Bohemia Chills

by Lucy Lakestone

  “Oh, please, Landony Wann-doe-neeeee.”

  He busted out laughing. “I’ve never seen you like this. Except maybe that time with the banjo.”

  “Because I hardly ever get drunk, because then I would lose control, and then I might do something stupid where men are concerned.” I bit my lip, and his eyes flared.

  Just then, as Ez finished playing an impromptu sing-along version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” that had everyone in the bar howling, Jace stood up and addressed our party.

  “Why don’t we go back to our house for a swim?”

  I must’ve looked puzzled, because Penelope took pity on me and explained. “We bought a house on the beach. Did I not tell you? It’s pretty sweet.”

  “It’s fantastic,” Jace said. “It has a big pool with a view of the ocean. Laps every morning. Which is why I look like this,” he joked, winking at me.

  I damn near fainted.

  “Skinny dipping!” Damien shouted. I wondered if he realized his spiky dark hair and eye makeup were both likely to fail if he went swimming.

  There was wide agreement on the beach house, if not naked swimming,

  Landon said he was sober enough to drive, and Millie was able to take Bennett and a couple of the others, as was Alex, who’d met us at the bar and drove a big SUV. The rest grabbed an Uber van for the quick trip over to Bohemia Beach.

  Landon helped me out of the truck. Even though I felt like I was floating, I was pretty sure I would float right onto my face if I tried to make that big step on my own.

  “Hey, isn’t this just down the road from your old beach house, Gary?” someone asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just north of here. The art school owns it now,” Gary said. “Though Ez and I have been to this place, before Jace and Pen bought it.” He and Ez exchanged a sly glance that was too hot to handle, and I decided not to ask.

  A few minutes later, folks had tumbled out to the screened-in lagoon-shaped pool. Music thumped out of the speakers, and Jace was pulling out all manner of beer and wine from behind the bar in the fancy outdoor kitchen and mixing up classic cocktails. “We added some enhancements to this place before we moved in. I love this bar.”

  The movie star was in his element, and a few people were stripping to their underwear to take a dip. One couple got into the hot tub, which featured a waterfall that flowed into the pool. No one was naked yet, and Damien had passed out on a lounge chair.

  “I want to walk on the beach,” I said to Landon. I was still buzzed and clung to his arm for support. It couldn’t have been because he felt so big and strong and warm. “I never get to walk on the beach.”

  “Because you’re always working.”

  “Look who’s talking!”

  “Hey, I’m not arguing with you. Let’s walk on the beach.”

  “Should’ve worn shorts. These jeans are going to get wet.” Hell, they were getting wet already, but not from the waves.

  “Roll ’em up,” he said.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  His eyes were sparkling, and he was covering his mouth with his hands. “No,” he mumbled into his hand, but his chest was shaking.

  “You’re terrible. You roll up your jeans. I’m taking mine off.”

  OK, so one part of my mind was saying Kayla, what the hell? And don’t ever drink Mai Tais again, while another part was getting all frisky and bold and loved hanging out with this spontaneous crowd. What was one more person in their underwear?

  I slipped off my jeans and left them with my shoes by the side of the pool while Landon’s eyes got wider. Here’s the thing. My shirt was pretty long, so it almost covered my butt anyway. And I had cotton bikini briefs on. I was not a thong kinda girl. Still, I couldn’t help noticing the way he scanned me, and suddenly I was buzzed on more than the drinks.

  He left his tennis shoes by the pool, too, and rolled up his jeans, and then we took the walkway and steps over the dune out to the dark beach. Everyone’s lights were down so as not to disturb any nesting or hatching sea turtles, and it was pretty quiet. No one around. The breeze lifted my hair and rippled my clothes, and for the first time in a long time, I was really — happy.

  I looked down, puzzled. Something was different. Then, through my tipsy haze, I realized Landon had ahold of my hand. I was walking hand in hand with Landon. I looked up at him in wonder. He was silent as we walked along to the now distant sound of our friends’ party, the hiss of the waves keeping us company.

  “Landon?” I whispered.

  He paused and looked down at me with a little smile. More of a spark than fireworks. “You OK?”

  “I feel really good.” I pulled him closer to the dune line, in the shadow of the grassy bank, where it felt more private. I let go of his hand, and then I slipped both of my arms around his waist and gave him a little tug so he was snug against me.

  He stood still for a moment, very still, as if he was deciding something, and then he threaded his fingers through my hair, brought me closer and kissed me.

  Oh my God. Why had I pushed him away the other night? There were Reasons. There were always Reasons. But now I opened to him without reservation, all my walls dissolving into sparkling butterflies and flying away into the night.

  His tongue found mine, and heat blossomed between my legs and all over my body as his hands roamed down my back and cupped my ass through the boring cotton underwear. He kneaded me there, a whole new place to massage, and I gripped him more tightly, crushing myself against his pelvis, feeling the hard bulge there, wanting to know what he’d feel like inside me.

  His mouth moved to my neck, tonguing behind my ear, working his way down to the V in my T-shirt. He stretched the fabric with his hand so he could kiss the smooth mounds of flesh above my bra, and I breathed in sharply.

  “Take it off,” I whispered, and without hesitation, he swept the cotton shirt over my head and tossed it to the sand next to us.

  “Kayla.” He cupped my breasts through my black lace bra — my bra was not boring — and looked into my eyes, searching. “Are you — do you — ”

  “I’m sure.” I licked my lips. “I want you.”

  Chapter 22

  My declaration of desire was all it took to break Landon’s restraint.

  Faster than a cheetah driving a Bugatti, he unhooked my bra, slid it off and dropped it on the ground. Then he whipped off his own shirt, and the dizzying cocktail of Mai Tais and Landon made me lightheaded all over again. He grinned at my obvious awe at his delicious, muscled body, pulled me close and began kissing me again — on my lips, my neck, my clavicle, the upper curve of my breasts.

  Before I knew it, he’d lowered me to the sand — well, on top of the shirts, but I was well aware of the sand — and as I lay on my back, he brushed his lips over each nipple, then flicked each hardening peak with his tongue.

  “God, yes, more,” I said, pushing my breasts up toward his mouth as I caressed his back.

  He chuckled, kneading one breast with his hand while he took the other nipple between his lips and sucked hard. Then he tugged at it with his teeth, and I yelped.

  “Too much?” he murmured.

  “God, no. Hurts so good.”

  I was sure he was smiling against my breasts as he licked and nipped and sucked some more, because surely those were fireworks shooting through them? I only had a hint of what lovemaking would be like with Landon, and already it was a thousand times better than it had been with that stupid producer and in the couple of brief relationships before him. It was like Landon’s mouth was made for me, and oh — ooohhh —

  His mouth had moved down to my belly, and his fingers crept to the elastic waistline of my panties, tugging them slowly off my hips. I groaned and lifted my butt so he could slip them off, and then his mouth was on my pussy, his tongue sweeping up my center. A long, low, stuttering sigh escaped me and he hummed in response, the vibrations shooting up through me until I tingled all over.

  His invasion was subtle at first — the tip of his
tongue on my clit, in my cleft — and then he plunged it inside my wet heat, over and over. Holy sequined crustaceans, how long was his tongue?

  And how wet could I get? It was slick down there, almost embarrassingly so, but at least he knew I wanted him.

  I wanted him so badly.

  He licked and teased my nub without mercy, and then he exchanged his mouth for his fingers, sliding them inside me. I closed my eyes and began to writhe as he pulled and pumped with devastating skill. His calluses fired up an electric friction against my nerve endings as he thumbed my clit while he finger-fucked me. I was already on the edge. As his fingers curled inside me and touched the magic spot while his other hand pinched one breast, I came like a Pegasus with its wings on fire, bucking into his hand. I gasped and held back a scream, moaning “yes, yes, yes!” instead.

  I shivered as he withdrew his fingers, and I opened my eyes. He was breathing hard, too, but he managed a smile, even though his eyes were as serious as a hungry vampire’s. “Kayla?”

  “Why are your pants still on?” I managed to whisper, and then I grabbed at his jeans, wrestled open the button and tugged on the zipper.

  “Ow. Easy. I’m a little sensitive there right now,” he said, half-laughing, and he wrenched them off. The tent in his boxer briefs could have held a three-ring circus.

  “All off,” I ordered, and he grinned and complied, standing quickly so he could slide them off, then lying on his side next to me, on top of his crumpled jeans.

  I reached out to touch him. Despite the black night, there was enough ambient light reflected off the clouds for me to see his manhood for what it was: a magnificent erect cock, its dark, rounded head already shiny. I ran my finger over the bead of moisture there and rubbed it into the little slit at the tip.

  “Jesus, Kayla.” Landon lay back, and I grasped his big shaft and ran my hand up and down its hot, silky steel, slowly at first, then faster. He sighed and lifted his head to watch me. Him watching me touch him was about the sexiest thing ever. Then I couldn’t resist. I leaned over and took him in my mouth.

  Him watching me suck his cock was even sexier. His gorgeous face betrayed his excitement, his surrender.

  The taste of him, salty musk, and his gasps, his groans gave me so much satisfaction. To have this confident guy, this incredibly handsome and capable man, at the mercy of my tongue made me ache to have him inside me.

  He must have had the same idea, because after I’d taken him to the back of my throat for a few long, languorous sucks, he gently pushed me away. “Not like this. I want to be—”

  “Yes. I want to feel you here,” I whispered, lying back, spreading my legs.

  “Yeah.” He was breathless and fumbled around in the clothes beneath us, finally pulling out a little square packet. Shit. I was glad one of us was thinking clearly. The effects of the alcohol had faded a little, but I was so damn turned on, I was ready to take him raw.

  He slipped on the condom and held himself over me, the muscles in his arms taut, his skin rough with sand.

  “Touch yourself, Kayla,” he whispered, poised over me.

  “Get inside me.”

  “Touch yourself first.” His eyes snapped with fire. “I want to see you do it.”

  Ooo. Dirty Landon. I smiled and touched my already hypersensitive bud, making slow circles with my finger as I held his gaze. I let out a soft moan. “I need you to fuck me now, Landon.”

  He ran his hand up and down his rigid shaft, and he smiled. “With pleasure.”

  Holding my rapt gaze with his, he positioned himself and eased his thick length partway inside me.

  I made a low sound of ecstasy. It felt good. Nothing had ever felt this good. “More. All of you.”

  “Yes,” he hissed. It was like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he pushed hard into me, all the way, his balls slapping against my ass. A pleasurable pain lit like a flame in my core. And then he did it again, then faster, until he was pounding me into the sand, the waves a dim and primeval backdrop to our fucking.

  He was big, stretching me. Lighting up every millimeter of skin, every red-blooded cell as he drove into me. I squeezed around him, the tension unraveling as I took him as deep as I could, grasping his muscled arms, drowning in pleasure. My nipples tingled as his chest rubbed against mine.

  His shudder against me was like an earthquake. He slammed home as he climaxed, even deeper if that was possible, and exploded inside me.

  I cried out and lifted, pushing my pelvis against him, taking him to the end of me, supernova waves of energy blasting through me. Through us. I trembled as I collapsed back against the ground, as he let out a big gale of breath and slowly stilled. He eased out of me, tied off the condom and set it aside, then gathered me in his arms. Skin to skin. Sand to sand.

  And then he kissed me again. This kiss wasn’t perfunctory. It wasn’t a thanks-for-the-drunk-fuck kind of kiss. It was tender, expansive, sweetly deep, sinfully dirty. Open-mouthed and hungry. Understanding and responsive. Fuck, the kiss was almost better than the sex, and the sex was by far the best I’d ever had.

  Or ever would have?

  What have I done?

  “You know, it’s after midnight,” Landon whispered into my neck when his kiss came to its lazy conclusion. “So maybe this is our date.”

  “Nacho Day?” I whispered back.

  “Back to the Future Day. All the days.”

  I touched his face, drinking in those dark eyes. “Does that mean we can’t have a date tomorrow? I mean later today?”

  “We absolutely fucking can.” He kissed me again.

  After another dreamy kiss or ten or a hundred, we came up for air. “I have a feeling I should put clothes on.”

  “Sobering up?” He chuckled. “You’re right. We’re lucky no one’s out here tonight.”

  We dressed. He was right. I felt sobriety coming on, and I didn’t like it. “Where are my pants again?”

  “At the pool.”

  “Oh, right.”

  We walked back to the beach house. Along the way, he found a trash can to dispose of the condom. Most of the revelers had disappeared from the pool, though I could hear them inside the house. Damien was still passed out on a lounge chair.

  I grabbed a towel from a stack and rubbed as much of the sand off me as I could, then handed it to Landon while I put on my jeans and shoes.

  He did the same, left the towel on a chair and shot me the Fireworks. Only now his smile had even more color and light. I was dazzled.

  And a little worried.

  “Want to head home?” he asked. “I need a shower to get all this sand off.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Imagining a shower with Landon …

  Was that where this was going? More of him? Night and day and night? Or was this just a one-time thing?

  But he said we still had a date tomorrow. Er, today.

  Today. The VIP party.

  Damn reality.

  But before then, there was sleep, and before that, there was a shower. I smiled shyly up at him.

  He grinned back.

  Holy Greek gods, I was in so much trouble.

  Chapter 23

  Friday morning, with dim memories of a very thorough shower with my roommate and a deliciously achy feeling in my little-used body parts, I got a call from Millie. Only Millie would be up at 8 a.m. after a night like last night.

  I groaned and reached for the phone, noticing that I was alone in my bed. So we’d retreated to our corners. Honestly, I didn’t remember much. Except maybe Landon tucking me in. Oh, wait — Landon tucked himself in with me before I slipped into unconsciousness. He must’ve left already.

  “Kayla? Are you there?” The phone was talking.

  I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “Yes?”

  “Ticket sales are jumping this morning. The VIP party’s sold out.”

  “Fantastic!”

  “Must’ve been the history radio show.”

  “But he hates me,” I said.<
br />
  “No publicity is bad publicity.” Millie starting going over all her checklists, and I made noises and decisions where appropriate. “Everything’s under control. You don’t have to rush over there. It’s going to be a late night.”

  “I have some kitchen cleanup to do and stuff,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Millie.”

  “My pleasure. Now I’ve got to tend to the Bohemia Bartenders’ setup. You’re going to love the cocktails. Eyeballs are involved.” She laughed and disconnected.

  Not real eyeballs, presumably. Neil was a purist among mixologists, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t a cannibal.

  I let myself feel smug for just a minute about Ken Motebarkle … and also relieved he wasn’t coming to the haunted house, because I was pretty sure it would give him a heart attack. Hell, it practically gave me one.

  I slipped out of bed. Oh, wow. I was naked. I never slept naked, not with a roommate roaming the house and having to share a bathroom. Only now my roommate and I had slept together. Naked. And not just sleeping.

  Heat rushed through my body as the delicious details of our time on the beach came back to me. I savored each one as I took another shower, this one to wake up, and touched the parts he’d made sing last night. He felt so good. He was so good. A really good guy.

  Could I let myself enjoy him? Should I expect more? I wanted to expect more, I realized. Maybe I’d been burned by the asshole in Orlando, but Landon had kindled something in me. Hope. Hope was uncomfortable. Hope was scary. But the high of being with him, of thinking about being with him again — it was better than riding a log flume through a dark chocolate river.

  I took several deep breaths as I pulled on my work clothes. I was on the ride now. And I didn’t see any reason to jump off. Not when I remembered his smile. His smile and everything else. All the days, he’d said. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but did I mention I had hope?

  I checked my email before I left the house and was surprised to find one from my old teacher in Orlando and another from one of the friends I’d emailed about Max Junior’s video reel.