When the Sun Goes Down...

by Crystal Green

  They passed the large, shining bathroom, which looked to be stocked with a bounty of toiletries, then rounded the wall to find a modest lagoon-shaped rock pool to the right, with the small waterfall flowing into it. It dominated everything, including the velvet-roped swing that waited over the shallow end. Even the opposite side of the room seemed dwarfed by comparison, although that was the part that held a king-size bed decorated with exotic leaf patterns and condoms on the pillows. Next to it sat a big-screen TV with a DVD collection, a karaoke system and a video-game console.

  Juliana glanced at the pool again, her clit already hardening, her breasts already beading.

  From behind, Tristan slid his arms around her, his hands gliding over her waist, then her belly.

  Bang—her body remembered everything: the turn-on of sneaking around, the wiggling excitement of his fingers exploring places that no one had ever touched before.

  He was still the only one who made her anticipate it so much.

  She pushed back against his growing erection, feeling the ridge of it, remembering how it’d felt under her shy hands way back when.

  And how it was going to feel now.

  “We’re finally here,” he whispered in to her ear. “And you’re all mine tonight, Juliana Thomsen.”

  4

  TRISTAN WAS DOING everything within his power to keep from tearing off her clothes and slipping into her.

  He was hard and ready, had been that way ever since this afternoon when she’d pulled him into that alcove.

  But when he’d seen her in that short skirt and those boots?

  Harder and readier.

  “What’s your pleasure first?” he asked, gliding his hands from her belly to her ribs. “We’re in here for three hours, Juliana. We’ve got time to do whatever you want.”

  When he nuzzled her just below the ear, she gasped, and the sound was like a physical thrust, escalating his need for her.

  But she made no move to look around, instead staying just where he wanted her to be—in his arms, softer and more pliant by the second.

  He kissed her neck, paused to allow the past to catch up with the present, then kissed her between the jaw and ear where she was as warm and fragrant as a hothouse flower. She’d been sensitive there back then, and she sure was now as she leaned her head back against him, arching her neck.

  “Damn, you taste good,” he said. “I remember that.”

  “I’m sure remembering a lot, too,” she said, her voice strained.

  Was she?

  Something in his chest flared at the possibility that he’d remained with her just as constantly as she’d stayed with him.

  But that wasn’t the point of this.

  Sex, he thought. A man taking what should’ve been his long ago.

  He smoothed his thumbs to just below the curves of her breasts while gently biting her ear.

  She moaned in bliss.

  There. But that was only going to be the beginning of the sounds, the cries, the screams for more that he’d longed to hear….

  Turning her head to the side, she nestled against his throat, rubbing her cheek against him. Her hair rained against his skin, undoing him because the sensation had been so forbidden until now, and reminding him of how he’d felt when she’d left town and him.

  Empty, he thought.

  But now, as he eased his palms upward to cup her breasts, he filled himself.

  She sucked in a breath, rocking back against him, her ass soft against his erection. He circled his thumbs over her nipples, vaguely thinking that her breasts had always been small, firm, perfect.

  It was as if she was meant for him, but he knew better than to think that way. This was only a bubble in time, one night when they could pretend that there was nothing else out there to return to.

  As he pressed one palm downward, she raised her arms and locked her hands behind his neck, giving her leverage to arch away from him again, straining, sexy.

  He reached underneath that short, checkered skirt, coaxing his fingers between her legs, where she was already slick against her lace panties.

  Her readiness thrilled him, stirring him into a light-headed mess of diminishing control.

  He bent, slid his arm under her knees, picked her up and headed toward the pool where that waterfall was banging away as powerfully as lust was demolishing him.

  She gaped at him, her lips parted, her eyes wide, her face flushed.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked.

  “Getting you even wetter.”

  His direct way of answering seemed to deepen the color on her cheeks. He hadn’t been that way when he was a teenager—he’d been more reticent, not going for what he wanted.

  He brought her to the edge of the water.

  “Wait,” she said. “Boots. I need to take off my boots.”

  He set her on her feet, cursing the interruption. He was ready for her now.

  As she unzipped the sides of her footwear, the sound gnawed into him, running over his skin like the nails she’d whisked over his bare back one night when they had kissed until they’d both been out of breath.

  Feeling the same giddiness now—like a young guy with his whole life ahead of him—he doffed his own shoes, socks, shirt.

  But when she backed into the pool with her skirt and top still on, he paused in the rest of his strip-off. She was taking in his bare chest, and the haziness of her gaze told him that she liked what she saw.

  “You’ve filled out,” she said. “Not that you were skinny back then, but…”

  “Are you going to get back here, or do I need to come after you?” Gruff, needful. He couldn’t hide it.

  She pushed back her hair from her face, slicking it with water as she watched him, as if not knowing for sure what she wanted him to do, and he noticed there was a slight tremble to her hands.

  It hit him: they weren’t dabbling in tentative backseat experimentation anymore. He knew it, she knew it.

  There was so much more at stake now. And afterward they would have to go back to Parisville, resume life, go on with…

  He didn’t want to think about being alone in his cabin, looking out the window in the direction of the Thomsens’ property.

  In the water, Juliana reached behind her for the velvet-chained swing. When she found it, she held on to the flat, vinyl-cushioned seat, as if seeking the balance they’d both lost upon just entering this room.

  The water came to her upper thighs in this shallow portion; he could see it got deeper near the waterfall. The fringe of her skirt skimmed the surface, and he wished it were his hands, his mouth drenching her instead of the pool’s water.

  Unwilling to wait for the time it’d take to shuck off his jeans, he entered the pool.

  She took in a breath, but unstoppable now, he dragged through the water until he came to a stop right in front of her, so near that she had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye.

  Without a word, he lifted her skirt, and she held tighter to the swing.

  “I used to love how you felt down here,” he said, easing a finger between her legs, stroking upward and making her wince. “I used to love how you sounded when I touched you like this.”

  “Tristan…”

  Hearing his name from her drove him harder, and he reached both hands under her skirt, catching the sides of her panties, pulling them down.

  One leg up, sliding those undies down and off, then the other.

  In the end, he held the scant material.

  White lace, he thought before tossing them to the pool’s edge. Back in the day, she’d worn undies with hearts.

  He liked the lace better.

  She was already holding on to the velvet-covered chains of the swing, anticipating his next move, when he lifted her into the seat.

  All the while, they never looked away from each other, almost as if the warm water around them was all a dream that they’d snap out of if they surrendered eye contact.

  He raised her skirt just the slightest t
o catch a peek beneath.

  Still blond.

  Throat choked, he snagged her gaze again, and tension thundered around them, as palpable as the beating of the waterfall.

  He spread her thighs, her skirt riding up to reveal more light hair surrounding the pink of her, and adrenaline swallowed him, his mind spinning.

  He’d gotten inebriated on her kisses before, but he hadn’t put his mouth on her most sensitive part. And he wanted to, wanted it badly right now.

  Then he would have the rest of her.

  Then he would be satisfied.

  He pulled on the swing’s seat, bringing her toward him, wrapping his arms under her legs so that her calves hooked over him. She leaned to one side of the swing, holding on to the chain, her lips moist and parted as she watched.

  He watched back for a moment.

  Beautiful Juliana Thomsen. Not a dream, not a figment of his idle musings.

  And not the good girl he’d always imagined. Not anymore.

  As if to urge him on, she used one hand to pull her skirt back.

  Like a starved man, he scooped the swing closer and pressed his mouth to the warm plumpness of her.

  Yes, he thought, losing his mind altogether. Juliana.

  He licked, making her wetter, and she groaned, pushing her hips forward.

  “Just like that,” she said. “Oh, just like that.”

  He went at her harder, nuzzling against her, using his tongue to taste every inch, then to enter her just as he’d imagined doing with his cock back then. He would’ve loved her a long time if he’d only gotten the opportunity….

  Something gave him pause.

  Love.

  Loved her how?

  The thought shocked him, and it only grew stronger as she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling at him, encouraging him with soft mewls and moans.

  Wanting to give her more, he brought one of his thumbs to work her clit, pressing, circling around and around until she was grinding against him.

  “Tristan,” she said. “Keep going…”

  It became his mission to get it done, to make her sob, to send her falling into him and to have her ask for more.

  So he laved her until she was so far forward on the swing that she lost equilibrium and tumbled out of it, sending them both into the water.

  He pulled her to a stand, and she pushed her wet hair away from her face, panting.

  But she wasted no time, grabbing him, pulling him down for a searing kiss, her wet shirt plastered against his chest.

  His head swam at the touch of her lips and, for a desperate moment, he slowed down, stroking his hands under her jaw to hold her.

  There. She was his, and he wanted to relish it, just as he’d done so long ago.

  She responded, opening wider for a kiss that seemed to last forever as they tested, explored, falling farther and farther into each other, into a hole that seemed to expand underneath him.

  He lost himself in thoughts of sweet blond hair, smooth skin, violet eyes that pierced like the edges of a disappearing rainbow.

  He was falling, not necessarily downward, just…

  Away.

  Away from the reason he’d come to Japan.

  Away from everything he’d promised to the others at home.

  JULIANA WAS ABOUT TO BURST, her body pounding, her lungs so shallow she could barely breathe.

  Even the hint of stubble on his chin sparked her closer and closer toward a climax, burning her skin, lighting a fire deep in her belly, then higher.

  Higher.

  But something within her was trying to push that orgasm down, fighting it.

  Was it because she didn’t want her first time with Tristan to end so quickly?

  Or was it because…?

  No, she wouldn’t think of guilt or betrayal—concepts that only seemed to apply to the world outside this room.

  She wouldn’t think about any of it now.

  As she kissed and kissed him, she ran her hands over his muscled back, the water making her urgent caresses slippery.

  Touching him felt like coming home for some reason. It felt…right, just as it had years ago.

  So why hadn’t she gone out on a limb to be with him?

  Why hadn’t she been strong enough back then?

  She beat away the thought that she wasn’t strong enough even now, after so much time had passed; all she and Tristan wanted was to scratch an itch, to give in to temptation this once.

  It’s only sex now, she thought. They were grown-up enough to handle an affair then forget about it.

  He started to lead her toward the edge of the water, to a selection of pool toys neatly stacked on fake rock shelves.

  “You’re so close,” Tristan said, his voice rumbling through his chest, vibrating into her. “How close?”

  As he effortlessly sat her on the lip of the pool, she whispered into his ear, “Very. Just keep on doing what you’re doing.”

  He took her face between his hands, and her sex ached.

  So did her heart.

  No, she thought. Not her heart. It didn’t belong anywhere near this, even though it kept reminding her that it was about to explode.

  As Tristan scanned the toys, which included such whimsical choices as water wings, plastic tennis rackets and squirt guns, he smiled that bad-boy smile she’d always adored. His long hair flopped over his brow, giving him a dark charm.

  “I want this to last a long time, Juliana.” He inspected a small inflatable manga dog, then moved on. “A long time.”

  She moved her hips, hurting for him.

  “Patience,” he said. “We’ve waited years for this. It’ll be worth it.”

  A thrill spun through her.

  Water gleamed over his skin, his streamlined muscles, turning her on all over again, her heartbeat flailing and wheeling.

  He took hold of her shirt, which stuck to her like a second skin. Her nipples crested against it, hardly hiding how much she craved him.

  He deftly began to undo her top button. Then the next one. The next.

  All the while, her chest rose and fell, spiked by her pulse.

  After removing her shirt, he did the same to her bra, discarding both. But before he got to her skirt, he paused to run his knuckles over one naked breast, as if to memorize every sensitized part, giving him fuel for when they’d walk out of this hotel and go their separate ways.

  He brought her nipple to an even more agonizing peak.

  “After you left,” he said, “I’d dream about you every night, remembering how you looked. Your skin. Your tiny waist. How your chest rose and fell with every breath. How you looked at me like you’re looking at me now.”

  No one had ever sounded so romantic to her—or, at least, they hadn’t come off as genuine. His words yanked at something that felt like strings around her heart, jerking it into an even sharper rhythm than before.

  She didn’t know what to say, but when he leaned over to kiss her other breast, she didn’t have the oxygen to spare, anyway.

  Her head dipped back as she bucked, and he caught her legs on either side of him.

  “Now,” he said. “As much as I like this skirt, it needs to go.”

  No arguments.

  She reached behind to unzip it, and when she’d fumbled her way through that, she pushed the material down.

  He helped her, then tossed the material to the side, leaving her vulnerable to him, the air tickling her clit.

  He took up a squirt gun, then used his fingers to open her.

  Then he shot a line of warm water at her.

  She gasped as it hit her, shocking her through and through.

  He brought it closer, this time bathing her clit in a steady stream of pressure.

  It was at that point that she pretty much fell to pieces, her arms losing strength as she slumped to the ground, her limbs disintegrating even as she went tighter…skin puckering, core retracting, sharpening…

  Meanwhile, Tristan used his other hand to massage her belly
, and she lifted her arms above her head, just like the mist in the painting they both wanted.

  Reaching, needing….

  Almost there. Oh, so close—

  He pulled her back into the pool, and she was so dizzy that she hadn’t even noticed him shedding the rest of his clothing; she only realized it when she felt his bare arousal against her leg.

  “Condom,” he said, dragging her to the shallow side of the pool, where he’d have to get out to grab one from the nearby bed.

  “Wait,” she said on a croak of breath. “I’m clean.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I’m on the pill.”

  Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight, but all she wanted was him—the unsheathed feel of him inside of her. It would make this different from the other men she’d been with. She trusted him, too, because he’d kept their summer fling a secret when she’d asked him to, when he’d had the chance to brag about it.

  He’d respected her and his family too much to do that, and that spoke volumes about Tristan.

  He gazed at her for a moment, those light-gray eyes drawing her in and making her feel as if she was floating.

  But, then again, she literally was, as he switched direction in the pool, away from where he’d been going toward the shallows, and guided her to deeper water, up to his chest, near the waterfall where both their bodies took on buoyancy.

  His tone was strained. “Juliana…”

  There it was again—that sincerity of feeling, the assurance that he needed her as badly as she needed him.

  She wrapped her legs around him as his feet stayed anchored to the bottom of the pool. The waterfall sprayed them, poking at her skin like tiny needles.

  In his eyes, she saw so much: tenderness, profound desire, the excitement of finally getting what he wanted.

  He grabbed her by the hips, and she prepared herself, taking in a deep breath…

  …then heaving it out when he slid into her.

  For a moment, she didn’t move.

  It was just as she’d known it would be. He filled her up, hard and thick, and she’d never felt so whole.

  This was what she’d been holding out for. Tristan. Two becoming one, misting, melting…