Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  Finally, when she was squirming beneath him, crying out with tortured pleasure, he sent one hand down for the hem of the white garment, rucked around her thighs with her frantic movements. He ran a hand up her inner thigh, pushing it away from its neighbor. And settled that hand over her, touched her the way he’d been thinking about doing since the first day he’d met her. She was slick and wet with arousal, he discovered as he explored every fold and crevice. And unless he was mistaken, she was about two minutes away from orgasm.

  “Gabe,” she gasped, her head rolling back, neck arching. “Let my . . . arms go. I want to touch you.”

  “No. You’re going to come for me first. You’re going to do it right now.” He propped one elbow against the ground, his hand against her head, tangled in her hair. Bent his own head to that outstretched neck, sucked at her, bit her, held her there when her head wanted to thrash. Kept his other hand moving over her, faster and harder now, finding the way she liked it. The way that was pushing her up, and up higher. Her legs were stiffening as she got closer, her upper body beginning to arch. And then he felt it, the spasms taking her, the high wail she couldn’t keep from leaving her throat. The throat he held in his teeth, even as he held her fast with his hands.

  She was still shaking when he pulled the straps of her chemise up her arms. “Now you can touch me,” he told her. “Now that I’ve done what I had to do.”

  She stared up at him, still breathing hard, her eyes shining more green than gold in the sunlight. “Why did you do that? Hold me down?”

  “Because I wanted to,” he said honestly. “When I saw you doing your show, what I needed to do . . . I needed to hold your hands down like that and fuck you hard. And I couldn’t do that. So I did this instead.”

  Those eyes got even bigger. “Nobody’s ever said that to me.”

  “Well, I’m going to be saying it. Because it’s what I want to do to you. But right now, I need you to touch me, or I’m going to die right here.”

  She smiled. Pushed herself up on her elbows and shifted off her makeshift blanket. “Then trade me places. Because now I’m going to kiss you, and touch you, and love you. And you aren’t going to be able to do a thing about it.”

  She repaid the favor, then. She started with his arms. Put her hands around those biceps, felt the weight of them. Kissed him there, licking over the zigzags and arrows of his tattoo, feeling the muscle twitch under her mouth, his weight shifting beneath her as she moved her hands and mouth over him. Worked her way up to his shoulders, the slabs of muscle there. The smell of him, warm, and clean, and something that was . . . Gabe.

  “You washed,” she murmured against him, kissing his collarbones now.

  “Didn’t want to come to you dirty,” he groaned. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

  She kept kissing down his chest, her hands moving on him. Until she got to those flat brown nipples again. Licked slowly over one, then the other. Took one into her mouth and sucked as she moved her hands slowly down his body. Down his chest, over the ridges of his toned abdomen. She found the buttons of the cotton drawers and eased them open. Heard the harsh intake of breath as she held him at last, huge and pulsing, in her hand. Began to rub her hand over him, felt his hips begin to move, his hands coming up into her hair where she lay against his chest, her mouth still working on him.

  “I want to take you in my mouth,” she whispered as she continued to stroke him.

  “We can’t,” he groaned. “We can’t. If Danny comes . . . we’ve taken too long. And you can’t . . . show that.”

  “I know,” she said. Moved her hand faster, felt the response in him. “But when we can, just as soon as we can, I’m going to do it. I’m going to take you in my mouth. All the way inside. I’m going to take all of you. You’re going to hold my head, and show me how you like it. Tell me exactly what to do. And I’m going to do exactly what you tell me to. And then when you’re ready, you’re going to come, and I’m going to take that too. And I’m going to love it.”

  As she spoke, she felt him pushing harder against her, his breathing growing louder. And with her final words, he exploded, into her hand, over her. She waited until he was finished, reached for the towel, wiped it over him.

  “So how was that?” she asked him as he lay there, still gasping. “Payback? Did I manage to torture you a little?”

  “Payback.” He smiled up at her, his hands limp at his sides. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”

  “You know,” she said, reaching for her drawers with obvious reluctance, standing to pull them on as he began to gather his own clothes. “I’ve been waiting for that orgasm since I first met you. That’s how long that one’s been building.”

  “Since you first met me?” he asked, startled.

  “Well, at first I thought Alec was awfully cute too,” she admitted.

  “I knew it,” he groaned. “Losing out to the pretty boy again.”

  “But ever since that day you showed me how to chop wood . . .” He saw the color rise. “Ever since then, I’ve been . . . imagining.”

  “And here we are,” he sighed, “still imagining. Although it’s a lot more fun to do it together.” He shrugged into his shirt, buttoned it quickly, tucked it into his pants, and pulled up the suspenders. “We’d better get back. Poor Stanley’s probably run out of life story by now.”

  “What?” She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “He said he’d create a diversion,” Gabe explained. “Get Kevin talking about something too fascinating for Danny to want to miss out on. I shudder to think what’s happening back there. Stanley may never forgive me.”

  “He knows?” she asked in appalled disbelief. “Gabe. How am I ever going to look him in the eye again?”

  “He doesn’t know. I just said I needed some time with you.”

  “During my bath,” she said flatly. “Great.”

  “I have a feeling Stanley’s had sex a time or two in his life. I don’t think you’ve shocked him. Nothing you and I do together is wrong, or anything to be ashamed of. No matter what it is.”

  “No matter what it is?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “I have lots of things in mind,” he assured her. “Isn’t your imagination working pretty hard by now? I know mine is. Seems like the longer we’re out here, the more NC-17 my fantasies get. I have a pretty good list I’ve been working on. What about you? You said you’d been imagining.”

  “I have,” she said. She had her corset fastened now, was pulling her skirt on, dropping her head as she buttoned it, her hair falling around her face, hiding it from him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you seem to bring out my . . . wild side. So, yes. I have been.”

  “So what’s the one you want to try first?” He grinned at her reassuringly, handed her her blouse. “Here,” he decided, watching her fumble for the buttons. “Let me.”

  “Ummm . . .” she began, as his hands began fastening. “I can’t say. Not like this, looking at you. I’m not that wild yet, I guess.”

  “You want me to go first?” He slid the last button into its hole with regret and reached down for her apron, pulled it over her head. “We’ll start off easy, then. Oral sex.”

  He turned her, tied the strings in the back, then reached down to cup one round buttock in his hand, rub her there. “That’s pretty much at the top of my list,” he told her. He put both arms around her from behind, pulled her in tight against him. “I want you to do it to me, and if you want to do it the way you just told me . . . I’ll take that.”

  “And oh, baby,” he said fervently, “do I ever want to do it to you. For a long, long time. I want to tease you, draw it out, stop just short, over and over. Drive you up so high you’re calling out, and grabbing me by the hair, and begging me. And then I’m going to make you come so hard you scream. You’re going to be thinking it’s actually going to kill you.”

  He’d pulled her skirt up now. Had both hands up under there, and s
ure enough, she’d told the truth. Those drawers had a slit in them, open all the way. Oh, boy. This was going to make his life even more interesting. And meanwhile . . .

  “You want to hear another one?” he asked. “Or are you ready to share?”

  “Uh . . .” she moaned.

  He smiled, kept his hand moving, felt her legs trembling against him. “Still not talking, huh? OK, I’ll take the plunge. A lot of them involve the table in the cabin, since I’ve got kind of a limited menu here. I’ve had you from behind, bent all the way over it, your cheek right down against the wood, your hands holding onto the sides. Pushed you down on your back, wrapped your legs around me, and had you that way. I’ve even,” he said, bending for her neck again, murmuring against her skin between bites at her, “fastened you down to it. Because that’s just how nasty I am. I’ve had you tied by the wrists and ankles to the table legs with some of that clothesline. Got your hips at the edge, your legs pulled all the way apart. So you’re all the way tied up for me, completely helpless. Mine to use, any way I want, for just as long as I want. That’s one of my favorites.”

  “You’re going to . . . give me splinters,” she gasped.

  “Hey. Quit messing with my fantasy,” he frowned, rubbing a little harder in retaliation, feeling her delicious response to his words, his hands. “I’ll sand it first, how’s that. Or, oh, yeah. I like this. I’ll put you across my lap, naked, while I pull those splinters out of your ass.”

  “Ah . . .” she got out. “Maybe . . . a little less . . . medical.”

  “Mira. Are you telling me you’re a bad girl?” he asked, increasing the tempo. “Are you telling me you need a spanking?”

  “Oh . . . Oh, Gabe. I’m going to . . .”

  “Yes, you are. You’re going to do it right now. Come on. Give it to me. You know I want it. Give it to me.” His arms were holding her up now, his hand moving hard over her. And she was coming, just like that. Spasming against him, her breath coming in frantic gasps.

  “Well, well,” he said with satisfaction, releasing her skirt and letting it fall around her, but keeping his arms around her, holding her steady. “Who knew all that beautiful nastiness was hiding under there? I am such a lucky man.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “My knees are shaking. I didn’t know you were going to do that. Or say . . . all that.”

  “Neither did I.” He turned her in his arms to kiss her. “What can I say. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “And now you’re all hot and bothered again,” she said ruefully, reaching a hand down and closing it around him. “Do you want me to . . .”

  “No,” he sighed with regret. “We really do need to get back. And yeah, I’m going to be aching tonight. So what else is new.”

  Fighting for It

  Gabe might still be aching, but Mira was feeling good. Really good. And the glow of it lasted through the evening, stoked by Gabe’s goodnight kiss, his murmured words at the foot of her ladder. She even fell asleep instantly for once, her body not only tired but satisfied as well. The hum was still there the next morning, when he gave her a smile over breakfast that had her all but fanning herself.

  And then it was Saturday afternoon, and they were walking back to the Clearing again, and the glow was gone. Even Kevin was quiet today. They were all as apprehensive as she was, she guessed, about what lay ahead.

  Two giant but thinly sliced tree stumps positioned on their sides in the middle of the Clearing, the outer, bark-covered edges turned towards the spectators’ bench, and some smoke coming from both the wood stoves in the kitchen area, provided the only clues as they entered the big space.

  “What do you think?” Kevin asked. “Homestead or Safety challenge?”

  Stanley shrugged. “Could be anything.”

  “Welcome,” Cliff announced once the remaining eight homesteaders were standing before him. “Let’s get started right away. I know you’re all anxious to get to this one. And in case you’re wondering, yes, it’s a homestead challenge.” He nodded at the two production assistants who entered from the woods like some kind of medieval pages, each bearing a full-sized axe.

  “Let me guess,” Kevin said. “A fight to the death.”

  Cliff smiled a bit at that. “No, and not a wood-chopping contest either.”

  “Well, damn.” Kevin again. “Our ringer’s no use at all to us, then, in either case.” He nodded at Gabe. “Behold the Axemaster.”

  “That’s been noted,” Cliff said. “Which is why this one’s as much about accuracy as strength. You’re going to be throwing them. Each man gets three tosses from ten yards out. Five points for every time you make the axe stick into your target, which, by the way, is a massive two feet wide. Simple enough?”

  All the men nodded, not even Scott able to find an objection, seemingly.

  “Then if Rachel and Mira will take a seat,” Cliff said, “we’ll get to it.”

  Quickly enough, the women were seated on the rough bench, and the men were standing near their starting line. First up were Stanley and Calvin, each testing the heft of the big implement.

  Calvin looked across at his father. “Going to win this time if I can help it, Pop.”

  “You just try, boy,” Stanley grinned back. “You just try.”

  “First toss,” Cliff said. “Anytime you’re ready.”

  Calvin brought the big handle behind his head with both hands, took a couple practice swings, and let fly. The heavy axe sailed through the air, blade over handle, swished past barely left of the stump, and stuck in the grass several yards beyond.

  Stanley didn’t comment, just swung his own axe one-handed, the weight of it trivial in his massive arm, and let it go. The blade hit the stump, but bounced off.

  “Huh. Harder than it looks,” he grunted.

  Gabe and Alec, then. Alec’s axe falling short of the stump, and Gabe’s sailing just slightly right.

  “Four down, and nobody’s done it,” Cliff commented unnecessarily. “It takes some practice.”

  Mira pressed her hands tightly together between her knees as Scott and Kevin stepped up. Kevin’s throw was short. So far, the men were 0 for 5.

  “We’re going to sit here all afternoon,” Rachel muttered. “Just waiting for somebody to throw the thing into the damn tree.”

  Mira didn’t answer, her eyes on Scott. He’d played some basketball in high school, still played in a recreational league. The game suited his competitive nature, and he was good at it. She feared that might translate into success at this competition. And if there was one time she needed him to fail, it was now.

  Scott stepped up to the starting line, his body language confident. Swung the axe behind his head with both hands and let it go, exactly like a free throw. It sailed through the air and landed in the center of the bark-covered stump, to the deadly sound of silence from both sides.

  Scott stepped back, looked around defiantly. “That’s one to Arcadia,” he announced. “And two more to come.”

  Mira’s throat grew drier with each throw in the second round. Arcadia was still leading by that same stubborn point going into Round Three, and when the contest ended, Arcadia had scored five times, two of their successes coming from Scott. And Paradise’s total was four.

  “I knew there was a reason I hated P.E.,” Kevin said ruefully as his final throw hit the stump and fell to the side. He turned to Mira, gave her an exaggerated shrug. “Sorry. It’s on you.”

  “So, that’s Paradise with 20 points,” Cliff reminded them, “and Arcadia with 25. It’s up to the women now. Let’s head over to the kitchen.”

  “Sorry,” Kevin said again to Stanley and Gabe as the men followed the women toward the covered structure, already well heated now by the fire in two wood stoves. “I actually did try.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said shortly. He didn’t think he believed it. Kevin was athletic enough, and both Stanley and Gabe had made their final two tosses. But unless Gabe went home and discovered that Kevin had held the record f
or the javelin toss in high school, he’d never know the truth.

  He settled himself with the other men on the observation benches, and saw with dismay what the challenge was. The lard, flour, and rolling pin on Mira’s work table told the story, even if he hadn’t gathered it from her stricken face. Her nemesis. Pie.

  “How’s Rachel at pie, do you know?” he asked Kevin quietly.

  “No idea,” Kevin said. “She never made one before we came out here that I know of. Not all that domestic, my beloved sister.”

  “She’s fantastic at it,” came Scott’s vindictive tone from behind them. “Almost as good as I am at throwing an axe. You’re going down, asshole.”

  Gabe whirled on him, felt Stanley’s hand close on his arm in an iron grip. “Whoa,” the older man breathed. “Back off. He’s not worth it. Let Mira do her thing. She may surprise us.”

  “You’ve forgotten a little something, haven’t you?” Kevin had turned to speak to Scott as well.

  “What?” Scott asked belligerently.

  “That little matter of voting rights?” Kevin reminded him. “If we’d won, who would’ve gone home, do you think? You imagine Gabe was going to vote his girlfriend off?”

  Now it was Scott half-rising from his seat, his face purpling with anger, nobody seeming interested in holding him back, as Kevin continued. “Whereas if my sister turns out to bake a half-decent pie . . . Well, enjoy eating it tonight. Because it’s going to be the last one you get out here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mira told the little group wretchedly at the end of an hour’s labor. The outcome had been inevitable from the start, hardly needing Alma’s expert eye to declare the winner. Rachel’s piecrust seemed to roll itself into beautiful circles, her movements swift and competent. Whereas Mira’s seemed to have a mind of its own, pieces coming off and sticking to the rolling pin no matter how desperately she dusted it with flour.