The Club

by Lauren Rowe

  “You like it?”

  I nod sheepishly. “But you’ve already done too much. I’ve got plenty of clothes.”

  “The white will be gorgeous against your skin.”

  I open my mouth to protest. He’s done too much already.

  “Seeing you in that dress is going to be your gift to me. We’ll call it a bonus payment.”

  I laugh.

  “Go get your size, baby. I want you to wear it for me tonight.”

  I’m giddy. The dress really is stunning. “Thank you.” I have to admit, I’m thrilled. I trot over to the dress rack to look at the sizes while he hones in on a rack filled with jewelry and key chains.

  “And pick out a pair of earrings, too,” he calls over to me.

  “No, Jonas, that’s too much. Just the dress.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just have to pick out a pair for you,” he says.

  I flash him a huge smile and turn my attention back to the dress rack. I hold the dress up. The embroidered trim is breathtaking.

  Behind my back, I hear Jonas talking to the old woman behind the cash register. “We’ll take the dress—the white one she’s holding,” he says. “Plus these earrings. And both of these, too. Gracias.”

  “Están ustedes de luna de miel?” the woman asks him.

  “Sí,” Jonas replies, smiling.

  “Felicitaciones.”

  I whip my head to look at Jonas. He’s nodding and smiling at the old woman, but clearly he didn’t catch what she said. Based on that Americano accent of his, I gather Spanish isn’t his strong suit—but even if he understands a bit, he clearly misunderstood what the old woman asked him. Oh boy, when I translate for him later, he’s going to laugh that he replied yes to her question.

  Outside the store, Jonas shows me the earrings he picked out for me. They’re silver and turquoise—a lovely complement to the dress.

  “They’re perfect,” I gush. “Thank you.”

  “I thought they’d look pretty with the dress.” There it is again—that I’m-treating-you-like-my-girlfriend look. It melts me.

  “I love them, Jonas.” I kiss him. “Thank you. For everything. You’re so generous.”

  “You’re welcome.” He takes a big breath. “And there’s just one more thing.” He reaches into his plastic bag and pulls out two handmade bracelets, identically woven with multi-colored yarn. They’re friendship bracelets, basically—the kind of thing crafty teenage girls might make for each other back home. He grabs my wrist and starts fastening my bracelet around it, a shy smile on his face. How cute is this man to give me a Belizian friendship bracelet? One minute he’s talking about his hard-on and the next minute he’s a fourth grader with a crush.

  “You’re so adorable,” I say, feeling rather fourth-grader-ish myself.

  He fastens the other bracelet on his own wrist. “As a member of the Jonas Faraday Club—the sole member—you need a color-coded bracelet.”

  “Oh yeah.” I laugh. “To designate my freaky-ass ‘sexual preferences.’” I look at the multi-colored bracelet on my arm. “I’m not a purple?”

  “No, you’re not a purple.” His tone just called me a big dummy. “Neither am I. We’re a brand new color—a color designated for just the two of us.” He holds his wrist right next to mine. “We’re a perfect match.”

  Chapter 26

  Jonas

  Fucking finally.

  I lick my lips.

  As much as I thoroughly enjoyed seeing her in her new white sundress at dinner—and she was even more beautiful in it than I could have imagined—I’m not sad to see that pretty dress crumpled on the floor right now. I reach around her back and unclasp her bra. I love the way her breasts fall when freed from their cruel bondage.

  She looks drunk—and not from the rum punch we drank at dinner. No, she’s drunk with arousal. Damn, she’s ready to go off like a rocket. And so am I.

  I press play on the song I’ve cued up for this moment. “Madness” by Muse. There’s no better song to express what I’m feeling. This song is telling her my truth with every word and note.

  The minute we walked through the door after dinner, I ripped my clothes off unceremoniously, and she immediately followed suit, pulling her dress off and throwing it onto the floor with a loud whoop. It turned me on. But then again, everything she does turns me on.

  “Lie down,” I command, motioning to the bed.

  She complies without hesitation, crawling on her hands and knees onto the bed like a cat. The sight of her white G-string disappearing up her delectable ass almost brings me to my knees.

  “On your back,” I order, barely able to breathe.

  She complies and stretches herself out to her full length, her dark hair unfurling onto the pillow around her face. Her breathing is shallow. She’s already twitching with excited anticipation about what’s about to happen to her—oh man, anticipation is eating her alive right now. Well, guess what? Anticipation can move the fuck over—I’m the only one who gets to eat her alive from now on.

  The singer from Muse is telling her my truth.

  I crawl onto the bed, growling and spreading her legs as I approach. She arches her back, yearning for me. Without warning, I dive down and bite savagely at her G-string. She shrieks in surprise. I take the fabric in my teeth and shake my jaw like a dog with a chew toy, breaking the elastic waistband and ripping the remnants off her in one fell swoop.

  She gasps.

  I see my sweet target. It looks utterly delicious. But not yet.

  I climb on top of her and kiss her mouth, my hard-on pressing insistently into her thigh. She wraps her arms around me, her pelvis reflexively tilting up and thrusting toward me, inviting me to enter her.

  Madness.

  I caress between her legs ever so gently, my fingers barely skimming the tip of her, and she moans softly. I dip my finger into her—oh God, she’s so ready for me—and bring my finger to my mouth. “You taste so good,” I whisper hoarsely. I dip my finger into her again and bring it to her mouth. She sucks it voraciously. “So good,” I breathe again, and she nods, writhing under me.

  My wet finger glides back down and finds her tip. It’s erect—hard and slippery against my fingertip. I can barely breathe.

  Madness.

  My lips find her breasts as my fingers move in and out of her. Her nipples are hard and at full attention. I lick one of them for a moment and then let my mouth trail down to her belly. She moans softly.

  My tongue finds the inside of her thigh.

  “Jonas,” she whispers, exhaling a shaky breath and arching her back.

  I can’t hold off anymore. My lips move to her sweet spot, to the glorious pussy I’ve been yearning to lick for half my life. I kiss her again and again and again, making love to her wetness with my lips and tongue.

  “Yes,” she breathes, arching her back into me. “Yes.”

  Madness.

  I write the alphabet into her deliciousness, one distinct letter at a time, paying close attention to what her body’s telling me to do. When I reach “H,” a fierce growl escapes her, so I linger on that letter until her body is writhing and jolting.

  When the time is right, when her body tells me to, I move on down the line. I ... J ... K ... L ... M.

  Oh, wow, my baby likes “M.” Oh yeah, she does.

  M ... M ... M ... M ... M ... M.

  M is for madness, or so the song keeps telling us.

  With each and every letter, with each and every swirl of my tongue, with each and every kiss of my lips and mouth, I’m telling her the truth about my devotion to her. Emphatically.

  N ... O ... P.

  She’s whimpering. Writhing vigorously.

  Q ... R ... S.

  “S” usually stands for “sure thing” or, sometimes, “secret weapon”—I can’t remember the last time I even made it past “S”—but, no, not with Sarah. Because Sarah’s not like anybody else. But I already knew that.

  I move on to “T.”

  Bingo.r />
  Oh yeah, my baby likes her some “T.”

  “T” is for Taser gun, apparently, because her body is jerking savagely like I’ve just jolted her with one.

  T ... T ... T for My Magnificent Sarah.

  T ... T ... T for my sweet baby.

  She’s gyrating wildly and gasping for air.

  Oh yeah, she’s losing her fucking mind.

  And so am I.

  She’s unfurling.

  Untethering.

  Her pleasure is morphing into pain.

  By the time I get to “Z,” which I follow with a long string of zealous exclamation points, she’s hanging on by the barest of threads.

  The key is firmly in her lock—and now it’s time to turn it.

  My tongue teases her tip for a brief moment—but who am I kidding? We’re way past the point of teasing. I take her hard cherry in my mouth and suck her like she’s never been sucked before.

  She howls and thrashes like a wounded animal caught in a trap.

  Oh, my baby. Come on.

  She grabs the back of my head with both hands and shoves me into her with all her strength, screaming my name, spreading her legs forcefully.

  Let go, baby.

  Her mind is detaching from her body; I can feel it.

  Madness.

  I twirl my tongue around and around and around, over and over, grunting and groaning into her. Oh God, I’m either going to come, pass out, or have a fucking heart attack. I can’t . . .

  She’s howling like a fucking monkey right now. She’s not human.

  I shudder. I’m so turned on, I can’t . . .

  But, no, no, no, I don’t come ‘til she does. I don’t come ‘til she does.

  Come on, baby. Surrender.

  I plunge my tongue into her, penetrating her as deep as my tongue will go, eating her alive, sucking her, devouring her, willing her to surrender.

  I can’t hang on much longer.

  I skim my teeth across her engorged tip.

  She screams.

  Let go, baby. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

  I nibble her, right on her sweet button.

  Click.

  She unlocks.

  Thank God.

  She reflexively shudders in my mouth like a window opening and closing in rapid succession. Over and over and over and over she shudders from the inside out, jolting and jerking and convulsing like she’s having a seizure—and, oh my God, she’s shrieking from the very depths of her soul through it all. She’s laying herself bare to me, showing me everything. Oh God, yes, she’s surrendering, finally—to the pleasure, to the truth, to me. Yes, to me.

  She’s pure beauty.

  She’s perfection.

  She’s my greatest creation.

  My every God-given instinct is to plow into her and let her body constrict and tighten around me—the most delicious feeling known to mankind, the holy grail—but I’d sooner die right now than come without her, and I can’t be one hundred percent sure.

  Madness.

  She twitches powerfully, one last time, and then she’s done.

  Her shrieking subsides. She’s trembling. Moaning. Sweating.

  “Jonas,” she finally says, her voice catching in her throat. “Yes,” she gasps. She puts her hand over her chest, calming her racing heart.

  I look up at her from between her legs. Her chest is heaving.

  I’m delirious.

  “You did it,” she whispers. Her eyes are wild. She’s seen the light.

  Madness.

  “Make love to me,” she purrs, gyrating. Her breasts are rising and falling.

  I climb up to her face and lick her, claiming her. She returns the gesture, lapping at my lips and chin and tongue.

  “Make love to me,” she purrs again.

  I plunge into her, desperate for my release. Her body receives me with a warm and hungry welcome.

  “Sarah,” I groan, making love to her—glorying in her. We fit together like no two people ever have. Her body was uniquely designed for mine.

  She’s the ideal form of beauty.

  She’s the divine original.

  With every movement of my body, I’m telling her how I feel.

  “Jonas,” she whispers in my ear.

  I’m gone.

  I let go with a loud, deep growl, my entire body seizing and shuddering and releasing.

  Sarah.

  She’s my religion.

  I’m her devotee.

  She’s all-powerful.

  I am but her supplicant.

  I surrender.

  Yes, I surrender.

  Totally and completely.

  “Madness,” I breathe, collapsing on top of her. My body jerks violently again, apparently experiencing some sort of aftershock. “Oh my God, Sarah.”

  She laughs that gravelly laugh of hers.

  “Holy fuck.” I’m still shaking. My heart is still racing. “Madness.”

  Chapter 27

  Sarah

  “Sarah.”

  I whip my head up. The last thing I remember, I was tangled up in Jonas. When did I fall asleep? It’s the dead of night. The jungle is alive around us.

  The mosquito net is opened and Jonas is standing at the foot of the bed. His erection is enormous. Like, holy moly. His eyes are cut from steel. His chest is heaving.

  Music blares from Jonas’ laptop. This time the song is “Closer to God” by Nine Inch Nails. Every hair on my body stands at full attention. I know this dark song—and I know exactly what it means. The song is telling me exactly what he’s going to do to me—how he’s going to fuck me. My chest constricts.

  Count me in.

  This song has always, always turned me on at my very core in the most primal way, making me feel horny and naughty and fucktastic like no other song ever has. Every time I hear it, I secretly imagine myself getting fucked by some beast of a man, without mercy, in exactly the way the song describes. And now, finally, that day has arrived—and that beast of a man is the man of my dreams.

  His eyes gleam at me. He reaches out, coaxing me out of the bed.

  He’s going to fuck me like a beast.

  Yes, please. And thank you.

  My entire body is pulsing along with the primal beat of the song. I’m already gyrating and Jonas hasn’t even touched me yet.

  Jonas leads me out into the warm night air on the deck, giving me an eyeful of his backside in the moonlight as he walks. Holy moly, that’s quite a backside.

  The dark jungle canopy looms beyond us in all directions. He leans my back against a wooden railing and spreads my legs apart like he’s about to frisk me. His fingers touch between my legs, and he smiles when he feels how aroused I already am. The tip of his penis penetrates me briefly and I throw my head back in anticipation of being fucked—but he chuckles. He’s just teasing me. Bastard.

  He grabs a cushion from a deck chair, places it at my feet, and kneels before me like he’s saying his prayers. He looks up at me and licks his lips.

  I smile down at him. I’m ready.

  He leans into me. I feel his warm breath on me.

  My chest heaves. Holy crap, the anticipation is killing me.

  What’s he doing? He’s not going in. He’s skimming his lips, ever so gently across me, like he’s taking in the aroma of a fine wine before swirling it in his mouth. My legs are trembling.

  He leans forward and kisses me, lightly, reverently. No tongue. Just soft, adoring kisses, over and over. My knees instantly buckle.

  And there it is. Oh God, yes, his warm, wet tongue. He laps at me like he’s repeatedly licking an envelope closed. Within minutes, I’m already moaning and writhing like he’s been down there pleasuring me for hours. Maybe it’s muscle memory from earlier tonight, maybe it’s a newfound confidence in knowing where this is headed, maybe it’s having him kneeling humbly before me, or maybe he’s just “learned me” so frickin’ well that any form of resistance is futile, but in record speed I’m already going out of my mi
nd. A guttural sound emerges from my throat as his tongue begins twirling and swirling and shifting my hard clit around. I throw my head back, enjoying the sudden intensity of the pleasure. When he begins sucking and swirling his tongue at the same time—something he’s never done to me quite like this before—I grip the railing. I throw my head back again, but it doesn’t relieve the pressure building inside me.

  I slam myself into his mouth, grinding into his face, forcing him into me. I can’t stop my hips from jerking and thrusting into him. I clutch the railing, digging my fingernails into the wood, trying to keep my legs underneath me, but my knees keep buckling.

  Oh my God, I’m gonna come. Oh God, yes, holy fuck, I’m gonna come.

  I throw my head back and howl. My insides are fluttering, undulating, warping as my knees buckle and melt. I’m practically squatting onto his face, thrusting and smashing myself into him over and over, yearning to take him into me. Oh God, I’m insane right now. Depraved. Ha! I am fucking this beautiful man’s face right now. But I don’t care. I’m standing on the edge of a deep, dark chasm, and oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m about to leap into the void. He grunts and grabs at my ass, pulling me even closer into his face, gnawing at me with his teeth as he does. I can’t stay upright. I can’t maintain control. I spread my legs to give him deeper access to me, my hips thrusting into him. This is pure ecstasy. Or agony. Or both. My hands are lost in his hair, pushing him into me. I’m shaking. I’m dizzy. Pain and pleasure have united. I’m ready to come. Right now. Right fucking now.

  “Now!” I howl. “Jonas! Now!”

  He leaps to standing, his erection glorious in the moonlight, and he turns my shuddering, shaking, frenzied body toward the railing. Without the slightest hesitation, he slams into me from behind, feverishly reaching around and touching me as he does so. Oh God, yes, yes, yes, yes, he’s thrusting into me, fucking me like an animal, pounding into me, riding me deep and hard and without mercy, fondling me rhythmically all the while. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I fondle my breasts, my hard nipples. I reach down and feel him sliding in and out of me, yes, yes, yes, yes, and then I bring my wet finger to my mouth and suck on it, aching to find some way to relieve the pressure inside me.

  “Fuck me,” I growl, my hips thrusting and tilting to receive him as deeply as possible. “Harder,” I groan, and he complies. His fingers massaging me are magic. I’m falling, losing myself, going out of my fucking mind. This is even better than the last time.