Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion)

by Jeffe Kennedy

  With a sigh of—was it disappointment?—he pulled his hand from her bikini bottom and eased her into a sitting position. She sat there while he stroked her back, shuddering with the need to come. He held her glass of champagne to her lips and she swallowed gratefully.

  His erection thrust into her hip and she leaned into it. “What about you?”

  He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I have a dinner meeting before long. But I am enjoying the...anticipation, too. I’m sorry—I’d rather spend the time with you.”

  “Tormenting me,” she retorted.

  He squeezed her breast, pinching the taut nipple so she squeaked. “Exactly. Now, will you meet me here, for breakfast?”

  “What time?”

  “Is eight too early for you? You are on vacation.”

  “No, that’s fine,” she replied in an airy tone. “I can always nap. Tra la, tra lay.”

  “Nice for you. After tomorrow it’s the weekend and I can spend the day with you, if you like. Maybe show you some of the sights.”

  “I would like that.”

  “Are you bored of sunbathing yet? I could arrange a private snorkeling trip for you in the morning.”

  “I would love that! But you don’t have to pay for all this stuff for me.”

  “Why do you think I’m not billing everything to your hotel account?”

  “Well, you should be. I’m not poor.”

  “Neither am I.” He grinned wolfishly. “We’ll sort it out. Be here at eight, wearing your bikini, and I’ll have your day three gifts for you. Now, stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

  “Why?”

  “No back talk. I’m already disappointed I don’t get to spank you.”

  She sprang up in a hurry, making him laugh, and laced her fingers together behind her back. Coaxing her to stand between his spread legs, he drew down her bikini bottom to her knees and slid his fingers up into her. She squirmed when he reached the bullet, arousal rocketing to fever pitch again in an instant. With a mischievous smile, he eased it out of her, while she trembled under the intense sensations.

  He set the bullet on the table and ostentatiously licked his fingers, riveting her with the sight. “Now I’ll have the taste of you in my mind for the rest of the evening.”

  “Sounds distracting.”

  “I hope so, Roo,” he sighed. “I truly hope so.”

  She hesitated. This wasn’t really part of their deal, but it felt odd to be so exposed to him sexually and not know his thoughts. “Can I help? Talk it out some?”

  He studied his tea, swiveling the cup on the saucer. She thought he was about to say something, but he looked up without a smile. “No. My time with you is my slice of vacation. And I want you to enjoy yours. Go have some fun.”

  “Are you telling me not to worry my pretty head about you?” She pulled up her bikini bottom and he let her.

  “It is a pretty head.”

  “But not an empty one, I feel compelled to point out.”

  He clamped strong hands on her nearly naked ass and held her there, nipping one nipple, then the other, taking her breath away. “Let’s stick to this.”

  December 27

  Third Day of Christmas

  Three French Hens

  It irritated her briefly, but she let it go. After all, she’d made the choice to be more or less anonymous. And Miguel was right—this was her time to relax and not be stressed. She certainly didn’t need to worry about someone else’s problems.

  Still, when she went out to the patio café for dinner—since, amazingly enough, she hadn’t eaten much at tea after all—she looked around for him, or any business group that could be his.

  Instead it was all vacationers, many of them sunburned, most of them drunk, in couples, fours and raucous groups. For the first time on the vacation, she felt a little lonely. Not that she hadn’t eaten in restaurants by herself many times—that featured in nearly every business trip she took. No, if she hadn’t met Miguel on the plane, the odds were good she would have spent the night and changed her flight to go home the next day.

  She’d half formed that plan in her head, which would likely have led to disastrous drunk-dialing of Greg once she’d hit the States again. No matter how much she’d looked forward to this beach holiday, they weren’t that much fun to do by yourself. And, despite this very wild fling, she’d never been one to contemplate picking up a guy for a vacation romance.

  She sipped her champagne with a smile that felt smug, even to herself. That had turned out to be a brilliant plan. He was right—she had been tense. Now she so wasn’t.

  Taking the remainder of the bottle, she went to sit on her balcony, watch the moon and contemplate what three things he might come up with the next day.

  * * *

  She arrived at his door—after discovering her room key now granted her elevator access to the penthouse—a few minutes after eight. Wearing her bikini and heels, along with the cover-up that covered nothing, she followed a server out to the rooftop deck. Miguel sat at the same table, talking on his cell phone, while a Japanese man sipped coffee next to him.

  She paused, surprised by the company, but Miguel spotted her and hung up immediately. He rose to greet her, taking her hands with a reassuring squeeze and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Tilda, I’d like you to meet Mr. Miramoto, one of my esteemed colleagues. Mr. Miramoto, Tilda Campbell—a special friend of mine.”

  Miramoto bowed, formal and correct. “You look ready for the beach, Ms. Campbell.”

  “Yes.” She resisted the urge to pull the edges of the cover-up together. “I’m sorry you gentlemen can’t join me. It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Every day in Cozumel is beautiful, is that not true, Señor D’Oro? Everyone longs to have a piece of paradise for their very own.” Miramoto looked pleased with himself while Miguel threw him an irritated glance behind his back, reading something off his phone. Unperturbed, Miramoto drained his coffee cup and bowed to her again. “Enjoy your day, Ms. Campbell. I’ll see you soon, D’Oro.”

  “Trouble?” Tilda couldn’t help asking, as soon as Miramoto left, all her business senses twitching at the subtext.

  “Not for you.” Miguel tossed the phone aside and patted his lap. She sat, looping her hands behind his neck so she could toy with the damp curls there. He smelled of aftershave and spicy soap. “And you are a breath of fresh air. Did you do anything fun last night?”

  “Besides an unusual game of strip High Tea?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It was kind of downhill after that.”

  “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He nuzzled her neck, nipping and kissing his way down while she sighed at the instantly rising heat. Brushing away one side of the bikini top, he sucked her taut nipple into his mouth, sending her to full boil.

  “The server,” she whispered.

  “Knows better than to come out here, now that you’ve arrived,” he muttered, his mouth full of her breast. “Unless it would turn you on to have him watch?”

  “No!” she protested, though the thought did send an excited thrill straight to her groin.

  “Not yet then.” He pushed the cover-up off her shoulder. “You’re wearing too many clothes. Take everything off. Except the shoes.”

  Casting an uncertain glance at the shadowed interior, she took off the jacket and tossed it on the chair, then untied her bikini top. Miguel sipped his coffee, watching with intent eyes. She quickly slid the bottoms off and kicked them aside, standing there nude in the warm morning sun, wearing only the gold stilettos. He looked her up and down slowly, then smiled, cat in cream.

  “Your gifts for today are over on the side table. Why don’t you go get them?”

  She glared at him, knowing full well he’d planned it this way. Excruciatingly aware of his gaze on her naked rear, she made herself walk slowly to the side table and then back, the jewelry-sized box in her hands.

  “It is a beautiful day,” he commented.

  “I’m thrilled to enter
tain you,” she retorted.

  “I’m delighted to hear that, Roo, because I have a number of interesting entertainments in mind. Go ahead and open the box. No, don’t sit—stay right there.”

  She didn’t have the presence of mind to open it neatly. With nervous fingers she tore away the paper and opened the box. Inside were two gold spirals and a matching clip that looked like an alligator. She blew out her breath, slow and steady.

  “Allow me,” Miguel drew the box out of her hands and took one of the spirals. “Put your hands behind your neck and bend toward me.”

  Feeling ever more on display, she did, her heavy breasts in front of his face. He sucked on one nipple, making the blood rise, until it was a tight bullet of flesh. Slipping the gold spiral over it, he adjusted the tension until it was just tight enough to stay on, but not enough to hurt. He repeated the process with the other breast and she looked over his head at the startlingly blue sea, trying to keep calm.

  “How do those feel?” He kissed one taut nipple, then the other.

  “Strange.”

  “But not painful?”

  “No.”

  “Arousing?”

  She met his interested gaze. “Yes,” she confessed.

  “Good. Now step closer and straddle my legs.” He pressed his knees together and she straddled him, opening her sex for his access. Sliding his finger through her folds, he shook his head, tsking. “You are always so wet. Have you always been such a honeypot?”

  “Just lately,” she replied in a dry tone. It felt so odd—liberating, yes—to be just the bit of eye candy to be dressed up and played with while someone else worried about work. In some ways she felt like she was a different woman here. Not Tilda Campbell, barracuda CEO, but Roo the bubbling honeypot. She bit her lip, working on holding still while he worked the alligator clip over the length of her clit and adjusted it. She thought she might jump out of her skin from the tension it created in her. When he pulled the silver bullet out of his pocket, she groaned. She couldn’t take any more and it was only day three.

  “Relax,” he coaxed, holding her hip and pushing it up into her. “You’ll grow accustomed to your accessories. Now, put on your suit and eat some breakfast. Your snorkel guide will be here at nine.”

  She dressed again with great care while he watched, doing her best not to tweak any of the clamps. When she sat, the one on her clit tightened and she gasped, clenching her thighs.

  Miguel sipped his coffee, eyes dark over the rim. “I don’t have to tell you not to come, do I?”

  She shook her head, lips pressed together. He reached across the table, took her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss.

  “Remember—I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  * * *

  She had a lovely day.

  The snorkeling guide turned out to be a fascinating local, fluent in English, who knew the names and history of everything she asked about. He wore nothing but swim trunks and—aside from suggesting she leave the heels behind—never commented on the skimpiness of her bikini or ever made her uncomfortable. In his little speedboat, he took her to several pristine snorkeling locations, only using the motor over deep water, then rowing them closer to the reefs he held in great reverence.

  When they returned in late afternoon, she felt saturated in sun and seawater, her skin bronzing more each day. Miguel waited for her at the boat launch, the gold heels dangling from his hand. He’d changed out of business mode, finally, and wore cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. Her clit and nipples swelled at the sight of him, biting against the little clamps. She glanced at the shoes in his hand and gave him a guilty smile. The thought that he might punish her for not wearing them all day made her go wet.

  He kissed her on the cheek, waving to her guide, who was cleaning up the boat. “Did you have a good day, Roo?”

  “Amazing—thank you. Javier was the best guide ever.” She glanced at the shoes and back into his handsome face, now bristled with five o’clock shadow. “Sorry about the heels. Javier said they’d scratch his boat.”

  “I am not an unreasonable man,” Miguel slid a casual hand down her back to cup one butt cheek and squeeze. “We can discuss it later. Are you ready for our walk?”

  The stroll down the beach. She’d forgotten. The clamps bit tighter and the bullet weighed heavy inside her. Though plenty of other women took advantage of the private beach to go topless, she’d never done anything like it. She’d studied them, how they seemed so casual about it, walking hand in hand with their equally topless boyfriends. Really it shouldn’t be any different.

  As if reading her thoughts, Miguel pulled his T-shirt over his head and draped it over the piling, setting her shoes at the foot and kicking off his sandals to sit next to them. His evenly tanned chest showed him to be in excellent shape—and that he spent a fair amount of time down here instead of in the wintery states. He helped her out of her cover-up, added that to the pile, then held out his hand for her bikini top. Quite a lot of people were out on the beach, taking sunset strolls. A number of other topless women. None had nipple clamps, that she’d noticed.

  “When I agreed,” she whispered urgently, “I didn’t know about the...jewelry.”

  He raised genial brows and shrugged. “Okay. You can keep the top on.”

  “I can?”

  “Of course.” He patted her bottom. “You know I’d rather have the spanking instead.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  “Hmm. You have a dilemma then.” He squinted out at the lowering sun, then ostentatiously looked at his watch.

  She hissed out an impatient breath. “Fine.” She fumbled with the ties and yanked off the bikini top, like ripping off a bandaid, and tossed it on the pile of clothes. “Let’s go.”

  He smiled easily, teeth white against his brown skin, and took her hand, strolling down the beach with her at a leisurely pace.

  “Don’t hunch your shoulders. You have gorgeous breasts. Be proud of them.”

  “It’s not just that—people will see the clamps and...know they’re about sex.”

  “Fft. They’re small and barely show. Look at this woman coming toward us. Her nipples are pierced.”

  It was true—the young woman with long sun-kissed brown hair had delicate silver hoops through her small nipples. She was laughing up at her bronzed Adonis of a companion, completely unselfconscious. As they passed, the woman’s eyes fell to Tilda’s spirals and she smiled, adding a conspiratorial wink.

  Tilda suddenly felt less exposed and more like she’d joined some sort of secret club. After all, if she had clamps on her nipples, what of it? She was a free adult woman, with no vows to anyone. Her professional reputation belonged to someone who lived in a frozen city thousands of miles away from this sensual, sunny beach.

  “Now she begins to enjoy herself,” Miguel murmured.

  “Back at you. I was beginning to think you lived in a business suit.”

  He snorted. “Not if I can help it. But family obligations are just that.”

  “How did the meetings go today?”

  “Poorly. I am free, however, to not think about it again until Monday morning. Which is exactly what I plan to do. Shall we go have a cocktail while the sun sets, to start the weekend off right?”

  “Sounds fabulous.”

  They strolled back slowly, enjoying the birds swooping in for their evening feeding, talking of nothing much. Only when they reached the boat launch again and Miguel helped her tie the bikini top back on, did she realize how quickly she’d gotten used to going without it.

  Up on the dining patio, they sat at their usual table, with its prime sunset view, and enjoyed their drinks. After a while they ordered dinner. Miguel proved to be a charming companion, interested in everything. Over decaf and brandy, he took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her palm, his eyes dark.

  “I promised you dancing.”

  In the nightclub down the way, the marimba beat sparkled in the night. Still, she wasn’t tempte
d. “Maybe another night,” she suggested.

  His lips curved. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.” Still holding her hand, he slid his other into his shorts pocket. The bullet vibrated to life inside her, setting a match to her low-burning flame. Her body responded in a long roll of arousal and Miguel laced his fingers with hers, drinking her in.

  “I’m going to have you tonight,” he said in a low voice. “Over and over, until you beg me to stop.”

  “Oh, thank god!” She squeezed his hand when he laughed.

  No longer languid, they hurried to the elevator. The glass walls showed the fountain and pool lights dropping below. Miguel’s hand on the small of her back burned hot while the bullet throbbed steadily inside her, the clamps tight on her clit and nipples.

  He guided her inside, told the ever-present server that he could leave for the night. The doors closed on the polite young man with a woosh of vacuum and Miguel clicked the lock for privacy. Then turned on her with a burning expression.

  “Get naked and sit on that barstool.” He jerked his head at a row of chrome stools lining the breakfast counter and pulled off his shirt. She hurried to obey, and jumped when he thumbed the vibrator up higher. “Not the shoes.”

  “Of course not,” she muttered and climbed onto the bar stool, the furry white seat soft under her naked bottom.

  “Hook your heels over the bottom rung and spread your legs as wide as you can.” He sank to his knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart even as he spoke. She gripped the chrome arms of the chair, a squeak escaping her when he reached behind her to pull her forward so her splayed sex nearly hung in the air.

  His face inches from her naked pussy, he tenderly took hold of her labia and spread them wider, then glanced up at her with a demanding glare so stern it was nearly feral. “Don’t you dare come.”

  Then he licked her.

  Her hips leapt and he growled. In pleasure or reprimand, she didn’t know. She held still, panting out the tension, and he licked her again, slowly, gently. And again.

  It was unbearable.