by Whitley Cox
“But of course,” he teased. “I’ve planned the entire night.”
“Including the skinny dipping?”
“But of course.” He opened up the big basket and pulled out two plush white towels. He wrapped one around my shoulders and pulled it tight in front of me; his hands ran up and down my arms to help warm me up, not that I was cold.
He hurriedly dried his own body and then gave a quick pass of the towel over his hair before tying it provocatively around his waist so that it slung low and inviting. His eyes caught mine and where they were staring.
“I want to lick that line,” I said huskily, running my tongue between my lips and enjoying the salty tang from the sea water.
“Whatever you want, baby,” he purred. “But first . . . what I want. No saying ‘no,’ right? I want to fulfill as many of your fantasies as I can, Parker. I think I know more of what you want than you do. No saying ‘no,’ okay?”
I nodded. “W-what do you want to do?”
A wily grin flashed across his face before he whipped the towel off of me and scooped me up, laying me down gently on the soft blanket. He reached for his shorts and fumbled for a moment in the pocket, then he pulled something out.
“I want to brand you.”
“What?” I moved to sit up, but he quickly swung a leg over my waist and straddled me, his cock lying thick and ready along his taut belly. An opalescent bead of pre-cum sat on the tip, and I licked my lips again at the thought of tasting him.
“Not actually brand you. But I want to mark you . . . for a bit. It’s not permanent, even though Sharpie says so. But I want you to remember me for the next few days when you strip and look at yourself in the mirror. I don’t just want my bruises and bite marks to be the only reminder. I want . . .” He trailed off for a second, and his Adam’s apple jogged thick in his throat. “I want you to remember me. My name. I want you to look down at your body when you touch yourself in the shower, when you’re in bed and using your fingers or vibrator in your beautiful pussy. I want you to grab your tits and read my name as you come, picture me inside you, fucking you hard. Say my name as you climax. Because you’re mine, Parker.”
My chest heaved, and all I could do was nod again. I would never say “no” to this man.
He popped off the cap of the Sharpie and brought the tip down to the creamy swell of my breast, and then in big, bold, but beautiful cursive script, he wrote his name. Tate William McAllister. He did it again to the other breast, signing his name, branding me just like he’d said. The cool felt tip of the marker was weird at first, it didn’t hurt, but as he slowly wrote his name, dragging the damp ink across my flesh, I started to feel a deep pooling in my belly and between my legs. It tickled, then it started to feel good. Down across my ribs he continued to scrawl, to mark, to own. Writing his name, over and over again, making me his. Laying claim. And with each gentle stroke of the marker, my pussy grew wetter, and the ache in my belly grew stronger. My nipples pulsed from the pain of needing to be touched, to be licked and pulled and bitten. I wanted his chin to scape across the sensitive buds until I writhed and squirmed on the blanket and begged him to stop, because if he didn’t, I’d come.
He did one final sweep, then sat up.
“And now here,” he said, moving off my torso and slinking down onto his belly, where he spread me wide and proceeded to write TATE on the top of my pubic bone. He wrote his full name again on each of my inner thighs. While he was writing, I brought my hands up and started to caress my breasts. I needed to ease the dull ache. I pinched my diamond-hard nubs and pulled them away from my body, feeling them pulse hot and quick between my fingers.
Tate looked up from what he was doing, and a big smile wandered across his face. He loved it when I took my pleasure into my own hands.
“How does that feel?” he asked, blowing cool air on my throbbing cleft. My hips jerked off the blanket, and I moaned.
“So good. Especially because it’s you.”
“Do you want more?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Always more.
“On your stomach, woman. Stick that gorgeous ass up in the air for me then.”
I swallowed hard, then did as he demanded. He helped me, positioning and molding my knees and legs just how he wanted, so my pussy and ass were on display for his inspection. A curious finger ran up my cleft, and he groaned.
“You’re so wet for me, Parker. And I haven’t even touched you, not really. Are you always this easy to turn on?”
“No,” I sighed. “Never. It’s all you.”
“Would you like me to eat your pussy, or would you like me to finish signing my name on your luscious body and then eat your pussy?”
“Decisions, decisions,” I murmured, not actually knowing which one I wanted more.
A hard and silence-piercing slap landed on my backside, and I yelped. I craned my head around to look at him.
He grinned back at me. “Any more sass like that, and I’ll tan your ass until you won’t be able to sit down on your flight tomorrow without wincing. Got it?”
Holy sweet baby Jesus! Yes, I got it. And I wanted more of it.
Now! Forever.
No man had ever spanked me. No man had ever expressed interest. I’d never expressed interest, and yet one slap from Tate and I wanted to open up the dialogue and let him spank my ass until it was good and red.
“Got it?” he asked again.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Now, what would you rather, Parker?”
“Um.”
Whack!
“That one was because you’re taking too long to decide. And because I think you’re enjoying the spanking.”
A trickle of wetness dripped down my inner thigh and onto the blanket, and at that moment, all I wanted was for Tate to stick his fingers inside me and make me come. But I also wanted his name. I wanted his brand. I wanted it all.
“Y-your name first. Make me yours first, please.”
A primal growl behind me made my pussy clench and my nipples tighten even harder. And then, just because I think we both needed it, both craved it, he rammed his cock inside me and fucked me hard for thirty seconds. Not enough for either of us to get off, but just enough to satisfy the want, the desire for the intimate contact. I whimpered when he withdrew from my body, but the way his hands kneaded and caressed my backside had me mewling and pushing my ass into him, begging for more.
“I’m going to write my full name on each of your perfect cheeks,” he said, as he began to slowly drag the pen across the meatiest park of my left buttock. I had to really stop myself from pushing into his ministrations; I didn’t want to ruin his art. But it was torture. Even the simplicity of the act, the Sharpie being gently raked across my tender flesh, the sweeping movements of the pen, had me damn near close to orgasm.
A final dot of the i in McAllister, and he was done, and suddenly I wished for more. I wanted him to cover every square inch of my body in his name. Tattoo me, brand me, claim me, mark me as his. But I hardly had a moment to be verklempt before a velvety softness swept up between my folds from behind, swirling and twirling around my clit, while two fingers spread me wide, then plunged inside. I couldn’t stop myself, and I bucked into his face, eager for him to drink me down and push me off the cliff.
He hummed softly before his mouth left my skin. A sob escaped me. The man was torturing me. Slowly, softly, erotically, he drew his fingers from my channel and slid them up between my cheeks, his fingers circling my tender rosette.
“Tell me, Parker. Have you ever had a man take you here?”
I thought for sure he was going to push a finger inside, but instead I felt something softer, something warm. Holy mother of God, it was his tongue! He poked, once, twice, three times, before pulling away and replacing it with his finger again. He swirled his slick digit around my forbidden hole, but he didn’t push. He was waiting for my answer.
“Hmm, Parker? Have you?”
My throat was thick,
and my heart was beating a million beats a second. “N-no. I haven’t.”
“Never?” He seemed almost shocked. “You’ve never even tried? Not even a finger?”
I shook my head. “N-no. No man has ever asked. I’ve never brought it up.”
“Hmm,” he hummed again. “It’s a shame you’re leaving tomorrow. I’d love to claim your ass. Work you over, stretch you out, get you primed, prepped and ready for my cock.” He let out a weighted sigh, one that mimicked the loss in my own heart. “Pleasure, orgasms like you’ve only ever dreamed of, Parker. That’s what I would do for you.”
Yes! Yes, please, I wanted to say. Take me there. Stretch me out. Prep me, prime me. Make me ready. Make me yours. I want to try it. I want to try it all with you.
Hell, the man had already ruined me for other men, probably any and all other men out there. Never again would I be able to be with a man who routinely shaved. No, I had to have the beard. And now, I wanted a man with tattoos. I wanted a man who was philanthropic and modest, whose staff adored him, who could deep-sea fish, scuba dive and fly a helicopter. I didn’t want to settle for a man who had only ticked one or two things off this list, I wanted a man who ticked everything off on this list. I wanted Tate.
Another soft wet poke, and my whole body shook. “Is it one of your dark and secret fantasies, Parker? To be taken here. To be touched . . . here?” His tongue swept up my crevice, then swirled around my rosette before being replaced again with an inquisitive finger.
“It is now.” I sighed.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to claim your ass, make it mine? Show you a new level of pleasure you’ve only ever dreamed of?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Tate.”
I could practically hear the lump bob in his throat. “Parker,” he finally breathed. His fingers resumed their slow and evocative journey around my slick flesh, in and around my anus and then back down to gather more of my wetness. He’d graze my clit periodically, sending a zing of pleasure and need flying through me up to the crown of my head, then right back down to my toes.
“Take me, Tate,” I practically pleaded. “I won’t say ‘no’ to you. Take me . . . please.”
Another growl, this time deeper; so deep, so raspy, it sounded more like a snarl. The kind of noise a beastly creature might make right before it devoured its prey . . . or claimed its mate.
“I—I can’t. There’s not enough time. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I swallowed. “You won’t. I can take it.”
He was quiet again for a moment, but this time his fingers didn’t stop. I felt the push of his erection at the juncture of my thighs, and I spread my legs wider so he could enter me. Gently, languidly he embedded himself inside me, stilling for just a moment before picking up the pace and starting to thrust. I moaned from how good it felt, from how good he felt, his hands roaming my skin while his cock pumped hard and true inside me. But I wanted more. I wanted what he’d offered. I wanted to try new things, experience and explore new possibilities. He’d opened up this door and I’d only just walked through it, into a whole new exciting and sexual world. I wasn’t ready to close it. Not now. Not ever.
“Stick a . . . stick a finger . . . ” I trailed off.
“Tell me, Parker,” he grunted. “Ask for it. Tell me your fantasy. Tell me what you want.”
“Stick a finger in my ass, Tate!” I finally cried, perhaps a tad too loudly as well. But I didn’t care. I wanted it. Now!
He groaned. “Oh, fuck.” His slippery digits moved around and around my tight hole. “You’re sure?”
“NOW!”
Pressure—foreign, weird, divine pressure unlike anything I’d ever experienced before—had me inhaling and then puckering on instinct.
“Relax,” he cooed. “Relax.”
His other hand came down and around in front of me, and he started working rough and effective circles mixed with light smacks on my clit, until my whole body felt nothing but good. My muscles relaxed, and I let out a sigh. I pushed my backside further into him, eager for more of his cock inside me, for more of his finger.
“Push out,” he whispered. “Relax and push out, Parker. That’s it. Good girl. Holy fuck, you’re tight. My cock would destroy you, baby.” He pushed in a little further, and I felt my eyes threaten to disappear into the back of my head. Then he moved that curious finger back and forth a few times, in and out of my body. His cock followed the rhythm and did the same. “How does that feel?”
“So . . . so good,” I moaned.
“You like that?”
“Mhmm.”
“You want more, baby?”
“Yes . . . please.”
He pulled his finger out of me, and there was more pressure. This time I immediately relaxed my muscles and pushed out. Pressure again, followed by a mild bit of stretching and discomfort, a small bite of pain, and then holy frickin’ hell. Two fingers were so much better than one. In and out he pumped, fucking my ass with his fingers while his cock drove hard and swift into my quivering center. I was close, so close.
“Tate,” I said with a sigh. “Tate.” I bent down onto my elbows and pressed my cheek into the blanket, the smell of sand and salt filling my nostrils as a sudden gust of wind swept over my damp body, sending a rush of gooseflesh chasing across my skin.
“Parker,” he growled.
“Tate, I’m so close.”
Those devious fingers started to smack my clit, just like he knew I loved, while those other fingers pumped deep and dirty into my secret place and his cock fucked me hard and swift. My whole body shook with the need to let go. The orgasm was there, brewing and building and threatening to unleash.
“I . . . I can’t hold on,” I said, choking out the words as if his hands were on my throat just like they had been on the boat.
“Don’t hold on, Parker. Let go. Come for me, baby. Come hard.”
His finger and thumb pulled my swollen clit until I thought I was going to pass out. Then he pinched, pulled again and delivered one hard smack, and I was done. Gone. Lost. Falling. Over the precipice I tumbled, head-first, eyes closed, not caring where I landed, because the free-fall was just that glorious. Waves and surges of pleasure coursed through me, radiating out from new and never-before-touched erogenous zones while my clit pulsed and my pussy trembled with each unrelenting buck of his hips.
“Tate!” was all I could say. Over and over again, his name spilled from my lips as I let the climax unfold, shredding my very soul, until there was nothing left. I was not the Parker Ryan that had shown up at The Windward Hibiscus ten days ago. I was a completely new woman. New outlook, new desires, new interests; a whole new person. And it was all because of Tate.
I’d been so caught up in my own pleasure that, much like our first time, I wasn’t even sure if Tate had come. I hadn’t heard him, and I hadn’t felt him. Had my orgasm been so intense, had I been calling out his name so loudly I didn’t hear him come?
Once my body stopped quivering, he slowly withdrew and spun me over on to my back.
“You okay?” he asked.
I blinked up at him and nodded. All the candles around us had gone out now. There was nothing but the stars and moon left to shed us any light. Shadows cut deep into his chiseled cheeks, while harsh lines and edgy angles made him look all the more masculine and menacing. My mysterious, handsome billionaire. A breath caught in my throat as I took in this beautiful man, who was, at least for the next several hours, all mine.
“Did you come?” I asked, my hand traveling up to cup his cheek and bring his lips down to mine. He grazed them across gently but then pulled away.
A deep, rumbling chuckle started in his chest and shook his whole body. “Yes. Were you too caught up in your own euphoria again to notice?”
I nibbled on my bottom lip before answering. “Perhaps.”
“Well, good.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Let’s get dressed, clean up and head back to your room, where I can fuck you prop
erly in a bed. I’m not saying this wasn’t fun, because it was. But I’d like to do you up right in a bed. A lady should be fucked in a bed.”
I snorted. “You just licked my ass and fucked me on a beach blanket. What does that make me right now?”
He tossed me my tank top. “A fucking filthy lady.”
Chapter Thirteen
We fell into bed that night like savages, tearing off each other’s clothes as if they were on fire, desperate for skin-to-skin, skin in skin. I needed to feel his flesh beneath my fingertips as I clawed up his back and bit his pectoral until he hissed out from the divine pain. It didn’t matter that we’d just screwed like horny cavemen on the beach in the dark. Once was not enough. I needed more. We both did.
I needed Tate to fuck me like there was no tomorrow, because for us, there wasn’t one. I’d be gone by lunchtime. My room would be cleaned and cleared out of my dirty towels and garbage, and by two o’clock, someone new would take up residence. Would it be the same with Tate? Would someone else take up residence in his heart by this time tomorrow?
“Stay the night?” I asked, hating how needy I sounded but hoping that it drove my point, my hope, my wish, home. “Please.” It was my last night on the island; I left tomorrow, and after all this time, we’d never spent the night together.
Sitting up and pulling his boxers on, he shook his head. “I can’t, babe. I’m sorry. But I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the pool, then we’ll have breakfast, come back here, screw one more time, and I’ll drive you to the airport, okay?” His back was to me, and I watched as his muscles flexed and strained when he reached for his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head.
Quickly wiping away the tear that was threatening to make a break for it down my cheek, I put my head down, allowing my hair to cover my face. I was desperate not to let him see me cry. “Oh. Okay. Tomorrow, then. Sure.”