Fantasy Island

by Mickey Miller

  I melted in his arms and let him wrap me up in a hug.

  “Still mad at you,” I murmured as I pushed my head against his chest. The rain fell harder on us now, but I no longer cared. My dress couldn’t get any more ruined.

  He grabbed my hand and led me inside.

  The hut’s interior was chill and damp, and the weather had ruined my clothing. I glanced down at my dress. The material hugged every curve, outlining it in almost sheer fabric. Connor flicked on one of the room’s only lights.

  I bit my lip and looked up. His hazel eyes seared me as he unabashedly looked at the mess the rain had wrought.

  I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was that hot-eyed intensity that I’d felt crackling between Connor and I since the first time I’d met him. I hated him, yes. But Lord did I want him.

  My hands shook as I spun around, hiding my body’s reaction to him. My nipples were painfully hard pushing insistently against my bodice. “Stop looking at me like that.” My voice was reedy, a lust-hungry breath. How was I going to remain platonic and professional when Connor’s look almost sent my clothing combusting?

  His body warmth touched me before his breath did. “How can I not? You’re a feckin’ goddess.”

  Connor’s accent came through thickly. When he was in high emotions the flavor of his birth place thickened his voice until it sounded like a brogue-rich growl.

  I shuddered, and goosebumps rose on my skin. “You can’t say that.”

  “Why? You know it’s the truth. You keep dancing around what’s between us.”

  His calloused hands cupped my elbows, and he pulled me against his chest. God, what a chest it was. Rock-hard and sinewy, ripped from all the effort he put into turning his body into a fighting machine. But that wasn’t the only thing that was hard. His cock, every enormous inch of it, prodded my butt.

  I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying to summon some willpower in the face of the madness brewing between us. It was the storm’s fault, right? The tension and electricity in the air was conjured by the tropical weather gusting and howling at the windows.

  Only I knew it wasn’t.

  “We have to keep this professional.” My protests were weak. Even as I tried to summon the strength I needed to resist Connor, he tugged me into him. His heat beckoned me like a furnace, promising forbidden things. I shivered again.

  “You’re cold.” His mouth hovered near my ear, stirring the damp tendrils of hair which had escaped my ponytail. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

  It wasn’t only the cold that had me shivering in his arms, but the possibilities which grew with every flutter of my pulse. I couldn’t deny Connor, I didn’t want to, as his rough hands traveled up my arms, and fell onto the discrete zipper at the back of my dress.

  I held my breath as he tugged it down, every second felt like an eternity as the metal teeth gave way, and the fabric gaped around my shoulders, then slid forward away from my breasts.

  I whimpered when the sodden material fell to my feet, and I stood before Connor in just a lacy bra and panties. I usually was a matching sort of girl. But lace panties in the tropics was a no go. The cotton bikinis were damp, but only partially from the storm outside.

  I was wet for Connor.

  He nuzzled my neck. “I’ve fantasized about this, princess.”

  I couldn’t even find any anger for his continuous use of that damnable nickname. If anything, it warmed me further.

  He spun me around, and I closed my eyes like a coward. He didn’t let me hide from him, though. He nudged my chin.

  “Look at me.” His command snapped my eyes open, and I drowned in his eyes. “Have you thought about this, Crystal? Have you wanted me to touch you, strip you naked, and fuck that stick straight out of your ass?”

  I bit my lip. I knew I should lie to him, but I couldn’t. Not when his touch demanded truth. “Yes.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t shy away from him.

  His large palm cupped my nape, and he pulled me close until my hands were trapped between us. The world around me fell away. There were no hurricane-force gales shaking the hut. There was no island. No fight. It was just me and Connor and the need that burned low in my belly. I drowned in him, his battered face became my whole world.

  I whimpered as his head lowered. “Have you fingered your tight little pussy thinking of me? Have you come with my face in your mind?”

  He was so dirty. The half-smile licking his face revealed he knew the answer, but he wanted me to say it.

  I swallowed hard, my suddenly dry throat begged for moisture. “Yes.”

  His fingers tightened, and slid into my hair. He yanked my head back, and a flash of pain and desire burst over my body.

  “I’ve come for you Connor. I’ve rubbed my pussy, slipped my fingers in deep, and swallowed your name.”

  His large body shuddered against mine. Suddenly there weren’t any more words. He hauled me into his arms, and he crashed his mouth over mine.

  This was not a romantic kiss. It wasn’t a gentle seduction, but a claiming. I had no choice but to submit to the ardent demands of his mouth, lips, and tongue. I whimpered, and his tongue slipped forward to claim dominion over my mouth. He stole my breath until I was panting and dizzy, clutching at his broad shoulders for support.

  He had me draped over his arm by the time he was done kissing me senseless. Through heavy lids I stared up at him. His ginger hair was wet and wild, slicked back off his face. Connor’s sex face as intimidating as his war face: harsh lines, thinned lips, and burning eyes.

  He tugged my hair free, and my hair fell in a heavy sheet around me. “I love your hair down,” he murmured. He gathered a fistful of my hair and lifted the strands to his nose. “Coconut, how appropriate. Every time you’re in the shower I get a fucking hard on.”

  He circled his hips against mine, and let me feel every inch of the Irish package he was sporting. Lord, he was huge, and I whimpered as that simple touch fired me up.

  “How is it my fault you have a fetish for coconut,” I taunted him back.

  He narrowed his eyes. His fingers bit into my waist, and he hauled me up, making me squeal until he pinned me to the bed beneath his powerful body.

  “That mouth is going to get you into trouble, princess. Keep saying that shite and I’ll teach you what naughty girls should do instead of flapping their gums.”

  “You’re a beast,” I said as I dug my nails into his arms. He was granite wrapped in flesh. Each time I thought I was prepared, thought I was ready for the way Connor felt, the truth caught me by surprise.

  “Is that what you want, Princess? A beast to your beauty?”

  His grin grew feral, and I didn’t even deny that my pussy pulsed with the thought of what he could do to me. If I let him.

  I quivered beneath him. “What a big mouth you have,” I taunted him.

  He lowered himself down my body, leaving a trail of kisses over the tops of my heaving breasts, and down my trembling belly. His grin grew wolfish. “All the better to eat you with.”

  Fuck.

  I whimpered fully as he yanked my thighs open. “Connor!”

  “You can’t say you don’t want this. Feck, Princess, you smell sweet as apple pie. Your panties are all wet, and don’t even try telling me that’s from the rain.”

  He rolled his thumb unerringly along my clit. My hips bucked off the bed.

  “What should I do with you?” He raked his teeth gently over my stomach, and another volley of shivers rippled through my body.

  “Maybe I should show you what to do with your mouth,” I parroted back his earlier comment.

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and then tore my panties down my hips and off my legs.

  I gasped as he wedged his shoulders between my thighs.

  “Is that what you want, Princess? Do you want my Irish tongue sucking on this juicy pussy?”

  God, his words, they were going to kill me. I slapped my hands over my face. I couldn’t handle the sight of h
is smug face looming between my thighs.

  He slapped my inner thigh hard enough to sting. “No hiding. Look at me.”

  I mewled and reeled my hands away, once more locked in a staring contest with Connor fucking McGrath.

  “Better. Watch me, Princess. You aren’t going to be daydreaming about some other man. You’re going to know, when you come all over my face, just who it is that got you there.”

  “Connor,” I moaned.

  “That’s better. Keep moaning my name.”

  His rough hands smoothed over my sex, and he uttered a sinfully hot sound in the back of his throat. “Feck I love that you’re smooth. Were you keeping yourself shaved hoping we’d get here? Were you wishing each time you took the razor to this tight little pussy that I would be here soon?”

  Lord, that accent. He was growling and dripping that Irish brogue all over my skin.

  I should lie. I wanted to lie. Instead, the truth tumbled free. “Yes, Connor. Fuck yes, I was. Please touch me.”

  His smirk depicted exactly who he was: a fighter with his prize.

  I struggled to keep my eyes open as he spread my swollen lips open, and introduced his tongue to my aching clit. I squealed, writhing on the bed.

  “Mm, look how sensitive you are. And I haven’t even begun.”

  Connor proved he was as adept in the bedroom as he was in the ring. His tongue was a volatile beast swirling around my clit, occasionally passing over the most sensitive part of it with a flick, before he went back to licking down my slit.

  My hips rolled into his face, and he gave a playful growl and wiggled his face against my pussy, rubbing my juices into his skin. It was dirty and erotic. My toes curled beneath the pleasure.

  “Lord, Connor,” I gasped.

  “Mm, keep singing my name.” His voice rumbled against my pussy, and I about died as a new wave of pleasure surged through my body. He hauled my thigh up, balancing it on his shoulder, and dove in as if I was his last meal before meeting his maker.

  The storm outside raged, but the chill which had chased us inside was replaced with steam and the scorching need to ride his face. I didn’t want him to stop. Not ever. I couldn’t recall the last time I felt this wanted, this beautiful, this feminine. I might dress the part of a southern belle, but I was as far from a true belle and much closer to a poor farmer’s daughter.

  I screamed when he nipped at my clit. My fingers gripped his hair as if I could guide him right where I wanted. He refused to give me what I wanted. Instead, he played with me as if I was his chew toy. His wet mouth sucked on my inner thigh, doubtlessly leaving sucker bites behind, and then he would face-dive straight between my legs again to slake his thirst—or attempt too—with my arousal.

  “Stop teasing Connor, fuck please please please.” I chanted his name as the tension he wreathed me with corded my limbs. I shuddered, as frail as a leaf caught in a tsunami, and teetered on the edge.

  “Do you want to come for me, Crystal? Do you want to come all over my face? Feckin’ say it.”

  Connor growled, and I melted. This, I realized, was what he had been wanting for me. He wanted me out of my head, and living in the high of him.

  I spread my legs wider and dug my high heels into his back. Belatedly I realized I still had my shoes on, and bra, and that half nudity made me feel so damn erotic.

  “Yes. Yes, Connor oh god please I’m right there. Please make me come. Please.”

  I didn’t even sound like myself as I panted, begging for him to give me relief.

  I was sure he was going to keep playing with me. He locked his eyes on me, only the upper half of his face was visible between the clench of my thighs. But I knew, just how the corners of his eyes scrunched and wrinkled, that he was smiling.

  Oh. Jesus.

  I thought I was prepared. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. He had been toying with me, playing my body with a proficiency I should be suspicious of. But I wasn’t. I knew his reputation, and he fucking earned it with that golden tongue of his. He curled the tip right against the bottom of my clit and rolled. At the same time, he knuckled his finger straight into my quivering pussy. His finger was so rough I felt my walls drag over the callouses. The one-two punch was a straight knockout.

  I screamed as I rode his mouth, his fingers, his face and I came for him. I was a shooting star streaking through the heavens as all the tension I’d carried since learning I would be going to Easter Island with Connor evaporated in a blissful haze of pleasure. Behind my lids the magnificent colors of the aurora borealis streaked in a blaze of glory; blues, greens, and golds; the same shade as Connor’s eyes.

  I came down to find Connor leaning over me. He still wore his pants, though they were loose. The head of his giant cock poked from the band of his boxers. I quivered as I got my first glimpse of the monster Connor sported. Not only did he have a golden tongue, but his dick was a girthy behemoth worthy of all my orgasms. My belly fluttered with a new wave of arousal.

  “Welcome back, Princess,” he said with that cocky smile.

  He lowered himself onto me, and his words fell into my ear. “I’m so glad you’ve come around. This will be a great fucking stress relief. God, I’ve been dying to fuck you. You and me. We’ll have a good time over the next month and a half before we head home, back to our lives.”

  His words iced the languid heat wave I’d been riding.

  What had I done? I wasn’t a fucking ring-bunny. I wasn’t some easy toy.

  I wriggled beneath him and shoved at his shoulders. “Get off me. Fuck. Just. Get off me!”

  Connor pushed up on his hands and blinked down at me. “What…Crystal?”

  “No. Ohmigod I can’t believe I let this happen. This was a mistake. This will not happen again. I’m not your island toy!”

  Connor recoiled as if I had slapped him, and I sat up, grabbing the blankets and covering my lower half.

  My eyes stung, and I wanted to cry.

  Was that all Connor saw me as? Just a way to relieve stress?

  My heart thudded in my chest, and I hid myself behind my hair so he didn’t see the tears I felt stinging my tears. I’d gone from heaven to hell in the span of a few words.

  Connor rubbed his hand over his face. “What the hell, Crystal?”

  I shook my head, crawled off the bed, and ran into the bathroom.

  I was a fool. I was a colossal fucking idiot.

  How was I going to repair the damage I’d just caused between us?

  9 - Connor

  I stood outside the bathroom door with a raging boner taking most of the available blood pressure in my body. I felt dizzy. Lightheaded. Crystal tasted every bit as good as I had anticipated. Even sweeter.

  It all went to shit, though, when she tore off with the sheet wrapped around her like a toga, and barely-stifled tears.

  Where had I gone wrong? Hearing her tears coming from the bathroom tore into me. I thought we were on our way to a wonderful evening, and now anxiety spun me out. I wanted to avoid this, walk away and act like I didn’t hear her sobbing.

  I might be an asshole, but I couldn’t do that to Crystal. Not when my heart throbbed with this stupid feckin’ softness whenever she was near.

  I did my best to tuck my cock back into my boxers, but I wasn’t going soft any time soon. My future held a serious case of blue balls. That wasn’t important in the face of her tears.

  “Was it something I said?” I asked through the door.

  “Go away!” she cried back.

  The cabana was one room, and there was a tropical fucking storm outside. I tried to ponder where exactly I could hide to get out of her hair. I tried to refocus although I could still taste her juices on my tongue.

  “Just let me in!” I knocked on the door again.

  “I’m naked!”

  “Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t just fuck my face.”

  “I don’t like it when you call it that.”

  I rolled my eyes. She’d been so eager. Why was my souther
n belle suddenly getting prudish on me? “Give me a break. Like you weren’t just quivering two seconds ago. Crystal, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to tell me what I did.”

  That was a universal truth that even I, in all my fuck ‘em and forget ‘em style, knew. If a girl was crying, it was because a man had fucked up somehow.

  The door swung open slowly. She had the sheets l wrapped around her waist, and her arms were crossed, puffing her breasts up high into her chest so they swelled over the edge. She wiped away a tear from her cheek.

  Seeing her tears was a fist to the gut. El Toro could only wish he hit as hard as the impact of that sight did.

  “So, you just want to have a good time with me for the next month and a half, then we’ll both go our separate ways? I’m just your little fucktoy out here, then when we get back home we’ll just pretend this never happened. I’m your island girl. That’s your plan?”

  The raindrops beat down hard against the thatched roof.

  I scrubbed at my nape as a feeling I wasn’t quite accustomed to crept over me--disgust. Especially at her word ‘island girl.’ “When you say it like that, it sounds bad. I just meant, we are here for the next month and half together. Clearly, there is an attraction and it’s mutual. We’re here until then. That’s all I meant.”

  “Of course, that’s all you meant.” She suddenly drilled her fingers into my chest, punctuating her words. “I.” poke. “Told.” poke. “You I was not a fucking ring-bunny!”

  I took hold of her wrists. “I’m sorry. I’m a fucking idiot. Too many blows to the head or something. Forgive me? Let’s just get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning. It’s late.”

  Crystal searched my face, and then relented. “Fine, just one more thing.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Anything.”

  “I want you to cuddle with me tonight. I’m scared of storms.”

  “Of course.” Just don’t mind the big erection that’s going to be poking in the ass all night.

  We got under the covers and I wrapped my arms around her. I could see how she could take out of context the words I said.