“Jennings,” Whitley whispers. “Thank you.”
“For what, Pretty Girl?”
She nuzzles deeper into my body and shakes her head. “For bringing me here. For getting in my cab all those months ago,” she stops, but I know she wants to say more. I want her to say more. I have so much going on in my head; I can only imagine what’s going through hers.
“Don’t thank me, Whit.”
She sits up and rests her chin on my pec. “Why not?” Her voice little.
“I’ve brought a lot of chaos into your life. I should thank you for sticking around. For as much madness I’ve brought to you, you’ve brought me calmness.”
She smiles and looks down. “We’re a mess, you know that?”
I smirk and massage her back. “I know. But, we are a mess together.”
A knock breaks our talk and Whit sits up while I go to the door. Collins is standing outside.
“We’re about to dock, Jennings. Is there any further instruction for the crew?”
“No. Thanks, Collins. You are all welcome to stay at the house on the north side of the island or you can go back to Playa del Carmen. The house is fully stocked with all of the essentials, so there isn’t a need to go back out for food. Think of it as a vacation for all of us. There are jet skis in the garage and boats that you are all free to use as you see fit.”
Collins face turns red, stunned. “You? Sir, you want us to stay and vacation on the island?”
“Of course.”
He grabs my hand and shakes it, feverously. “Sir, I can’t thank you enough.” He checks his watch. “ETA is about five minutes.”
I shake his hand again, feeling better about asking them to come here on such short notice. “Sounds good.”
He salutes and walks to wheelhouse.
I close the door and turn to Whitley. She’s got her knees up, and her arms are wrapped around her legs. With her head resting on top of them, she grins. “You just made his day, you know that?”
I shrug a shoulder, returning to the bed to sit next to her.
“You really are sweet, Jennings Cohen.”
“Shhh.” I bring my finger to my lips. “No one can know that.”
She straightens her legs, pivoting her ankles. “Brownies honor.”
I laugh and bring my lips to hers; kissing her until another knock on the door lets us know we’ve arrived.
This is my first time being here, and the house was only finished being built last week. The furniture arrived three days ago, and the maid brought food yesterday. So, as Whitley and I hop off the quad, walking hand in hand up the steps of the house, my mouth falls open. The house I envisioned is sitting right in front of me, and it’s better than I could have ever imagined.
The stone archway of the entrance showcases all of the beautiful textures of the Mexican territory. The subtle blues, oranges, yellow and greens scatter all over the front of the house. The white shutters cover every window while the bright blue door brings flair to the three-bedroom house.
“It looks so great,” I breathe, astonished.
Staring wide-eyed, Whitley hasn’t moved from her spot. Palm trees and large, rock-like stepping-stones welcome us to the home, while the ocean splashes somewhere against the shore. The house sits exactly in the middle of the island. Two miles wide all around, it’s big enough to sit two houses. The second house was already here when I bought the land. It was run down and I hired someone to fix it up. Workers Headquarters houses at least fifteen people, which is more than enough considering I hardly ever take more than ten people with me at a time.
The closest tourist island to us is only a mile or two south and I figured this is the best place to find a little peace.
“Welcome to Isla de la Luna y las Estellas, Whit,” I whisper into her ear when my arms snake around her.
She sighs, letting her head lean against mine. Humming, she repeats the words in English, “Island of the Moon and Stars.”
Taking her hand, we walk to the house. Using my key, I christen the lock for the first time and listen to the gears click.
We step in and I look around.
“This place is amazing, Jennings.”
The bright oranges and reds cascade over all of the walls. Bright yellow couches and different colored pillows sit in the living room. We make our way to the kitchen and the mosaic countertops jump as we walk in. The antique, one-door refrigerator hums and I open it. Bottled Coca-Cola, frosty and cold, sit on the top shelf and I grab a couple, handing one to Whit. She smiles brightly and pops the top, taking a drink. A bead of moisture from the bottle falls down her chest and I watch it fall further down. When it disappears underneath her shirt, I shake my head.
I journey past the carved-by-hand eight-person table, and walk to the master bedroom. The white, canopy bed sits in the middle of the room. The barely see-through sheets that hang on the sides move and dance in the breeze. Whit walks quietly behind me, and I turn to look at her. Eyes wide, she takes in everything the house has to offer. Setting her soda down, she walks to the queen size bed and plops down.
“Would it be completely inappropriate if I jumped on the bed?” she prompts, looking reluctant.
I give a good belly laugh, and spread out my hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
She shoots up, takes her sandals off and, in one swift hop, she lands on the bed. Bending at the knees she bounces. I sit down in a white armchair across the room and watch her as she lets loose. This is another one of those moments that is so rare, that I feel the intense want to capture this moment forever. She jumps with glee, squeaking with happiness with each bounce. Every time her feet come off of the bed, her arms go into the air. Her long blonde hair bobs with each movement, and she pushes it out of her face, just like the way she did it that day I ran into her at the beach.
“Jump with me, Jennings.”
Any macho doucheface would tell her to keep jumping and have fun. That he would sit in the chair and watch. But, I want to keep her smile fully intact for as long as possible. So, I take off my slip-on, stitched loafers and approach the bed. Whitley stops her jumping and watches me as I copy her. The moment my feet hit the soft plush of the bed, she grabs my hands and bounces. Over and over, we laugh and jump like kids. Carefree and lighthearted, it’s been years since I’ve genuinely laughed this hard.
Eventually, we stop and fall into the bed. Nighttime has appeared and the faint slosh of the ocean is the only noise in the entire house. Breathing hard, Whitley looks to me. Red cheeked and happy, she catches my face in her hand. Cupping the back of her head with mine, I move slowly toward her, hovering close to her lips. She licks them and my dick jumps at attention. She notices and skirts her hand down, over my white knit button shirt to the hem of my pants. Her fingertips skim the top of the skin above my erect cock and I suck in a breath. She hasn’t looked away from me, and her breath dances over my face, straining to maintain our distance. With one hand, she unbuttons my jeans, and I grab her hand, guiding it to my shaft. She grabs the middle and with my hand on top of hers, we move up and down, making me groan out a husky, “Fuuuck.”
I move my eyes from her penetrating gray ones and look to where she’s got me in her grasp. She moans as she watches and I look back to her. I watch her, watching me. I look at her mouth, her eyes, her chest. Breathing rapidly, I find myself drifting further away. Every time our hands reach the head of my cock, a moan escapes from her lips and I pump further into her.
“Whit,” I strain. “Look at me.”
She forces herself to look away and into my eyes. I move the last few inches between us and bring her mouth to mine. So warm and sweet, this kiss feels different. Her, doing this to me, giving me a hand job, doesn’t just feel like your run-of-the-mill jack-off. This feels intimate. Connecting. We are no longer what we were before. What we are now, I have no idea, but I don’t want it to stop. I want to be gentle and rough. I want her to surrender everything to me, let me control her. Just here, in these momen
ts. I want her to let me take care of her.
Her strokes on my dick match our kisses and I slow us down, wanting to make the most of this time. I open my mouth just a bit and suck on her bottom lip, making her gasp. God, I’d give anything to lift her up and fuck her against the wall, on a chair, in the kitchen. Anywhere.
“I love touching you,” she breathes out, quiet.
“Fuck,” I groan, tension pouring out of every pore on my body. “You’re very good at it.”
She lets go of my cock, pulling at her shirt, up and over her head. Guiding her hand back to me, she slaps my hand away, and I move it to cup her breast. Kissing down her chest, I take her nipple in her mouth, giving it a tug then blowing on it, watching the peak pucker. Another moan from Whitley, and I have to remind myself that this is all new to her—hell, me too. Jennings before Whitley would have taken sex over this any day. But, this, with her, this is something different. Perfect. My very being wants to posses her, brand her, and mark her forever. The need, the want, it’s bursting against my chest, clawing to get out. I pulse in her hand and it spurs her to move faster.
“Squeeze, Pretty Girl,” I whisper.
She does as I say. The pleasure she’s giving me from touching me like this, the idea of her and where we are, rocks my world. The taste and scent of her skin, so smooth and soft, I suck on her breast, hoping to leave a mark. Her responsiveness, the little sounds of pleasure almost sends me too high. I’ve haven’t felt this turned on in a very long time. Before Whitley, this feeling was nonexistent.
My dick jerks in her hand, making Whitley respond by pulling harder, faster, with more fervor. I shouldn’t come this quick—this is embarrassing—but right now, I don’t give a shit. My mind goes to another place. A place where I fall into her, filling her, watching her wither underneath me in pleasure. Leaning further into her, I bite her neck, making her body bow to mine. She moans loudly into my ear and my thoughts distort. My world flashes white hot. Bright and unforgiving. Every nerve in my body stands at attention, like being shocked. The hair on my body rises on end and heat crawls up my back. And I come, long and with force all over her hand and my stomach. With a quiet groan, she slows her assault and pulls at me until my breathing slows down.
After we clean up, we return to the room. The bottle of wine sitting in the bucket catches her eye and she opens it, taking a sip. Opening her suitcase, she looks to me, slipping off her jeans.
“What?” I ask, a lazy grin on my face. She’s undressing in front of me without a second thought, I can’t help but feel prideful.
She shakes her head. “Nothing—that was…” she trails off.
“Fucking amazing?”
She smiles. “It was, wasn’t it?”
I pull her to me. “It really was.” And, I kiss her, moving my hand low. Goose bumps rise on her skin as I make my way toward her lace underwear.
Her breathing picks up and she looks to me, fascinated.
My fingers dip inside and I suck in a breath. “You shaved?”
Her head falls back, not responding.
“Christ, Whitley. You’re so fucking soft.”
“Jennings,” she struggles to talk. “No one has ever touched me like this.”
My fingers stop. “What?”
She sobers a bit. “What?”
“A first?” I ask, beaming with arrogance.
She whimpers as my fingers slip between her lips, hitting her clit. “Yes.”
“Dammnit, Whitley,” I groan out, wanting to put my mouth on her. “I bet you taste so good.”
She falls against the wall. “I’ve imagined it so many times, Jennings. That would be another first.”
Pain. I’m literally struggling to keep my ravenous self under control. I grow in size thinking about taking her. “I wager your taste would dissolve on my tongue. So fucking perfect.”
She sits on my fingers hard and my thumb circles her.
“I bet you touch yourself.”
Her eyes close. “Mmm, sometimes.”
I add another finger gently. “With just your fingers or do you use toys?”
She gruffs. “Both.”
“I can bet you love this. You love my fingers fucking you. Do you like it, Whitley?”
She ahh’s. “God, Jennings.” She widens her legs, giving me better access. “I had no idea you were so dirty.”
I grab at her lips forcefully, taking them hostage. “You like it.”
She nods, her eyes cloudy as she returns her mouth to mine. I move into her harder, with more fluidity.
“Do you fantasize about us? This?” she asks when I let her mouth go.
“Every fucking day,” I admit. “There isn’t a second I don’t think about being with you. Like this. Any way I can get you. You’ve invaded every thought.”
Oh God, she’s so wet. Frantic noises leave her lips and she bites her bottom one.
I growl. Taking my fingers out, I trail the wetness over her lips, my mouth following in their trail.
Shit.
I was right.
So sweet. All woman. Her taste, mixed with sip of wine she took makes my mind go haywire.
I quickly shove her underwear to the floor, making her step out of them. Her body hums in anticipation. I hunger to skyrocket her.
“Oh God…”
“Shhh,” I tell her, as my fingers enter again.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t what? Don’t go any further?” I taunt.
She looks into my eyes, both hazy and pointed. She shakes her head. “You better not stop, Jennings Cohen.”
I bring my mouth to her neck, biting. “Grab hold of me.”
She anxiously pushes my boxer briefs down and takes a firm grasp. I groan in answer. I push deeper, harder into her, circling my thumb to her clit in tiny, rapid motions.
She’s close. Her body vibrates around my fingers and I can taste her climax in the air.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” She’s never been touched like this; I want to hear her say it.
She hums.
“Say it.”
She pumps faster with one hand, and grabs onto my shoulder with the other, anchoring us together.
“I’m about to…” she trails off, closing her eyes.
I slow down. “No, look at me and say it, dammit.”
“God.” She practically hiccups, taking a firmer stance and a tougher grasp on my dick. “I’m coming.”
Thank fuck. My head falls to the side of hers and she contracts around my fingers as hot fluid surges into her hand. Restrained against the wall, her chest rises and falls in rapid motions as she tries to catch her breath. Warm and sweet, it cascades over my neck.
“That was…” she tries to say.
“Great?”
She nods her head against mine. “So great,” she gasps, another surge of electricity jolting through her as I run my fingers up and down her opening.
“Good.”
I remove my fingers and take one last taste, bringing them to my mouth. She watches in fascination and her eyes shine.
“Want another taste?”
She gestures and I slam my lips on hers. Her tongue slips into my mouth and I know she can taste herself. That hint of her mingles with my tongue and she sucks on it, rough. My hand smashes onto the wall, trying to find stability. It’s so easy to lose control with her. She takes me to another realm.
When we break apart she smiles, satisfied and pleased.
Letting her go, I walk to the bathroom, giving her a wink in the mirror. I can see her still standing against the wall, combing her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks magnificent.
The doors are open and the sheer sheet blows in the breeze. She looks outside and stops. Covering her bits, she turns to me, fuming.
Uh-oh.
“Jennings Cohen.” She stomps, looking way too adorable for someone who looks so pissed. “Damn you. Someone could have seen us!” She furiously points at the open doors.
I laug
h, walking to her. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I massage. “Pretty Girl, all of the workers are at least a mile away at their house. The Captain texted me about an hour ago to tell me that everyone had gone to bed and to call him if we needed anything.”
Her stiff posture deflates and she gives me an innocent smile. “Sorry?”
I kiss her forehead. “I’ll take care of you, Whitley.”
She steps closer to me, pulling me into an embrace. “Okay.”
We drag ourselves out of bed just after eight in the morning. A damn parrot outside squawked a shrieking decimal until we were forced to throw him fruit. He sat in my kitchen, in the fruit bowl until I cracked the watermelon open and offered him a piece. Fucking bird made himself at home on the back patio, but at least I got him out of the house.
“If it wasn’t so pretty.” Whitley rubs her eyes as she rises from the bed. “I’d tell you to shoot the Tweety Bird.”
I laugh over my shoulder and pull my jeans on. “Tweety wasn’t a parrot, you goof.”
Her face scrunches. “Whatever, he had yellow feathers.”
I snort and seek a shirt. “So, I was thinking we could go into town today. Do a little sight-seeing and eat.”
She smacks my ass and kisses my cheek as she passes me, going to the bathroom. Turning the shower on, she turns to the sink to brush her teeth. “Sounds perfect.”
“There’s a little taco shop in the middle of town, and tons of tourist spots we could check out.”
Taking her shirt off, she steps into the shower and steam fills the room. “Okay,” she yells over the spray of the water. “Can we stop and get me a dress?”
I halt in my tracks. “A dress?”
She forcefully opens the curtain, bubbles in her hair. “Shush. When in Mexico and all that.” She waves at the air.
“Okay, dress first, then exploring.”
She kisses the air and finishes her shower.
“Can we hang out in the hammocks later?” Whitley asks as we pass the two floating beds.
I guide her to the boat garage. “Actually, we’ll probably be gone all day, and I have a surprise for you tonight. Tomorrow?”
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