Wicked Sunshine

by Justine Winter

  So here we are, day two in the air conditioned bedroom where both the pool and beach have gone unused. I know, it’s sacrilege, isn’t it? That’s okay, I’m planning a boink on the sand for later, when I’m less likely to burn my back, that is.

  “I think my vagina needs a rest. It’s calling ceasefire.”

  I’m too busy laughing my arse off to pay a great deal of attention, but what she says next has my sides splitting.

  “Grayson, I’m serious. Those last few hours of friction have just confirmed my suspicions that my pussy has become a volcano. Feel how hot I am. . .”

  I do as she says, and sure enough her snatch is emitting heat greater than the sun.

  “If I erupt, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

  I struggle to contain my sniggers as I desperately try to be the caring boyfriend she needs. “Would you like some ice?”

  “I don’t think the whole of Antarctica can cool off what’s going on down there.”

  I lazily drag myself off of the bed, my cock’s forever sprung. “I think we both could use the benefits of a cold shower.”

  “Separate showers, Grayson. If I get in there and you start soaping me up, I’ll have no restraint against those skilful hands. And then my vagina will punish me for the rest of the day.”

  To be craved so badly that Maya’s willing to injure herself repeatedly if it means having my body creates a contradiction of feelings within me. It’s nice to feel incredibly wanted, but I’m a decent enough guy that the thought of her hurting because of me is actually horrifying.

  No woman should ever have to hurt herself over the attention of a man.

  I repeat. No woman should ever have to hurt herself over the attention of a man. And by the way, if he’s putting his needs before yours, darling, you need to get rid of him, ‘cause that won’t ever change. Trust me on this. It doesn’t matter how often you suck his cock, and let him impale you, his feelings about the situation will remain the same. Not unless you tell him so, by which point he’ll up and leave and find a new set of legs to ruin.

  Don’t look at me like I’m a hypocrite. I may have shagged half of London, but I’ll remind you again. Those women knew what they were getting into. And I never abused my right as Orgasm Creator. My Excalibur and I wear that title proudly.

  “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” I say, leaving the master bedroom in search of one of the many other en-suite rooms in the villa.

  The whole place is entirely too big for two people when you consider the fact we’ve barely left the bedroom, but in case you haven’t noticed yet I like large spaces. So renting a ten-bed, ten-bath villa didn’t cross my mind as extravagant.

  Now I know that’s just sounded snobbish, hasn’t it? Oh well, it’s not my problem, you pauper.

  You’d probably love to hear about a montage of my time in the shower, soaping up my rippling abs, battling with my cock in a game of ‘stay down’, but I think we’ll skip that part and head to the kitchen where I’m chopping up fresh fruit. I have a weakness for juicy, ripe melons.

  Which I’m sure you’re aware of, too. Maya’s are delicious.

  Speaking of the sexy devil, she’s bounding into the room with a spring in her step, wearing some denim shorts, a crop top that exposes her salivating-worthy stomach and wedges. The ensemble is very Daisy Duke, and oh God, here it comes.

  Ping! Boner delivery.

  It’s the most clothes she’s worn since we arrived, and still my dick won’t surrender. This girl has no ugly switch. I’m going to die of constant concupiscent syndrome.

  Is that a thing? Death by suffering stiffy?

  Maybe I should do that Scary Movie thing and put a bag over her head. No, wait. That won’t work. The fucking thing needs to go over my head. Stop me from seeing.

  “Grayson, stop it.” She puts her hand out in warning.

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re looking at me like you’re going to ravage me.”

  I smirk, chopping the last of the fruit, and place it on the platter in front of me. “I can’t help it. I want you. I don’t think I’m even capable of not wanting you, ever.”

  She groans. “Dammit, why did you have to say that? It’s not easy looking at you with your bulging muscles on display, you know. I’m losing control here, Grayson.”

  Listen to us going on, you’d think we were arguing about something serious. Nope, just the animalistic urges that have our bodies fucking like Duracell bunnies. There’s no telling when this pair of batteries will die down.

  I think Maya’s in need of my dominance. Brace yourself. It’s about to get serious in here.

  “Sit down.”

  Don’t mock me with your giggles, you didn’t hear my tone. It was commanding. Look, she’s plonking her pert derrière on the cushioned seat.

  “Here’s the plan. We’re going to eat, then we’re going to take a nice stroll on the beach like a normal couple. There will be no fucking. Got it?”

  She nods gingerly, popping a grape in her mouth. “Sex is off the table.”

  Shit. She said it, didn’t she? Now all I’m envisioning is her body laid out on the dining table before me; my personal feast upon her fruit.

  I gulp, trying to convince myself. “No fornication whatsoever.” But my mushroom head has its own response, something along the lines of ‘good luck with that’.

  I’m going to need it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ~ £ ~

  Have you ever been to an aquarium so bad they may as well have called it a day out at the rock pools with your spade in one hand, and cheap, beach-hut-shop net in the other? I’m talking about the likes of a single starfish sucking on the glass, a colourful fish here and there kissing the water as they go about their day, and some shark eggs in a sack hanging like testicles. I mean, nothing so outstanding you’d give your left nut to jump to the head of the queue. Come on, I can snorkel with the fucking sharks at the London aquarium for Christ’s sake. Give me something worth seeing.

  I think abysmal is the word I’m looking for here. Money-sucking, time-wasting, shitty trip.

  Even Maya struggled to find something to say, and we all know she isn’t one to keep from speaking out. I’m pretty sure the stupidity of the liquid zoo has numbed our minds.

  Bloody hell, I’ve seen dentist waiting rooms with a larger collection of fish. In fact, flushing my mate’s dead goldfish down the toilet when we were five because he left it in the funfair bag without water held more excitement. I mean, that blob of orange really goes around the bowl before it’s sucked into the fishy funeral parlour pipe.

  “It was a nice idea, Grayson.”

  I roll my eyes. “As good as the caves?”

  “It’s kept us cool, and wasn’t that the point?”

  It sounds like she’s trying to placate me, doesn’t it? Let me explain. Here’s an interesting fact about Lanzarote. Sometimes it’s prone to Sahara desert sandstorms. And I’m not just talking about a bit of sand in the air. I mean sand that blows on a forceful wind that’s hotter than hell. You think I’m over exaggerating? Even the locals stay hidden inside on the odd days like this. They can’t stand the stifling heat. It’s literally unbreathable, suffocating.

  But this became a much bigger problem for Maya and I as it presented a far greater challenge. It isn’t just about the fact this sandstorm has taken away one of our days, but that it means staying indoors. Together. Alone. In the air-conditioned sanctuary of a bedroom.

  And according to Maya’s vagina, that can’t happen yet. She’s still sore. I take full responsibility for incessant jabbing to her tasty man-hole.

  My solution to stop any sex-like shenanigans was to get in the limo and drive to the north of the island. Which ended up being a fantastic idea because it’s much cooler there. And the tour of the caves were, well, interesting, I suppose. If you’re in to that sort of stuff. Turns out I’m not, and I don’t think Maya has been overly satisfied with the volcanic formations either. Once you’
ve seen a bit of dangly, shiny, black rock, you’ve seen it all.

  Because of this, my last attempt at making a romantic gesture to rectify this disastrous day was to head back down to the south of the island, where we’re staying, and walk along the promenade, at sunset, because I hear chicks go nuts for this sort of thing. Did I mention it’s much cooler now? Hades has relaxed on the death warrant.

  “Grayson, the places might have been rubbish, but the company isn’t and that’s what counts,” she says, holding onto the hand I have draped over her shoulder.

  “Thank you, sunshine.” Aren’t we a couple of cuties? It almost makes you want to reach for the bucket, doesn’t it?

  We stop at the wall where fishermen are packing their stuff away, and face the sea. It’s rolling in, splashing up the concrete barrier and spraying us with salty droplets. It’s pleasant, if not a little unwarranted in my mouth. I imagine some of you are accustomed to what that’s like. Salty spurts have a way of creeping up on you, don’t they?

  “Is it hard for you, Grayson?”

  I chuckle in her ear. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  “Being in a relationship.” She looks up at me, wind blowing her hair, a seriousness settled across her features.

  I stare out at the horizon, watching the sun lower to the sea. “It’s not difficult, just different. After what Sabrina did to me I made the decision to not let anyone get close enough again. And for eight years it has worked.”

  “Has it been fulfilling living your life this way?”

  “It’s been. . .satisfactory,” I smirk to myself at the same old phrase I always use whenever Cam asks me about my conquests. Satisfactory is contradictory in itself. How often can one word mean to be something so pleasurably good in this context yet sound boring, manageable, like it’ll do? Doesn’t quite give off an excellent vibe, does it?

  “But sometimes you don’t realise how you truly feel about a situation until something better comes along.” I know, it sounds cheesy, but give me a break, yeah? I feel like I’ve been thrown in the deep end with this conversation. I mean, just where are we going with this topic, because I have to tell you, I’m getting sweaty palms at the thought of my mouth saying the wrong thing as it so often does. I might be a straight-talker, but that doesn’t always mean I know when I’m saying something that can offend.

  She turns to face me, her eyes are twinkling in the twilight. Absolutely beautiful. “I’m glad you had the nerve to come waltzing into my life.”

  “I’m glad you let me stay.” She stretches on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck as she pulls me down for a kiss. It’s sweet, caressing, slow.

  I take my time, feeling every glide of her lips against mine, tasting every lick of her tongue. She’s sinfully luscious in my arms, her body’s pressed tight against my torso, her back’s arching into me.

  The entire connection of our bodies is highly erotic, yet to passers-by we’re just a couple enjoying a kiss. No-one else can feel the crackle charging between us, sparking wildly like fireworks in the sky.

  But there’s something else here too, like submission, a surrender perhaps to our true feelings, of what we have together, who we are to one another.

  Acceptance.

  When our kiss ends, I take the chance to lose myself in her radiant jade green eyes. I’m transfixed by what I see in her soul. This is when clarity takes a hold of me.

  I’ve fallen in love with Maya.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ~ £ ~

  Strange things happen when a man realises he’s in love. His whole universe adjusts to accommodate one person because suddenly she’s the only thing that matters.

  Not the women whose names I never cared to ask for, nor the money piling up around me. She’s the only currency I’m desperate to spend. Remember when I said love comes at a price? Well, this is it. Grayson Rush pussy whipped. Under the thumb. Craver of one muffin only.

  And I’m willing to tip handsomely. Whatever it takes to get her to understand, to realise just how much she’s changed me. And thus, a plan is born.

  Can you feel me rubbing my hands together like those bad guys in the movies do?

  “Grayson, where are you taking me?”

  It’s early morning, and I’ve swapped the cool comfort of our limo for a short scenic walk to our destination. I’m holding a bag of our essentials in one hand, which I proudly put together without Maya knowing what’s inside, and hers in the other as we stroll along the path at the water’s edge.

  It’s peaceful, serene, and incredibly nice to enjoy the simple pleasures of the world without having someone snap my picture every few seconds. I can definitely get used to this.

  I feel like I’ve already upped my romance game by ten levels after yesterday’s monstrosity, although I have to admit last night worked out pretty well. It’s not every day I have a love epiphany.

  Look at me. I’m not even freaking out. You know what they call this?

  Growth.

  It’s impressive, isn’t it?

  “After yesterday, I have a lot to make up for. . .”

  “Grayson, I told you it didn’t matter that it was your. . .”

  “Company, I know,” I finish for her. “But I like to be meticulous in my plans and that sandstorm really threw a spanner in the works, so today we’re doing what we should’ve done originally.”

  “And what’s that?” she says, stopping as the path leads to the marina. “Oh, God, you’re not going to try and feed me oysters for breakfast are you? Because I’m telling you, I have no desires to start puking in front of you.”

  I laugh at her green expression. Does she really think I’d do that? I’m not a raw fish kind of guy and I’m definitely not a caviar type of man either. By the way, that fish egg crap is totally overrated anyway. Not only does it taste disgusting, but the fucking thing pops in your mouth and oozes out the vilest, fishy, salty flavour that completely envelopes your nose, too. It’s revolting. I’m heaving just thinking about the many times it’s been shoved in my face at banquets.

  I mean, what on earth possessed people to think it was a good idea to eat the unborn spawn of another animal? Why? Just. . . WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!

  Wait, do chicken eggs count here, too? Balls, have I opened up a can of worms now? I’m going to be pondering about this for days, but whatever the outcome, I stand by my earlier statement. Caviar is gross.

  “No, sunshine. We’re going to spend the day on this.” I point upwards to the yacht sitting elegantly at the harbour.

  “Holy shit!” She squeaks as she leaves me to jog alongside the length of the boat. This solidifies my feelings because her happiness means everything to me. I’m incredibly fulfilled with content right now, because she’s clearly overjoyed. It’s as simple as that. A happy Maya makes for an extremely happy Grayson. It’s math that takes very little thinking.

  She’s running back to me and leaping in my arms, a smile forever on her face. We’re making quite the spectacle, but you know what? I don’t give a shit.

  She’s kissing me fiercely, squeezing me tightly. I don’t want to let her go. Ever. I want us wrapped in this time capsule bubble forever. She’s mine. Only mine.

  When she decides to untangle herself from me, I guide us to the dock where the Captain of the yacht is waiting.

  “Buenos días, Mr. Rush.”

  I shake his hand. “It’s a beautiful day, Señor Acosta.”

  “Sí. Perfect day. Miss Kennedy, such belleza you are. Come, welcome aboard to, how you say. . . Wet Dreams.”

  I stifle my snigger at Maya’s expression, she’s torn between amusement and shock. “You named your yacht Wet Dreams?”

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hire this particular yacht for its name. Of course I did. Who wouldn’t want to brag that they’d spent all day indulging on a wet dream?

  “Sí. Wet Dreams is ahh. . . happy, no? Enjoyment for all. Come, come, take seat. Time to go.”

  He urges us through the
luxury interior of a lounge and bar to the front deck where sun loungers await. And before I know it he’s disappeared to start up the engines.

  “He’s a little crazy. Does he realise wet dream in English means something a little more than ‘happiness’?” She raises her fingers into air quotes.

  I shrug, grabbing the fabric of her dress cinched at her waist to pull her into me. “I think the name is suitable.”

  She smirks. “Of course you do. The name alone is probably serving as some kind of aphrodisiac for you.”

  What can I say? My woman knows me well.

  “Give me a kiss, and find out,” I challenge.

  “I think I’d rather take off my clothes and enjoy the view,” she taunts.

  Maya’s going to kill me with her body on display. I can already feel a build-up of semen determined to be free. Christ, why don’t I know how to sail already? What I would give to be completely alone with her right now. On the deck. Naked. I’m shaking my head inside. Stupid Grayson. Didn’t think this one through either, did I?

  “Would you like some help with that?” What? I’m only being polite.

  She smirks mischievously. “You can unzip me.” She turns her back to me.

  I take my time, trailing the zip down slowly to expose her skin. The anticipation alone is enough to get me hard. It’s like unwrapping a gift at Christmas when you’re a child. You’re full of excitement, and eagerness to reveal what toy is inside the box, but the true pleasure comes in the form of that hopeful apprehension.

  And like all gifts you can’t stop yourself from touching what’s inside the pretty wrapping. So I kiss every inch of skin I reveal, from her neck to the base of her spine where, unfortunately, the zipper stops.

  Jesus, I’m as hard as a rock from the sounds of her whimpers.

  She turns, shimmying the fabric along her body as her gaze never leaves mine. She’s already in her bikini, a black and white strappy thing that does wonders to wrap the goodies beneath.