He takes my hand as he leads me into the hallway, around the corner, to the third door on the right.
He slides the keycard into the lock.
The door flashes green. Ryan turns the handle and motions after you.
I step inside.
The room is gorgeous. And huge.
An orange and teal pineapple print comforter adorns the massive king bed. A matching blanket hangs over the teal sofa. Sheer white curtains fall over the sliding doors to the balcony.
I kick off my sandals. Sink into the scratchy carpet.
It’s half a dozen steps to the balcony. I pull the curtain aside, unlock the door, push it open.
Warm, sticky air greets me. Bright blue sky bleeds into the cerulean Pacific. The hotel pool is to the right. The freeway and the town beyond it are to the left.
It’s like something out of a postcard.
Hello from paradise.
Ryan’s footsteps move closer. He slides his arms around my waist. Brings his lips to my neck. “You look fucking adorable all contemplative.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He mumbles into my skin. “But it’s worrying me.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
Things I want to forget. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Paradise.”
“It really is. When it’s just the two of us and the rest of the world is far away, everything is perfect. I want that.”
“It is just the two of us.”
It is.
But the world isn’t far away.
It’s infecting my thoughts.
I press my lips together. There’s nothing to say. He’s been forthright about his feelings. It’s just, his feelings aren’t moving fast enough for me.
How can I be upset about that?
He warned me his head was a mess.
I knew his head was a mess.
The whole point of this exercise is bringing him closure.
We’re almost there. Three days, and we’ll be there. He’ll be mine. Or he’ll still be hers.
But I’ll know for sure.
I swallow hard. “I want to go to the pool.”
“Of course you do.” He brings his hands to my hips. Holds my body against his. “You’re part mermaid.”
“My hair is too short.”
“Why can’t mermaids have short hair?” He plants a soft kiss on my neck. “Why are you putting them in that box?”
“If mermaids were real, they’d be hairless and scaly. They’re basically porn for sailors.”
“They don’t have cunts.”
“Sailors love blow job.”
He chuckles. “Do they?”
“Yeah. Everyone knows that.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Maybe. But it’s true.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Find me a sailor who’s anti-fellatio. I dare you.”
His hands go to his sides as he takes a step backward. “Can’t say I give a fuck on anyone else’s opinions about fellatio.”
“Did you really just say fellatio?”
He laughs. “You said it first.” His smile spreads over his cheeks.
He looks happy.
Why can’t I feel that?
Why can’t I get over this mental image?
Why do I feel the same way I did as when I ran home to show off my report card and Mom’s I’m proud of you, honey was so slurred it was hollow?
His expression shifts to something dirty and demanding. “You want to suck me off.”
My cheeks flush. “Yes.”
“After.”
“You’re cruel.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“I know.”
He motions to my hot pink suitcase. “I want to strip you out of that bikini before I come on your tits.”
My sex clenches.
“I want you fucking desperate.”
I step inside the hotel room. Pull the sliding door closed. Press my ass against the cold glass.
It’s not enough to cool me down.
My stupid dress is in the way.
Ryan turns, sets his suitcase on the bed, starts unpacking. He’s effortlessly casual. Like he didn’t just promise to come on my chest.
I go to the bathroom—it’s as teal as the rest of the room—fill a glass with water, swallow it in one go.
It does nothing to dampen the heat racing through me.
But then I don’t want to cool off.
The buzz of desire is chasing away all the ugly thoughts in my head.
I strip to nothing in the bathroom. Saunter into the main room. Make a show of bending to unzip my suitcase and dig for my bikini.
Ryan drinks me in as I step into my swimsuit. His tongue slides over his lips. His pupils dilate. His cock strains against his jeans.
But he’s still effortless about stripping to nothing and stepping into his Speedo.
He’s actually wearing his Speedo.
God help me.
Warm water rushes over my skin as I jump into the pool.
I pull my arms to my sides to surface.
Blue sky fills my view. This pool is huge. And this part of it—the shallow end—is crowded. That’s no good.
I take Ryan’s hand and guide him into the tiny tunnel to our right. The air goes cold as the sun disappears. We pass the swim up bar—who sits at a bar when they could frolic around the pool—then come up to the back of a waterfall.
“On three?” I offer.
He chuckles as he presses his palm into my lower back. “You first.”
“Chicken?”
“I’m here for the view.”
My cheeks flush. The heat of his gaze makes my heart race.
I grab onto everything that makes sense. He wants me and I want him and we’re half naked in paradise.
My hips sway as I step under the waterfall.
Cool water pounds my head and shoulders. My hair sticks to my forehead. My bikini threatens to come undone.
Still, I stay under the waterfall.
I hold my hand over my eyes and look out at the other side of the pool. The deep end. It’s surrounded by people with books and cocktails, but the pool itself is empty.
Which means it’s ours.
The world is ours. Right now, I feel it. I need to hold onto that.
I turn around. I can only barely see Ryan through the blur of running water. He’s all hair and light skin and black fabric.
Barely any fabric. But still too much.
I bring my fingers to my lips, blow him a kiss, and fall backward in the water.
Fuck, this pool feels good.
I push off the bottom. Glide toward the deep end. Three long, slow underwater strokes and I emerge.
The deep end is a huge circle twenty feet wide. Lawn chairs line one side. Fake rocks and plants line the other. They make an almost-natural jungle gym, with high spots and nooks and baby waterfalls.
I spin in the middle of the pool. Watch Ryan swim toward me.
God, the way his shoulders flex and relax. The lines of ink running down his back. The sunlight casting him in a soft glow.
He’s a good swimmer, but I’m better. I dive under the water and glide to the waterfall behind me.
I surface in front of the blur of white-blue.
Water pounds my head as I enter. The world gets darker, more diffuse. Blue sky and sunlight filter through the running water, breaking into fragments of light and color.
Someone moves closer.
The illusion breaks as Ryan glides past the running water.
There’s just enough space for both of us.
I scoot backward, find a seat on a curved section of the wall.
He moves closer.
Closer.
Until he’s pinning me against the wall. “You’re fucking brilliant.”
I nod.
“Fuck, you have no idea what I want to do to you right now.” His fingers trace a line down my neck. Over the strap
of my bikini.
He traces its line into the water, over my triangle top, over my breastbone, along the other triangle.
Slowly, he pushes one triangle aside, exposing me.
No one can see—you can’t see anything past the running water—but I still feel like I’m on display.
My sex clenches from the exhibition of it.
He cups my breast with his palm. Drags his thumb against my nipple. It’s different in the water. Smoother and harder at the same time.
He watches as he pulls the other triangle aside.
My breast spills from my bikini.
I’m topless in a pool packed with a hundred people.
My thoughts dissolve as he covers me with his palm. Teases my nipples with his thumbs.
“Fuck.” I bite my lip. Try to wrap my legs around him.
He plants one hand on the curved wall beneath me. But he stays floating. He’s right there, but his body isn’t connecting with mine.
The water is between us.
I bring my hands to his ass. Pull him closer.
There.
His crotch brushes mine.
He’s hard.
I want that. I want it here. I don’t care that someone could see. That I won’t be able to keep quiet. That I’ll probably get arrested.
I only care about getting my fill of Ryan.
He slides his arm around me. Uses it to hold himself in place as he toys with my breasts.
“You’re fucking perfect.” He presses his lips to my neck. “I ever tell you that?”
I shake my head.
“Fuck.” He presses his lips to my neck as he pulls one triangle over my breast, covering me. “I’m gonna come if I keep this up.”
“That isn’t a problem.”
“Yeah, it is.” He adjusts my swimsuit, returning it to its rightful place. “I’m not coming until I get those pretty red lips around my cock.
He pushes back, through the waterfall, to the massive pool.
I take back the control I can. Lead him to the steps then push off them. Back to the deep end.
He chases me around the pool, under the water, through the tiny tunnel, back to the packed shallow end.
He wraps his arms around me.
Holds my body against his as he brings his lips to my ears. “I’m gonna get you back for that, baby.”
“I know.”
He shakes his head. “No, Leigh. You have no fucking idea.”
Chapter 39
Leighton
By the time we’re alone in the elevator, I’m not sure which of us is torturing the other.
He tugs at the towel wrapped around my chest. Watches as it hits the floor with a thud.
His eyes trace my body. He does it slowly, like I’m a work of art. Like it’s the first time. Like he’s memorizing every line.
But is that because he needs every ounce of me?
Or because he knows this might be the last time?
No. We have another day and a half until the dinner. There’s no way we’ll make it a day and a half without stripping to nothing.
But then maybe he—
My thoughts dissolve as he brings his lips to mine. His kiss is hard, hungry. Like he’s claiming me. Like he’s desperate for every drop of me.
I try to rise to my tiptoes, but I slip on the slick floor.
There.
My feet find the towel. Still, it’s too slippery. I can’t move. I can’t get closer. Or break our embrace.
I want both. And neither. I want to tell him I love him. And I want to run a million miles away from anything that might hurt.
How can I let myself fall harder?
How can I stop myself?
It’s Ryan.
He’s everything.
The elevator dings. He shifts his hips, releasing me. He bends to scoop my towel and drapes it over his arm.
He steps into the hallway. Turns to me with a smug smile as he unwraps his towel and drapes it over mine.
He’s just as beautiful with soft orange wall paper and fluorescent light surrounding him.
His wet hair sticks to his forehead.
A bead of water drips off his chin. It traces a line down his chest and stomach. Beneath his belly button. Past that soft tuft of hair. All the way to the waistband of his swimsuit.
I swallow hard.
He takes my hand. Leads me to our hotel room. It’s only a few dozen feet, but it feels like a million miles. I need him. I need the world disappearing again. I need to lose myself in my lust.
He stops at the door.
Oh. I have the key.
I slide it into the lock. Watch it flash green. Turn the handle.
I step inside.
He follows.
The door slams shut.
Sunlight streams through the sheer curtains.
We’re alone again. And I feel it. I feel that the world is ours.
I move into the room. Into the wide-open space between the couch and the balcony.
Ryan places his body behind mine, his chest against my back, his crotch against my ass.
His breath warms my ear. “You like being on display, baby?”
“Yes.”
His voice drops to something low and demanding. “Pull the curtains.”
My sex clenches. My feet sink into the carpet as I move to the sliding door. There. I grab the plastic rod and pull it all the way to the right.
The room gets brighter.
The light gets harsher.
It bounces off the glass with a glare.
It casts highlights over Ryan’s hair, shoulders, stomach.
Casts shadows behind him.
It means something, shadows being behind him, but I can’t connect the dots. Not with my brain screaming need Ryan now.
“Come here,” he demands.
It’s three steps to him.
His fingertips skim my hips. He traces a line over my hips, up my side and chest, along my shoulder, up my neck, along my chin.
He catches my lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
Slowly, he slides the digit into my mouth.
My eyelids press together as my lips close around him. I suck the taste of chlorine off his finger. Until it’s just Ryan’s skin.
But it’s not enough.
A thumb isn’t enough.
I need him in my mouth.
My eyelids blink open. Find his. He’s in that same trance of lust, but there’s something else in his expression. This sense of control. Like he knows exactly how to work me.
He’s like this with everything he does—an in-control perfectionist.
And, fuck, he really is good at this.
He drags the fleshy pad of his thumb across my lip. Over my chin. Down my neck and chest.
He takes his time tracing the outline of my triangle top.
His touch is light. His fingers slide along my slick skin with barely any friction.
I’m ready to beg him to touch me properly when he drags his fingertips down my stomach.
He traces the waist of my bikini bottom.
His fingers curl into the straps. They toy with the bow holding the right side together.
Then the left.
Then he’s brushing his fingers against my sex, pressing the wet Lycra against me.
I need it gone.
I need his hands on my skin.
I need him as desperate as I am.
Slowly, he drags his fingertips up my stomach. He traces a triangle to its tip, follows the halter strap.
He tugs the bow undone.
Peels my bikini top from my skin.
His pupils dilate as he brings his hands to my chest.
He toys with my nipples. It’s different than it was in the water. Less smooth. More intense.
He draws circles around my tender buds. It starts soft—I can barely feel it—then gets harder.
Desire pools between my legs. This feels so fucking good, but I need more.
I shimmy out of my bikini bottom
s then kick them aside.
I move closer.
My hands skim his hips. I trace the waist of his speedo. Cup him over the swimsuit.
He’s hard. I need that. I need him out of his fucking mind.
His hands curl around my wrists. “Not yet.”
My sigh is a whine. Now. I need him now.
He releases my right wrist. Brings his hand to my breast. Toys with my nipple again and again.
My eyelids press together.
My sex clenches.
Every brush of his fingers winds me up. The tension in my sex builds. It gets higher, deeper, tighter.
My body buzzes with desire.
And all from his hands on my chest.
“Fuck.” I reach for him. Get his chest. Dig my fingers into his firm flesh. “Ryan.”
He moves to my other breast. Teases it just as mercilessly.
Finally, he releases his grip on my wrist.
Both hands go to my chest.
His rolls my nipples between his thumb and index finger. It sends a pang straight to my sex.
He does it harder.
Harder.
“Fuck.” It’s the only word I have. The only way to explain what he does to me.
He toys with me again and again.
Winds me up.
Gets me panting.
Fuck. I’m aching with desire.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he demands.
I do.
He wraps his fingers around my wrist and brings my hand to his cock. I cup him over his swimsuit. Rub the soft, wet fabric against his hard flesh.
His lips part with a groan.
His eyelids press together.
His brow furrows and softens.
Mmm. He looks so fucking good wracked with pleasure.
I need more. But I need to stay in this trance too.
To feel like I’m under his spell.
I rub him over his swimsuit. Watch pleasure spill over his expression.
His eyes blink open.
He stares back at me. Stares into me. Into some part no one else sees.
He brings his palm to my cheek. Runs his thumb along my lower lip.
He pulls his hand back. Rests his thumb on my chin. “On your knees, baby.”
Yes.
My body cries with relief.
I need his pleasure. More than I need mine. More than I need to come.
And I really fucking need to come.
I bring my hands to his hips. Use them for support to lower myself onto my knees.
He leans down to slide his thumb between my lips.
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