Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  “Is she dead?” Harper asked finally. “I think it means she’s dead, that young girl going off on that pretty train car with the wrought-iron rail, all alone.”

  Zach tilted his head. “I don’t know. Look how the train car and the girl are like a separate painting within a painting. On a panel, like they’re waving goodbye to a billboard. Almost like she’s not real, and they’re waving goodbye to a memory.”

  “Maybe she is a memory, then. She’s dead and they’re remembering her. Look how the little boy has his back to her, holding his dad’s hand, looking at the ground. It’s like he doesn’t notice she’s going away.”

  “Maybe it’s an allegory,” Zach stepped in. “Death takes people away, but the memories live on, the good ones, if you’re old enough to remember, anyway. And life goes on for the living, whether they remember or not. That’s why she’s not sad, the girl. They’re sad, maybe, but they’re remembering her as she was, good-natured and jolly.”

  “Or is she not happy after all, there? Is she asking for help she can’t get? She doesn’t look that distressed, but I can’t tell if she’s genuinely happy.” Harper stepped closer as if proximity could give her the answer, but the girl’s enigmatic face yielded no answers.

  “I read up on his last time I was here,” commented Zach. “He’s supposed to be a little different from the European surrealists. One book called him a hopeful surrealist. As if the edge of total despair and bleak emptiness is tempered by just the smallest amount of hope.”

  “I like that,” Harper said. “The whisper of hope coming in. I mean, I love Dali because he’s crazy and wild and fantastic. And Magritte. But yeah, Dali’s pictures are pretty bleak, if you examine them. And Magritte’s are entirely lonely. I think it’s cool that someone tried to build hope right into their works.”

  Zach squeezed her hand. “The American in him, maybe?”

  Harper smiled. “Sure, why not? Isn’t that the American frontier spirit, after all? Just keep going and going, like the Energizer bunny. Never give up, always stay strong, always explore and claim and advance. Like an army or a virus.” She sighed. “But progress always, and that idealist dream that it will all be wonderful in the end someday.”

  “That’s what keeps us going, I think. That dream, that we’re going to build the life we want, the perfect one.” His voice sounded a little melancholy. “The hope that you’ll find what makes you complete.”

  “I think you’re right.” They stood side by side, examining the picture. “Maybe it’s really a reminder to seize the day. Take advantage of life while you can.”

  “So now let’s see that one you wanted. Fireflies.” Zach smiled at her, his face lighting up, and she caught her breath at this handsome man with his gorgeous eyes, smiling at her. For her.

  “Okay.” She smiled back, then, on a whim, reached up and ran a finger down his chiseled jaw.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “You lead the way, Harper.”

  As they walked through other galleries, catching tantalizing glimpses of color and form, she told him what she knew about the creator of the Fireflies exhibit. “This artist is from Japan. She’s amazing—she was one of the first women artists to break the gender barrier in the 1960s. She’s famous for her polka dots, her orange wig, and her avant garde art. And earlier, for her orgiastic photographs and sexual performance art.”

  “Wait, her what?” Zach stopped and raised his eyebrows. “You just threw that in there. Really?” A huge plate glass window behind him perfectly framed a desert tree in the courtyard, a living piece of art. Harper noticed how the shadows played on the floor, dancing softly. A docent stood at the side of the room, silent, a pleasant expression on her face, watching. Each room had a docent. It was both comforting and slightly annoying. Later, she’d ask Zach if he thought someday these docents would be replaced by robotic humanoids.

  Harper flushed. “She organized sex shows and photographed them. She was really very advanced for her time.”

  “I see.” Zach lowered his voice. “Is she, like thirty and hot?” He winked. “Just joking.”

  Harper punched him. “She’s like in her eighties now, she’s still funky and cool. She never lost her zest. Well, she voluntarily lived in a psychiatric hospital as an outpatient across from her gallery for decades. But that makes me even more in awe of her. No matter what demons she was fighting, she kept making her art. I love that about her.”

  “Another hint at the incredibly diverse art world that stems from Japan and Japanese culture,” Zach added. “Let’s see how it compares to the Philip C. Curtis stuff.”

  It didn’t compare at all. It was beyond comparisons, something new and unique, that she’d never seen before.

  “Zach!” she whispered, as they stepped into the room that held the installation, feet echoing slightly on the black granite floors, against the black Plexiglas ceiling. “God.”

  It was impossible to tell how large the room was, dark as it was, and completely full of ropes of tiny hanging LED lights and mirrored walls. The lights twinkled and flashed, different colors, different patterns, reflected over and over in the mirrors. She felt dizzy for a minute, like she was staring out into the entire universe, into eternity. “This is incredible.”

  She let go of his hand and tuned around, put her hands up like the girl in the Curtis portrait. “It’s like the entire galaxy in here, with us. Or we’re in it.” She felt awed, like she felt sometimes, rarely, in a place of great beauty or spirituality, like a cathedral. “How can something like this exist in a museum? It’s like we stepped into a portal into another world.”

  “It’s fantastic,” he agreed.

  “All I can see are lights and lights. It looks like they go on for miles, forever. I could run and run and never run out of space.” She turned, trying to find the edges of the room, yet not wanting to, not wanting to see the human effort behind the magic.

  “It’s like we’re inside of infinity,” Zach said eventually, his voice low.

  “It is. Anything could happen. I think this room—it’s like falling in love.” Her tone was hushed. “In love with life and art and everything. It’s like a carwash for the soul.” She turned to Zach, nearly missing him in the dark. “Don’t you feel sort of weightless, almost?”

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “Not when I’m with you.”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist. “I want to stay in here forever. For an hour at least. Just sit in here, in a deck chair, and look around, and nap, and look around again. I want this room to be ours, just for us.”

  “We came at a good time. It is ours, for right now, anyway.”

  “It’s even prettier than the view from above, the city view from Rustler’s Rooste. Because here we’re right inside all of the lights, you know?”

  “I agree.”

  “I want it forever. I want it to be mine.” She laughed self-consciously. “That sounds greedy. But it’s so… pretty. I have to soak it up inside me, so I have it always.” She took a deep breath and looked around again, imaging being in space, all of the lights all around her. “Do you have that feeling, ever? Like something is so good, so crazy unbelievably good and awesome and makes you feel so perfect, that you need to somehow etch that moment into your brain so you can remember it forever?”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed her again. “I do.” His voice was low and sure. “I do.”

  LATER ON, filled with the awe and joy of the day, Harper hummed to herself while organizing things she’d purchased from the gift shop: postcards that didn’t do justice to Fireflies but that she had to have; small trinkets that were artistic; and a hard-cover art book of Philip C. Curtis’ work. A book about Yayoi Kusuma, who’d lived a life so eccentric you would never believe it if it were a fictional novel. People who had jumped into their passion and lived it their entire lives.

  Zach was next door, calling into meetings, so she had some time to spend on her own, and she decided to drive around Phoenix without her camera, just
seeing the city. The bet was over, long over; it didn’t matter if she photographed things or not. But she liked the feeling of empty hands in her free time, for a change.

  Without the camera, she couldn’t take pictures. Without the camera, she didn’t need to take perfect pictures that completely captured the essential soul and moment of a place. She didn’t agonize over the light, the placement, her stance, the angles. She was free.

  She sat in a little café and watched the world, thinking about future projects, jotting ideas in her journal. A woman rode by on a bicycle, right next to a huge mural of a woman riding a bicycle. And it was okay that it went unphotographed.

  No matter what happened with Zach, she was going to come away from this trip with new experiences and insights into the world. Not just the fantastic sex, but the conversations, and the way the city came alive when they saw it together, like two people completing a circuit. And it was the first time in a long time that she’d allowed herself to exist without her camera, and she had to credit Zach for pushing her into that.

  It was okay to take time to just be by herself, to make her own moments, instead of capturing someone else’s moments. To plan for her own life, instead of documenting everyone else’s while hers passed by in the same instant.

  Whether Zach would be part of her future or not, she didn’t know for sure, but either way, she was going to be all right.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Harper, I present to you your very own private, tropical pool.” His eyes glinted dangerously in the light from the torches. “I’ve also arranged for a pitcher of Mai Tais. And is that hula music I hear?” He made a show of cupping his hand to his ear. “Why, it is!”

  “You really pulled off some magic to get us the honeymoon suite with the private pool for our last night here.”

  He smiled. “It was available for one night, and Jeremy comped it to us for our business. Now, it’s time to strip.” He pointed to the spot in front of his spread legs, and gave her a lazy smile. “Time to pay your bet.”

  “Zach!” She glanced around.

  “Remember what you said a while back? That if I provided you a tropical pool and Mai Tais and Hawaiian music, you’d strip right by the pool for me?”

  “But someone might see.”

  “Nobody will see you except for me. It’s private for a reason. Now.” He picked up his drink and took a sip, maintaining eye contact. “Unless, of course, you want me to spank you first.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, people might hear that.”

  “Well, then.” He twirled a finger. “Get started.”

  The bulge in his pants let her know exactly how eager he was for her to get started, and she smiled. “Since you asked so nicely.” She slid the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. “I might consider accommodating you.”

  “Oh, you’ll be accommodating me, all right,” he murmured.

  She tugged the stretchy fabric down her body. “Oh, is that so?”

  “Mmm hmm.” His eyes traced her movements. “Fuck, Harper, are you naked under that dress?” His voice rose.

  “Yes, I am. All night, too. When I was with you at the bar and everything.”

  “Holy fuck.” He put down his drink. “Now for that I really should punish you.”

  “Or you could reward me,” she whispered, running her hands over her breasts and pulling her nipples, then moving upward to toss her hair over her shoulder.

  “Maybe I’ll do both,” he said. “Come here.”

  She sashayed forward, then bent down to kiss him, and he reached up to pull her onto his lap.

  “Ride me,” he said, his voice low and silvery in the moonlight, so she acquiesced, putting one thigh on either side of his lap. “I’m going to touch you while we kiss,” he promised, “until you’re begging me to let you come. I want to hear you beg.”

  “I’m not going to beg,” she said.

  “We’ll see.” He trailed a finger up her thigh. “Want to bet on it?”

  “For?” Her eyelids flickered closed. He closed his mouth around one nipple and sucked, and she moaned.

  He released the nipple with a pop. “Pleasure,” he whispered. “If I don’t have you begging in five minutes, I’ll do whatever you want for the next ten minutes. But if you do beg, then you’ll please me in any way I desire.”

  “And all I have to do is to not beg you?” She opened her eyes and smirked. “Deal.”

  He laughed, and it sounded dangerous. “You ready?”

  “Sure. Go ahe… aaaaaah,” she murmured, as his palm cupped her mound and he put his mouth onto her other nipple. “God, that feels so good.”

  “Enjoy,” he said, and flicked her nipple with his tongue, again and again, then bit it gently so she cried out and arched into his body, wanting more than his palm touching between her thighs. He spread out his fingers, and she could feel the heat of each one of them pressing against her body, but still he didn’t make a move to stroke her clit, but just let his warm hand rest there while he continued to play with her breasts, first one, then the other.

  After a minute, she shifted, restless, needing more. “Zach,” she urged.

  “Yes?” he said, pulling her closer with his free hand, and speaking into her neck. The vibrations of his mouth made her shiver with anticipation.

  “I like that,” she said, not wanting to say anything that sounded remotely like a plea.

  “I thought you might,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  “But not enough to ooooooooh,” she sighed, because he inserted two fingers inside her pussy and used the flat of his hand to press up into her clit. She wiggled against him, needing more friction, more stimulation.

  He stroked inside her with his fingers, finding the spot that drove her wild, and she pushed harder into him, trying to get him to provide more stimulation. He put his other hand onto her back and pulled her to his mouth, this time treating her nipples more aggressively, biting harder, sucking longer, until she couldn’t stand it.

  “Zach!” she cried out.

  “Ready to beg?” he asked.

  “No, but I want… I wish…”

  “You don’t get to come,” he ordered her. “You come, you lose. This is all about whether or not you can make it the full five minutes without begging me for it.”

  “But I…”

  He reached his other hand behind her and inserted the tip of one finger into her anus, still stroking inside her with the fingers of his other hand, and she nearly imploded with need. She was climbing, climbing, but if he didn’t touch her clit right the fuck now she was going to have an orgasm that was weak. But she knew that if he just started working her clit, God, the release would be tremendous. Her thighs shuddered with the tension and finally she couldn’t stand it one second longer.

  “Zach, please.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said, please,” she whispered.

  “Why, Harper, it sounds a lot like you’re begging.” He sounded pleased. He continued working her with both hands.

  “It’s a request,” she gasped, as he flicked her clit and then stroked so softly she thought she might die. “A serious request.”

  “Just a request?” He did something with his hands that made her cry out in need.

  “Zach, please, okay, yes, I’ll beg, just please keep doing that, don’t stop,” she exclaimed, pushing into his body with hers.

  But to her dismay he removed his hands from her body and shifted her on his lap. “Winner’s choice,” he murmured, pulling her closer and speaking into her lips. “And after that, I’ll finish what I started.”

  “Zach!” Deprived of the orgasm, the loss almost painful, she nearly cried with frustration. “You can’t do that.”

  “Shhh, it will be even better when I build you up again,” he promised. “And now, I think we need to take this inside, because what I want requires comfort not available here by the poolside.” He stood up and scooped her up into his arms, and walked the few steps to their patio do
or, which he slid open with his foot. He deposited her onto the bed, then closed the door and the blinds.

  “Now.” He stood facing her, legs spread, arms crossed. “Be a good girl, Harper, and lie back on the pillow, hands by your head. Spread your legs as wide as you can.”

  When she widened her eyes, he held up a finger and warned her, although there was a smile in his eye, “Or else I’ll make you wait that much longer.”

  His eyes glittered with need, and she felt it, too, the unstoppable crush of passion in her blood. She lay back, locked in his gaze, put her hands up, and slid her thighs apart.

  “Good. Fuck.” He pulled off his swim trunks and stood there, gloriously naked, hard and long.

  He approached her and got onto the bed, put one of her legs over his shoulder, held her other thigh in his hand. “Where did we leave off?” He pulled her hips to him and bent his head down, and when he kissed her inner thigh, she moaned and twisted her hips, trying to push up to his tongue.

  “No,” he scolded her, with a small slap on her buttock. “Wait.”

  He kissed again, and stroked her body, then gave her the lightest lick right on her clit.

  It was like electricity, and she cried out, wanting more, but then he slid away from her body.

  “For my prize,” he whispered, “for winning the bet before, I want you dying for my touch, begging for me, while you suck my cock. The whole time I want you to be barely able to hold off, but you will, because I told you to wait. The sweetest torture you can imagine, being on the edge for so long, before I grant you release.”

  He lay down beside her, his hard cock jutting up. “Put your mouth on me, Harper.”

  At his command, she got onto all fours and bent over him, eager to taste him, feel him in her mouth. She licked the tip, and was gratified to hear him suck in his breath, to feel his thighs tense under her touch. Emboldened by his response, she took him into her mouth for a second, sucking hard, then released him with a pop.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” he murmured. “Keep doing that.”

  She swirled her tongue and licked, getting into a rhythm, learning what he liked from the way he responded to her with his body and voice. He got harder, if possible, when she deliberately took him deep into her throat. She shifted, trying to rub her thighs together, but it was ineffectual. She moaned, needing his touch.