sheen of sweat, and my god, all I want to do is lick every drop from them like a kitten having her first drink.
His growth is quite heavy as he hasn’t shaved for a few days, but it only draws out the pinkness to his bowed lips. His ink always amazes me because some of it is related to me. The thought gives me an idea. However, I will wait to research it when I’m done gawking at the man beside me.
His black swim shorts sit low on his waist, exposing that defined V-muscle, which is like an arrow pointing at my wonderland. I don’t know if it’s the privacy of being locked away from the world or the fact we haven’t yet sealed the deal as a married couple, but I’m so incredibly aroused, and London knows it.
And, in true London fashion, he continues to torment me.
“We can go for a swim?” he suggests, but the only thing I want to be swimming in is him. “You look rather flushed.” A smirk tugs at his lips because he enjoys watching me squirm. I throw back my drink, hoping the rum will douse the fire in my pants.
He won’t make a move because he wants me to beg. He wants me to make the first move because as he said, the anticipation is half the fun.
Sadly, the only move we will be making is for his cell when it rings from the table beside us. The screen reveals it’s Belle. “I told Emily to call me every day at around this time,” he explains, reaching for the phone. “Hello.”
Emily’s excited voice comes blaring over the speaker. I can’t hold back my smile.
As they begin chatting, I quietly get up because I need another drink. Or ten. I leave London to chat with Emily and make my way into the kitchen. When the heated sensation suffocating me follows me into the villa, I realize it has nothing to do with the scorching sun and everything to do with me needing to get down and dirty with my man. Who knew marriage would turn me into a nymphomaniac, but when I spot London swaying gently in the hammock with one leg propped over the edge, I know it’s just him.
The need to be together has never left me. That night when we first slept together, I remember feeling complete. Alive. He has always made my heart skip a beat and has forever been the only man who I’ve loved with every inch of my soul. He’s also tormented me in bittersweet ways. That seems to be a common occurrence between us, so I decide I shouldn’t let paradise stand in the way of tradition.
A mischievous grin has me half skipping to our bedroom to bring out the big guns. I was going to wait, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, I am DESPERATE.
Stripping from my clothes, I hunt through the bag and pull out the bright red string bikini I bought in secret when London was checking out the surfboards. I did say I needed a swimsuit, but I’m sure this isn’t what London thought I meant.
The bottoms are so skimpy, I’m glad I had the good sense to get waxed before we left. The string around my waist ties in a bow on both sides of my hips. As I slip into the bikini top, I tie the string at my neck and back. The small triangles cover my breasts perfectly, leaving just enough cleavage to play it coy.
Standing in front of the mirror, I smirk. My devious plan is sure to have London begging. I untie my high bun and shake out my long hair. It tumbles around my shoulders, giving me a slightly unkempt look.
I don’t want London to know what I’m up to. I’m going to mosey out there and take him up on the offer to swim, and that’s all.
For good measure, I spray some perfume along my neck. Slipping on my large sunglasses, I strut my shit because I know London will watch my every move. I casually re-enter the kitchen, going about making another drink.
When I reach high for the bottle of rum, standing on tippy toes, I know my ass is on full display for London to see. I take my time, pretending I can’t reach as I bounce on the spot. The jiggle is exactly what I wanted. Counting to five, I grab the bottle and turn back around, my dark sunglasses masking me watching London as he slowly props up so he can get a better look.
The phone is still pressed to his ear.
Being an attorney forces you to mask your true emotions, so I have no issues humming under my breath as I make our drinks. When I place the ingredients into the silver shaker, I go to town, shaking it roughly to ensure my breasts bounce with each jerk of my hand.
London is now fully erect in the hammock, sitting upright, peering overhead so he can watch my every move. But I’m not done yet.
I come to terms with the fact I’m going to hell when I scoop out a handful of ice from the freezer and run the cubes around the curve of my neck and down between my breasts. The ice instantly melts when it hits my flesh, giving my skin a wet, glistening look. I fan my flustered face, brushing the hair from the back of my neck.
Now I’m done.
As I make my way outside, drinks in hand, London looks like he’s about to pounce. I bite my cheek to prevent the smug smirk from giving me away. Placing his drink on the small glass table under the terrace, I veer away and head to the pool, avoiding him on purpose.
I can feel his eyes on me each step of the way. This shouldn’t give me this much satisfaction, but it does.
Sipping my drink, I slowly descend the steps, entering the water. It feels beyond magical against my heated flesh, and I almost forget why I’m here.
Getting my head back in the game, I continue my sluggish stride, eyes on the prize as I reach for the
inflated lounge. Dragging it toward me, I gracefully boost myself up, feeling like Ariel from The Little Mermaid as I perch myself on land.
Placing my drink into the holder, I sprawl back with my arms behind my head and my ankles crossed. If I wasn’t in the middle of seducing my husband, I would be tempted to have a quick siesta. The sun warms my skin, and I laze very happily, awaiting my prey.
“Baby, that’s so great. I can’t wait to see,” I hear London say, which has me smiling. He’s such a great dad. Thoughts of whether we will ever have children cross my mind. The thought of growing a part of London inside me has me involuntarily rubbing my belly.
We have come so far, and if I could tell my past self one thing, it would be storms can’t last forever. To appreciate the silence, you have to embrace the noise. And London Sinclair has always been the clamor in my head and heart.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear the distinct sound of water treading. I didn’t even hear London hang up. The closer he gets, the faster my heart beats. But I play it cool, lounging as though I don’t have a care in the world.
“Princess…” His tone is low, accusing. I bite back my smile. “You look…comfortable.”
With eyes still closed, I nod, faking a yawn. “I am. The sun feels amazing. I could easily fall asleep.” Lies, but he doesn’t need to know.
“Mmmhmm.” He doesn’t buy it but plays along. “I like your swimsuit.”
“Oh, this old thing? I found it at the bottom of my bag. I must have packed it after all.” Watch my nose grow.
He gets closer, and eventually, I feel the lounge being dragged toward him. “I’m glad that it’s old and you’re not attached to it,” he utters, while I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Why’s that?” My eyes are still closed, but I know he’s consuming me from head to toe.
“Because,” he bends low and whispers into my ear, “then you won’t mind when I tear it from your body.”
Mission accomplished, but why do I suddenly feel like the prey?
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, rubbing his palm between my breasts. “Do you know how hot you look right now? I burn for you, Princess. I want you. So bad.”