Still So Hot!

by Serena Bell

  The tension she strung between them made her wet, a liquid heat that sang his name.

  His voice got lower, too. “It is.”

  Her heart started pounding harder. Their little cove was secluded, but they could hear people walk by occasionally on the beach, and the chance of discovery was low but real. She’d never done anything like this before. “I have condoms.”

  Just his breathing beside her and the surf beyond. She sifted sand through her fingers and waited.

  “Here?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a long silence.

  “No pressure,” she said. “We could go back to the room. If you don’t want to do it here.”

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I want to.” He grabbed her hand and clamped it down on his erection. “That’s how much I want to.”

  Like iron under his khakis, so hard she could feel the distinct flare of the head and the ridge down his length. Her body unfurled with heat and light at the sensation.

  She unbuttoned his slacks, eased them over his hips to his thighs, then freed him from his boxer briefs. He sprang up against her hand. She loved the contrast of the soft feel of his skin and the unyielding hardness underneath.

  She gave him one of the condoms, stood and dropped her panties onto the towel. Then she knelt over him, facing away, her skirt spread out over them. Anyone who came close would guess immediately what was going on, but if they held still and stayed quiet, they could go undetected.

  He made a strangled noise when her wetness slid against his length.

  “I can’t see what I’m doing, so you’ve got to maneuver.” She lowered herself slowly.

  He grabbed her hips and raised her again, then fumbled between them and tugged her back down.

  “You’re so wet.” He proved it by filling her with a single, swift stroke, and now it was her turn to make a noise that she had to swallow.

  “Holy—” he whispered. Thrusting up to meet her. “This position—”

  “Don’t hold back.” The words crackled in the air, sounding impossibly loud even though she’d whispered them.

  “I’m not. I couldn’t.” He was bucking against her, hitting that spot again, the magic spot that he had conjured for her earlier. The breeze had come up. It lifted strands of her hair and brushed over her heated cheeks. His hands were on her waist, raising and lowering her, his hips beneath hers lifting emphatically to drive himself home as he yanked her down. When she began to take over the rhythm, he loosened his grip and slid his hands up the front of her shirt to toy with her nipples between his fingers.

  “Nngh.”

  “Shh.”

  “Unh.”

  “Lise, shh.”

  “I can’t. That feels too good.”

  They heard voices on the beach and froze. Beneath her, his hips moved slightly, restlessly, then again, his cock throbbing. The voices came closer. He’d wrapped an arm around her and was holding her still, his lips on her ear. She realized all the shifts and twitches and throbbing were involuntary. It was too hard for him to hold still.

  Oh, that was way too much fun.

  They couldn’t see the people from behind the rock that hid their revelries, but they could hear them clearly, a group of girls, laughing and talking.

  She tightened her inner muscles for all she was worth, and she felt his whole body jerk against hers.

  “Not. Fair.” A harsh whisper against her ear.

  Again, she bore down on him with all her strength. Her own muscles gave a second involuntary clench, then rippled with echoed pleasure. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to be the victim of her own game.

  She reached under her skirt and slicked her fingers over his balls. Behind her he made an audible noise, a grunt that was almost a groan.

  “Shh,” she said, with great satisfaction.

  The voices had passed on. It was quiet on their stretch of the beach, but behind her, under her, he wasn’t quiet, and he wasn’t still. The smell of sex mingled with the scent of sea salt, and the sand was gritty under her right foot. He was pushing up as hard as he could, and she was pressing down on him, suddenly finding a rhythm that let her move against her wrist as she stroked him. And then she shoved her other fist in her mouth, yelled silently as she came in deep, seizing waves. All the sensations, the sand, the sea, the breeze, the heat, the wet, coalesced into one thunderous moment that took her completely outside herself, and dragged a cry and long spasms from him.

  “Do you think anyone heard?” she whispered, a few minutes later.

  “Do you think there’s anyone who didn’t hear?”

  She climbed off and turned around, and threw her arms around him. “God, Brett. I missed you.” Which was kind of a funny thing to say right at that moment, because what they’d been doing hadn’t been anything she could have missed. And yet it felt all of one piece—her affection for him, his joking and humor, his quickness—the sex was part of who he was, who she was, who they were together, and the fact that it had been missing from their friendship all those years seemed to make no sense now. Maybe the sex had always been there, all along, waiting for them.

  “I missed you, too.”

  She clung hard to him, harder because she didn’t know how long it would last, how long it could last, and she wanted to wring every last drop of pleasure out of it.

  15

  IN THE MORNING they made love again, and then they went snorkeling, swimming among the brightly colored fish and eels, and touching the leathery-smooth shell of a sea turtle. Later in the day Brett rented paddleboards for them, and they spent most of the afternoon capsizing and righting them again. After a while they realized it was more fun to tip each other over than to stay on top of the boards, and the whole thing degenerated into one big splash fight, until they were laughing and kissing. She almost cried with joy.

  He took her back to his room, stripped off her bathing suit and led her to the shower, where he washed her from head to toe with gentle hands and kissed water droplets from her face until she wasn’t completely sure some of them weren’t tears.

  “Lise.”

  Was it the beginning of a question or a plea all in itself? He was hard again—she could feel him against her belly as he washed the last of the shampoo out of her hair.

  “Uh-huh?” She was having trouble drawing a full breath; she wanted him inside her so badly.

  “What happens when we leave?”

  She didn’t ask what he meant. She’d been wondering the same thing all day. The million-dollar question.

  Her body had its own opinions, and it wanted more. But she couldn’t let that part of her be in charge. She had to be rational. Easier to walk away now, before she got any more invested. Everyone knew that what you did when you were on vacation didn’t belong in your life back home. She was about to tell him, What happens in St. Barts stays in St. Barts, when he said, “I’m not ready to give you up.”

  His voice was low and rough. Shaky. It did something to her, softening her insides, shaking her up. She knew he could sling it with the best of them, and she didn’t believe his words, but she did believe the way he said them.

  She pressed her cheek against his.

  Me neither, she thought.

  He led her out of the shower, dried her off, laid her down on the bed and made love to her again, so slowly she melted, her whole body liquid heat, like running gold under his hands. Because he moved so slowly, and because there was no tension left anywhere in her, she built up toward climax gradually, without frustration or need to chase it. It was there, it would be there for her when she was ready for it.

  He was whispering something now.

  “What?”

  Whatever it was, he was saying it over and over again, his body pressed close to hers, his mouth beside her ear,
and she leaned back a little to get closer, to hear better. Her heart almost cracked in two when she heard what it was, his litany, his chant—

  He whispered it again, right against her ear, his breath warm as he pressed higher up into her and slowly, so slowly, pushed her off the cliff she’d been climbing into an orgasm that was like a starburst of pleasure.

  “I never want to stop.”

  * * *

  AFTERWARD, SHE CALLED a taxi and went down to the lobby. She and Brett had decided to venture into Gustavia for dinner. She stood just inside the sliding doors, waiting for him to show up, and thought about how often she’d waited for Brett.

  She was sore from having sex so many times, but all she could hear was the whisper of his voice. I never want to stop.

  Though she knew he only meant he could go all night like this, it hadn’t mattered to her heart, which had heard it as a promise. His words had gotten under her skin so far that she didn’t think she could ever get them out again.

  I never want to stop had been good, but so had I’m not ready to give you up. Those were the words he’d said to her in the shower.

  Even now, the echo made her melty. She’d had so much resolve before he’d said them, had almost had enough resolve to walk away from him, but he’d used the golden tongue on her, and now she had nothing.

  “Oh, Elisa,” she said out loud. “You need to stop being a dork.”

  She could see her reflection in the mirror across the lobby. She’d blown her hair dry, and for once it had cooperated with her efforts—all smooth, glossy red-brown. She wore white capris and a tight black tank top. She’d put on mascara and lip gloss.

  She’d dressed up for him.

  “An irredeemable dork,” she said sadly.

  An older couple sitting on a high-backed wooden bench looked at her funny.

  She pulled out her phone and pulled up Razzle. She wanted to know how they were faring.

  There were three new photos. Celine, sitting on Steve’s lap, beaming into his face. His arms were around her.

  She smiled, against her better judgment. They were a cute couple. Steve’s dark features made a nice contrast against Celine’s blond hair and pale eyes.

  Celine and Steve—oh, my, God, were they paddleboarding? They totally were. She wondered if she and Brett had just missed them. What about her ankle? That had healed up pretty damn fast. Elisa had to suspect Celine had created some extra drama on Friday night, maybe for Steve’s benefit. Celine looked pretty good on her board. Steve, however, was dragging himself up out of the water, a shit-eating grin on his face, hair drenched and clinging to his forehead.

  The last shot was a close-up of Celine and Steve sitting side by side on the beach, Steve’s lips brushing Celine’s ear. Her own skin tingled in sympathy. It looked like he was whispering something to her.

  “They look like they’re doing okay.”

  Brett had appeared at her shoulder. He grinned at her, crinkles forming at the base of his nose and at the corners of his eyes. He looked mischievous in a way that made her want to suggest that they bail on the internet café and head back to his room.

  “What do you think he’s saying to her?”

  “Do you really want to know? I can guess.” He leaned in, and she caught a whiff of mint. She wanted to lick his mouth. He lowered his voice until it was little more than a vibration against her ear. “I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, and I want it all over my body. Also—holy hell, your hair smells good.”

  Her face heated first, then the rest of her, a surge of sensation in her belly and lower.

  “I want to bury my face in it.”

  “Stop,” she whispered. “We’re going to dinner.”

  He just laughed.

  “I called a taxi. Should be here soon.”

  As if on cue, a squat blue van pulled up, and she darted ahead of him to climb in back. Not looking at him made it a tiny bit easier to deny how badly she was falling for him. It reminded her of how little kids covered their eyes and thought they couldn’t be seen. She snuck a look back at him. “Are you with me?” she demanded. “Because if you’re not with me, you’re against me.”

  “Oh, I’m with you, all right.”

  She tried not to hear any significance in those words.

  The ride to town was slightly—but only slightly—less hair-raising than landing on the island had been. They were flung back and forth, until Brett put his arm around her and held her. It got harder after that not to look at him, and finally she gave in. He was gazing down at her with something that was an awful lot like what she knew was in her own expression. He couldn’t fake that, could he?

  But he’d been an awfully talented seducer two years ago, and he’d only had time to get better. So she turned away before he could kiss her and stared out the window. I’m not listening, I’m not listening.

  She meant, of course, Stupid heart, I’m not listening to you.

  In town, two-story buildings lined the narrow streets. Gustavia looked like a European city. French, or Dutch, maybe, with white-painted balconies and arched doors flung open on the lower levels.

  “See those boats?” Elisa pointed to the harbor.

  He laughed. “Those aren’t boats. Those are yachts. Look. That one has a helicopter pad. Do you think Celine will have something like that someday?”

  “If she doesn’t blow it and get her contract canceled,” Elisa said, feeling sorry for her hotheaded former client.

  Their little café was nestled between an expensive-looking jewelry boutique and a big Gucci store. The driver let them out in front of the café, a sunlight-dappled room with a terra-cotta tiled floor and walls painted in warm shades. Brett got them a corner table with two chairs at right angles.

  Hunger—the food kind—had come over her like a ton of bricks as they’d walked into the café, which smelled like garlic and wild mushrooms and expensively prepared meat. “I want arugula soup,” she said from behind her menu.

  “I think I need big food. No soup for me. I’m leaning toward the hangar steak.”

  “Why so hungry?” she teased.

  He gave her a searing look in reply. Heavy lids over eyes gone from pale green to something smokier. There was nothing about him not perfectly calculated to destroy her.

  He pulled his chair as close to hers as he could. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?” Her heart pounded, but she ignored it.

  “I want you to promise me you’ll let me take you to dinner when we go home. Try to make this work in New York.”

  She wanted that so much. But what stopped her was the familiarity of the wanting. She’d once wanted something this much, more than she wanted Celine to find the guy of her dreams, or for Rendezvous to succeed. She’d wanted Brett Jordan to love her. She wanted Brett Jordan to love her.

  Because she loved him.

  “I am such a glutton for punishment,” she said. Out loud, because he might as well know.

  “Look. I know you don’t think I’m capable of a relationship.”

  She shook her head.

  “What? No, you don’t think that? Or no, I’m not?”

  “It’s not you.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me?” he hazarded.

  “No, I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just trying to explain. Why I can’t do this.”

  “So you are breaking up with me.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t do this, but you’re not breaking up with me?”

  “I said ‘can’t,’ not ‘won’t.’”

  “You’ll forgive me if that distinction isn’t making me feel any better.”

  She laughed, then wanted to cry, because he could make her laugh even at a moment like this one.

  “I know it pissed you off that I hooked up with y
our sister.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that what you think this is about?”

  He was looking at her intensely. Really looking, like he was trying to find answers in her face. “You stopped talking to me right after that. What was I supposed to think?”

  How was she going to say this out loud? It felt way harder than taking off her clothes for him had. If she’d been naked then, she’d be flayed after she told him the truth.

  Back in the day, in the earlier years of their friendship, they had sometimes laughed together about the women who fell for him. Made fun of them. On a small college campus, word got around, and everyone knew that Brett Jordan wasn’t relationship material. So what would possess women to think that would change? What would possess them to show up at his dorm room, days after a one-nighter, in skimpy lingerie under a winter coat, bound and determined to seduce him?

  Elisa had argued that it was a self-respect issue. They’d rather beg to be a member of a club that didn’t want to admit them than be with someone who thought they were worth it.

  He was staring at her, waiting for her to explain. What could she say? Years ago, when she’d fallen for him, she’d allowed herself to be as dumb as those other women who’d put themselves through the Brett Jordan machine.

  And now she’d gone and done it again.

  She remembered, with icy clarity, the speech he’d given Celine in the cab Friday afternoon. The “You’re better off without me” speech. Not today, but sometime soon, he’d give her that speech, too. Probably she’d get her heart broken. But that didn’t mean she had to have her pride destroyed along with it. Better to stick with the story he already believed.

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I was hacked off you went out with my sister. But no biggie. I’m over it now.”

  Profound relief spread over his face. “So you’ll see me in New York?”

  “Sure.” Maybe she would. All she knew right now was that she couldn’t tell him how long she’d waited for him to ask her that question. Even now, when it should have been too late, her heart beat wildly at hearing it.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. Haven.