Captain

by Lauren Rowe

  I press myself forcefully into his hard-on, shutting him up. “Do you have protection?” I grit out.

  He nods furiously.

  “Then, let’s use it.”

  “Thank you, lord.”

  In a matter of seconds, he’s got us both stripped down to our underwear and I’m ogling his jaw-dropping muscles and tattoos and—oh my God!—his two pierced nipples! Holy hell, I think I’m about to faint from sheer arousal at the mere sight of him! But my stunned ogling is short-lived because, in seconds, we’re absolutely mauling each other against the wall, our breathing hot and urgent, his murmurs of “Oh my God” and “You’re so fucking gorgeous” and “I’ve waited so fucking long” reverberating in my ear.

  He removes my bra with dire urgency and the instant my breasts tumble out of their bondage, he leans down and sucks greedily on my left nipple, whispering about how my breasts are “perfect” and how he’s “waited his entire life” for this moment.

  I run my fingers furiously through his hair and claw at his broad shoulders and, finally, when I can’t contain my fervor any longer, I grip his hair and pull his face off my nipple and lean down and return the favor, swirling one of his unbelievably hot nipple piercings in my mouth. Oh, God, this is heaven on earth. Why the hell did I think I had to be in a committed relationship to do this with a man? I was a freaking fool.

  Ryan slams me against the wall again and yanks my undies to the floor, and the next thing I know, he’s kneeling before me, his large hands gripping my ass like it’s a life preserver thrown to a drowning man, his warm, wet mouth voraciously consuming my throbbing clit.

  Sweet Mary and Joseph. I’m rapidly coming undone.

  A weird sound escapes my throat—good lord, I’m cooing like a mutant dove possessed by the devil.

  Ryan moans from between my legs. “Come for me, mind-fucker,” he whispers. “Come on, baby.”

  He slides his fingers deep inside me while his tongue continues its glorious assault on my clit, and my body clenches sharply, just once, around his fingers.

  “That’s it, mind-fucker,” he says. “Come on, baby. Oh, God, I’m so fucking turned on.” He increases the intensity of his fingers’ and tongue’s movement, and, suddenly, it’s like he’s turned up the flames on my gas grill.

  I grip Ryan’s hair violently and smash my crotch into his hungry mouth, all manner of crazy-ass sounds and exclamations and expletives spewing from my mouth.

  “That’s it, sociopath,” he murmurs. “Oh, God, you taste good.”

  My skin pricks.

  My toes curl.

  Heat floods my crotch.

  My abdomen burns.

  And that’s it.

  A tsunami of pleasure rips through me, a torrent of deliciousness that makes every freaking muscle enveloping Ryan’s hand wrench and twist and clench.

  I throw my head back into the wall, completely enraptured—oh, thank you, Jesus! After a full year without this exquisite sensation, I’m suddenly certain I can’t go another day without it, ever again.

  In a flash, Ryan’s lips are on mine and we’re groping and gasping and kissing like our lives depend on it. I reach into his briefs, desperate to stroke him, and when I grip his massive erection, much to my shock, my fingers meet with an unexpected sensation: a tiny loop of metal at the base of his dick.

  My hand freezes.

  “I’m pierced,” he whispers hoarsely. He peels off his briefs and tosses them onto the floor and I’m treated to the vision of Ryan Morgan in all his naked glory: insane muscles, sexy tattoos, pierced nipples (oh my God!), and an exceptionally large dick that’s... yup... pierced at the spot where his penis meets his torso.

  I stare at Ryan’s pierced hard-on for a very long beat, my heart and clit pounding with equal force. Wow. His piercing is a thin metal ring about the size of a quarter with a small metal ball at its center arc. Fascinating. I’ve never seen a dick piercing before, actually (and have never had any particular curiosity to do so); but, now that I’m seeing Ryan’s, I must admit, it’s hella sexy. He’s a work of art, from head to toe (and from arms and chest to nipple to dick). I let out a shaky breath, blood flooding my crotch. “Did that hurt?” I ask.

  Ryan’s practically gasping for air. “When I got it? No, not too bad. And any pain was well worth it.”

  “Because it heightens your pleasure?”

  He smiles like a shark. “No, sweetheart. Because it’s gonna heighten yours.” With that, he grabs his pants off the floor, fishes into his pocket, and pulls out a foil packet—and, ten seconds later, he’s looking up from his condom-covered erection, a look of white-hot desire on his face. “I’ve waited so long to get inside you.”

  I make a face like he’s full of shit. “Yeah, I’m sure the ten minutes it took for me to walk from the lobby to your room was excruciating for you.”

  His eyes darken. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Without warning, he turns me around, presses me into the wall, and grips my hair, his body hulking over my backside.

  I gasp, utterly shocked at my unexpectedly vulnerable position—and how much I like it.

  He leans into my ear and whispers, “You’re a mind-fucker. You know that?”

  Maybe I should be scared right now at his flash of rage toward me, but I’m not at all: the only thing I’m feeling right now is excitement... and a sudden desire to twist the knife. “Little white lies,” I grit out, straining against his grip on my hair. “It was a victimless crime, asshole. At least I’m not a lying, cheating sack of shit like you.”

  He grips my ass and leans into my ear and I feel his erection poking my ass. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, you fucking sociopath.” He slides his hand between my legs and begins caressing me and my body seizes with pleasure. “Were you even gonna show up for dinner the next night?” he whispers. “Or was standing me up part of the fun?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but a groan comes out instead. Oh, man, I don’t know what he’s doing down there between my legs—nobody’s ever touched me quite like this before—but, damn, it feels amazing. “Fuck you,” I whisper. “If anyone’s a sociopath, it’s you, fuckboy.” Oh, God, his hand between my legs is magical. And I must admit I’m digging this hatred-thing we’ve got going on right now. It’s sick as fuck—but damn near the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  “Did you like mind-fucking me, baby?” he whispers into my ear.

  His hand between my legs is absolutely owning me while his other hand grips my hair firmly and his dick presses ferociously into my ass.

  “I loved it,” I reply.

  Without warning, he growls like a grizzly bear and spanks my ass—and, much to my shock, my clit and everything attached to it spasms violently in response. I groan loudly, my arousal spiking like crazy.

  “Oh, you like being spanked, mind-fucker? Shocker,” he growls, just before spanking me again.

  I open my mouth to chastise him—to tell him he’s got no right to smack my ass like that and that it’s demeaning and kinda hurts, but the words are halted when, much to my utter shock and relief and pleasure and absolute gratitude, I’m suddenly (and quite involuntarily) making that demon-possessed-pigeon sound again, only, this time, ten times louder than before. One more spank and my body releases with the best orgasm of my life, by far, not even a contest. My insides are warping, wrenching, buckling from a place so deep inside me, I didn’t even know it existed before this moment.

  In a frenzy of heat, he enters me from behind, still yanking my hair mercilessly, and begins riding me ’til I’m moaning and growling and begging him not to stop.

  “Say my name, sociopath,” he commands, and I do. Oh, God, yes, I do. In this moment, I’d do anything this man demanded of me—literally, anything—if only he’d promise to never, ever stop fucking me like this.

  I come. Again. It’s impossible, but true.

  My knees are wobbling.

  I’m gasping for air.

  But he
’s not done with me yet.

  He spins me around to face him, shoves my sweaty back roughly against the wall, and, thank the lord, enters me again, all the effing way.

  “Samantha,” he chokes out as his hard-on nails me against the wall. “I’ve waited so long.”

  I throw my arms around his neck and my thighs around his waist and, in response, he grabs my ass and picks me up and bangs me into the wall, kissing me voraciously as he fucks me, impaling me ferociously like he’s trying to pin me to the wall like a grocery list on a bulletin board.

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?” he breathes, his thrusts beastly.

  I cry out, his piercing driving me absolutely wild in this new position. Oh, for the love of all things holy, that little metal ball banging against my clit feels so effing good, it should be illegal. Oh, Jesus, I’ve never felt anything quite like this. It’s absolutely tormenting me. I feel like a wild animal, completely out of control. Why the hell have I spent my entire life thinking the pinnacle of sexual satisfaction can only happen between soulmates? Ha! Clearly, that’s not the case.

  “You like that, baby?” Ryan growls into my ear.

  I babble something completely incoherent in reply (something that involves calling him a “fuckwad,” I think) and he smashes his lips into mine and grabs my hair, his shaft pumping deliciously in and out of me, that little metal ball sending me into pure ecstasy. Oh my effing God. I’m nonverbal. Utterly, savagely, completely enraptured. I swear, if this asshole asked me to marry him right now, I’d say “hell yes,” if only he’d promise to fuck me exactly like this twice a day, every day, for the rest of my life.

  “New position,” he whispers. “You need a new position to get you there again.”

  I beg to differ, but my opinion apparently doesn’t matter at the moment.

  Ryan quickly guides my slack body onto the floor, his eyes burning and his brow beaded with sweat, hikes my thighs up around his shoulders, and furiously mounts me. And, glory be, the minute he starts grinding his hips in a way that makes that little metal ball hit my clit with deadly precision, I come underneath him, convulsing and growling like a grizzly bear possessed.

  “Samantha,” he whispers into my ear again, the passion and intensity in his voice heart-stopping. Good lord, when he says my fake name, why does it sound like he’s saying a sacred prayer? “Samantha. Oh, God, baby, I’m gonna come. Oh, fuck. Samantha.”

  He jerks and shudders and groans loudly, clearly experiencing one hell of a release, and I wrap my thighs around him and grab his ass and kiss his mouth and, basically, feel like I’m being infused with a very illegal drug.

  When Ryan’s body finally stops bucking and quaking, he kisses my cheek and rolls off me onto his back, and for a long moment, we lie silently on the floor like two sweaty sardines in a can, our chests heaving violently with our effort.

  “Holy fuck,” Ryan finally murmurs after a long moment. “Samantha the Randy Flight Attendant is hot as fuck.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “And Kat’s brother is a fucking sex god.”

  Ryan’s breathing is ragged. “You ever come that hard before, mind-fucker?”

  “No, asshole, I haven’t, as a matter of fact. Not even close.”

  Ryan exhales a long breath. “Yeah, me, either. Not by a long shot. Holy shit, that was epic. I actually thought I was gonna die.”

  I can’t believe my ears. Ryan’s never come that hard before? Not ‘by a long shot’? How is that possible? I’d have thought this manwhore would have made a career out of coming exactly that hard with all his many conquests. I mean, come on, this is the guy who traded numbers with some woman in a restaurant the minute his girlfriend got up to use the restroom, and then went to a bar that same night to do it again, so I can only imagine how many partners this fucker has in any given week. (Plus, come on, the guy’s got a piercing at the base of his dick designed for nothing but giving women orgasms. Clearly, Ryan Morgan’s a fuck machine.)

  Ryan pulls the condom off his dick, ties a knot at its top, and lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “And that’s what’s known as ‘fulfilling my master plan,’ baby.”

  Chapter 27

  Ryan

  “God, you’re an asshole,” Samantha (or T-Rod or Tessa or whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is) says through clenched teeth, abruptly sitting up.

  I laugh. “It was a joke.”

  She glares at me.

  “You sincerely think fucking you here, in Hawaii, in the hotel where my sister’s getting married—after finding out you Leonardo-DiCaprio’d me—was all precisely according to the ‘master plan’ I brilliantly hatched three months ago at The Pine Box?”

  She can’t keep from smiling.

  “Sweetheart,” I say, “if this crazy-as-fuck shit show is how I intended to execute my ‘master plan’ to bone the fuck outta ya, then I really should be using my incredible powers at commanding the universe for something a bit more high-minded than getting laid. You know, like brokering world peace or manipulating the stock market?”

  Samantha-T-Rod-Tessa makes an adorable face. “Actually, you didn’t execute your master plan,” she sniffs. “Not as stated, anyway.”

  “Excuse me? Are you experiencing pleasure-induced amnesia? I just made you come, like, four times.”

  She smirks. “Yes, but you said your master plan was to ‘get me into your bed.’” She motions to the neatly made, fluffy white bed across the room. “If you’re gonna be so cocky as to call your shot, you’d better sink your damned shot, as called.”

  We both laugh.

  Damn. For the past three months, I’ve been so busy watching that damned Enrique Iglesias video and thinking about how sexy Samantha is, I’d forgotten how funny she is, too. “Fair enough,” I say. “I’ll be sure to sink my shot exactly as called next time, Argentina.”

  “There won’t be a next time, Romeo,” she says. “This was a one-time lapse in judgment that, as of this moment, never happened.”

  I pick up the semen-filled condom-balloon next to me and hold it up. “Pretty sure it happened.”

  She shrugs. “I have no memory of how that sperm got inside that condom. In fact, who are you? Have we met? And why is my crotch throbbing?”

  “Why bother with post-coitus bullshit? We both know what we just did rocked both our worlds and we can’t wait to do it again. Why waste valuable time denying that when we should be talking about where round two’s gonna happen—my room or yours?”

  “Sorry, Colby. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Oh, wait. I’m sorry. You’re Keane. Damn you Morgan brothers, you all look the same to me.”

  “Could we please skip the bullshit? Thanks.”

  “Oh, you wanna skip the bullshit now? Well, guess what? I would have liked to skip the bullshit three months ago when your girlfriend blasted into the bar and called me a ‘cunt.’”

  “Here we go. Olivia wasn’t my girlfriend by then. I’d already broken up with her earlier that day. And if we’re gonna talk about that night in the bar, then let’s back up a wee bit and start the discussion with, ‘What the fuck were you doing wearing a fucking flight attendant uniform, Leonardo DiCaprio?’”

  “It was a victimless crime, you big cry-baby,” she says, but before I can reply, her phone pings loudly in her bag a few feet away on the floor and she grabs it. “Shit,” she blurts, looking at her phone. She hurriedly stands and grabs her underpants and bra off the floor. “Fuck!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You mean besides the fact that I just slept with a cheating, lying manwhore without an ounce of integrity in his entire, tattooed, pierced, perfect body?”

  “Yeah, besides that.”

  “You mean besides the fact that I’m trapped on an island for a full week with said manwhore and will likely see him at least once a year for the rest of my life at birthday parties for Gracie Louise?”

  “Yeah, besides that stuff, too.”

  She finishes clasping her bra and bends down to gather her sundr
ess off the floor. “The travel agent just texted me. There’s some sort of glitch with the airport transportation for Josh’s fraternity brothers and their plus-ones, all of whom will be touching down at the airport any minute now.” She pulls her dress over her head. “Not to mention, the activities director texted to tell me Josh’s Uncle William and the Faraday group is currently en route from the airport—a group I’ve got to personally greet because, based on past experience, William Faraday is inevitably gonna have a thousand unexpected issues with his bungalow, no matter how objectively perfect it is, and I’m the only one who always knows how to smooth things over with that finicky fucker. So, if I don’t get my ass to that lobby right now, we’re most likely gonna be playing Musical Bungalows with Uncle William for at least an hour ’til he’s fully satisfied.” She turns her back to me, implicitly asking me to zip up her dress, which I do. “God, I never should have done this,” she mutters.

  I stride to my suitcase to grab a pair of swim trunks and slip them on. “Aw, come on. You can’t possibly regret having the best sex of your life.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t. But why’d I have to do it today? If I wanted to live dangerously for the first time in my life, I should have picked another time (and, preferably, another guy, but that’s a whole other story).”

  “I notice you didn’t deny you just had the best sex of your life. And, sweetheart, trust me, you didn’t come like that because you were living dangerously for the first time—you came like that because you were fucking me. I’m the secret sauce. No one else could have done that to you.”

  She sits on a chair and begins strapping on her heels. “Well, when I have meaningless sex with the next guy, I’ll let you know if you’re right about that.”

  My entire body revolts at the thought of her fucking anyone but me, but I clench my teeth and force myself not to wig out. I grab a T-shirt from my suitcase and pull it over my head, taking deep breaths to steady myself. “You didn’t answer my question. Why were you wearing the uniform?”