Stormy Paradise: A Second-Chance Romance Beach Read (Sweet, Sexy Shorts Book 14)

by Kaylee Spring

  Another car passes and I leap for the window. Nope. Still not him.

  By this point, it’s well past midnight. I’m beyond exhausted since I only arrived earlier this afternoon, and ever since I stepped foot on this island, it’s been one drama after another. I never expected to see Jessie again, much less during the vacation I’ve finally managed to take. A vacation that was meant to clear my head and give me space to decide my next step. Because I can’t stay in South Carolina forever, even though I’ve finally started to carve out a little life there. The only reason I ever went there was for Jessie, and without him, I’m having trouble finding any reason to stay.

  My plan has been leaning towards returning back to the West Coast, but doing so would feel like coming back home with my tail between my legs. Plenty of my friends told me what a big mistake I was making leaving my job and everything behind for some guy who still hadn’t mentioned marriage or even a proposal after years years of dating.

  But I was optimistically naïve. Everything was going to work out in the end. Only it didn’t. And now I’m not sure which way is up.

  And I might have just stranded Jessie in Honolulu. Because it’s only now that I wonder to myself if he even remembered to bring his wallet. He was rather tipsy when we left earlier. And he’s always leaving stuff behind. Back when we were dating, it became one of our inside jokes that every time we left the house, we’d have to turn back thirty seconds later to retrieve something he forgot. But what if he can’t pay the bill? Or get a taxi back here? Would they call the cops on someone dining and dashing?

  My mind jumps to even wilder conclusions, like what if he gets arrested. Will that affect his job back on Wall Street? Could my practical joke meant as a small taste of karma have gone too far?

  I’m up and out the door without a sure plan of what I’m going to do. But I find myself walking across the yard to the rental house where Jessie’s staying. Checking the back door shows that some things never change; not only did he forget to lock the door when he left; he forgot to close it.

  Walking inside a strange house with all the lights on sends my body into high alert. I feel like a thief, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor, checking over my shoulder and around corners, slowing every action to reduce the noise it might make.

  Jessie always used to leave his wallet and keys on this tiny table beside the front door of our rental house back in South Carolina. And before that, he would leave them on the kitchen counter back in our West Coast apartment. I’m hoping that this habit has carried over to both New York and here, but all of the obvious places are empty. This tells me that he’s either taken his wallet with him or started placing them somewhere else. Which means I still can’t be sure where he is.

  There is the chance he managed to slip inside the house without me noticing and has already fallen into bed. Doubtful, for sure, but it’s a possibility that I’ll have to explore if I’m going to get any sleep tonight.

  So, walking on the pads of my feet, careful of how the floor creaks under each footstep, I make my way down the hall with only the light of my cellphone to guide me. Now feeling less like a thief and more like the first girl who gets killed in a horror movie, I’m all too aware of how large this house is compared to the little surfer’s hut I accidentally booked. I pass three doors, each open to rooms illuminated only by moonlight. Windows all over the place must be open, because the roar of the ocean surf surrounds me, like the slumbering breath of a monster I must be careful not to wake.

  At the end of the hall, I find the master bedroom. And it’s empty. No Jessie. No wallet. Only a suitcase on the floor, throw open with random bits of clothing hanging off the foot of the bed.

  It’s at this point, deep in a house I’m not supposed to be in, with all the lights off and my nerves ratcheted up to eleven, that the front door opens. Footsteps ring down the hall, but no lights turn on.

  My heart is deafening in my ears. Is it Jessie or a real criminal who’s come up from the beach and latched onto this rare opportunity of a foolish tourist leaving their door open wide?

  I’m at the window in an instant. It’s open, but there’s a screen blocking me from getting out. And the footsteps are getting closer. I raise my foot to kick out the thin barrier keeping me inside when the bedroom light clicks on and blinds me just long enough that I squint against the sudden glare. When I open my eyes, fully prepared to fight for my life, I find Jessie standing in the doorway. The bottoms of his pant legs are rolled up and his feet are encrusted in bits of dried-up sand.

  At least now I know where he is.

  “Feel better?”

  I almost ask what he means. My revenge. And while he most definitely deserved it, now that I’m standing opposite the repercussions of what must have been a difficult journey back here, I’m left feeling like the jerk.

  So I give him a wan smile that pulls up one corner of my lips. “A little.”

  He takes two steps forward, halving the distance between us. “Do you know what I had to go through to get back here? No taxi wanted to come up here. I had to wait for one of the waiters to get off shift, because he happens to live just past here. Didn’t ask for any sort of payment. I guess it’s that island hospitality. Only, I’m pretty sure he was gay, because he blew past this place and took me straight to his.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, but I can’t help but smile at the hilarity of his situation.

  “Oh, yes,” Jessie replies. “He kept trying to get me to come inside his place. I now know what a girl feels like warding off unwanted advances.”

  “How did you get away?” I ask and step closer, which he reciprocates in kind so that we’re standing so close that our breaths intermingle with the other’s.

  “I walked,” he says. “Three miles down the beach. Only to find you in my bedroom for some reason.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, an action that sends tingles down my neck. “Were you worried about me?”

  The air between us crackles with electricity.

  The mood has changed so completely from only seconds before that it’s like waking from a nightmare. My hormone-soaked brain conveniently forgets the ways Jessie hurt me in the past. Maybe because it’s too busy bringing up all the ways we used to fill each other’s curves. The lustful embraces and sweaty adventures we used to have under the sheets, over the blankets, and on just about every other surface we could find.

  It’s with this steaming mind that I lean against him so that my breasts push against his chest. Jessie takes this as his cue to finally press his lips against my neck, right under my ear. It’s an erogenous zone he’s used countless times before to get me all riled up.

  And it hasn’t lost any of its potency.

  Chapter 8

  Jessie

  With the way my day has gone, I may need to check into a hospital for whiplash in the morning. To go from downing a half bottle of whiskey to drown out all the pesky regrets bouncing around in my head, to seeing Holly in Hawaii, right where I happened to book a place. Then back down again as she reminded me of all the ways I’ve been absolutely shit to her. Somehow, we took an upswing at dinner, only to be dashed to the ground when she left me behind as retaliation.

  And now this.

  It’s been six long months since her body crushed against mine, but her curves are etched into my memory. I’ve forgotten nothing about what she likes and am quick to put this precious knowledge to use.

  Back in the very beginning of our relationship, before the move out east and all the tension that came with a new job for me and no job for her, we used to take our sweet time in bed. Or wherever we happened to be, because our libidos matched, meeting somewhere up in the stratosphere. In our first apartment there wasn’t a single surface we hadn’t consummated on. Add onto that a department store changing room and a particularly frisky night when we were the only patrons dining out on the veranda of a small Italian restaurant, and I guess the point is that Holly and I have had plenty of practice in just about every position, location, an
d time constraint. But on lazy weekends, when nothing existed on our schedules except ordering take-out for the next meal, we would luxuriate in our lovemaking.

  And it always began with a full body massage.

  With Holly wrapped around me, I drape her over the bed, crawling on top of her and matching her kisses. When I pull away, her eyebrows come together in a quizzical manner that has never once failed to make me smile.

  “Let me just grab something.”

  “I’m still on the pill,” she says and pulls me back on top of her, but I push myself back up once more. I almost relent, go for the quickie, but this is our first time back together, and I mean to make it last.

  “It’s something else,” I explain mysteriously.

  In my suitcase, I dig around for the coconut oil I ridiculously thought I would use on the beach, even though I know it's bad for my skin. But my poor planning has come in useful, because now I’m armed for a long bout of foreplay.

  Holly’s eyes go from my face, to the oil, and back up to me. She subconsciously licks at her lips when she makes the connection. “Like old times?”

  “Let me help you,” I answer and undress her. Again, even this part of our ritual is slow, with methodical kisses placed on her bare skin each time an article of clothing is removed. I resist the urge to go for her nipples or clit, saving those for last. Plus, getting close but always swerving away from her most erogenous zones means that she’ll be all the more riled up.

  “Lie down,” I command, and she does so without a word but not without grabbing at my crotch and squeezing my obvious erection. Which reminds me that I too need to be nude for this. So, while she arranges pillows and gets comfortable, I strip down.

  She turns her head and looks me up and down. “Are you just going to stand there all night?” There’s a subtle lick at her lips again.

  Before I climb on top of her, I take just three seconds to appreciate the curves of her back leading to her sumptuous ass that I’ll soon be sitting right on top of. But first, I start at her feet, using plenty of oil and time. It takes me ten minutes to work up to her thighs, where I tease her further by sliding my hands between her legs, but never connecting with her pussy. From here, I go to her ass, kneading it, and stopping myself from licking every inch of her.

  Then it’s onto a more traditional massage: working her shoulder blades, along the sides of her spine, and up to her neck. By this point, I’m sitting on her upper thighs, my cock resting between her ass cheeks. Still I hold back. The whole point of this exercise is to take our time and climb to the highest peak of ecstasy possible.

  So when I finish with her backside, I say, “Turn over.”

  When she does, she doesn’t even open her eyes, but I can tell from the way that she moves and the relaxed features on her face that my massage has worked its magic. She’s a puddle of serenity, but now is time to strike the chords that will have her body writhing under my fingertips.

  Again, I start at her ankles, slathering my hands in oil as I coat her entire body. I work up her thighs, swiping my fingers to just along her pussy’s lips. Still, I don’t touch her, even as she presses her hips against my touch. Up to her hipbones and tummy, where she giggles at my light touches. But seeing and touching her sheening body has gotten to be too much. It’s time to dive in.

  This begins with a soft breast massage, during which I spend plenty of time sucking at her nipples. Then my right hand slides down her torso until it connects with her clit. With all the oil, there’s no need to worry about friction. One finger slips right inside her, accompanied by a gasp. With my thumb, I glide over her clit, around and around in small, soft circles.

  Holly bites her lips and moans. Her hips shift and press against my finger. I pull my face and body away so that I’m kneeling on the bed beside her, one hand still on her breast, the other massaging her pussy. Her body sheens in the moonlight filtering in through the window.

  As she wriggles more and more under my touch, I speed up, my finger working in and out of her while my thumb continues sliding back and forth over her magic nub. Her breaths are shallow. Faster. Interspersed by tiny yelps of pleasure.

  Then she’s saying, “I’m cumming. Oh, god, I’m cumming.”

  Her body freezes for a fraction of a second, tensing up before quivers rattle across all her muscles, and she shudders with a moaning sigh. She grabs at my wrist and holds my hand steady against her as she grinds against my palm. Then, just as suddenly as the orgasmic contractions began, she falls back in a heap on the bed, smiling up at me when she finally remembers to open her eyes.

  But we’re not finished yet. I lie down beside her and position her facing slightly away from me. Then, parting her legs, I position my cock right at her entrance.

  And I slide in.

  Chapter 9

  Holly

  The sparkles of pure ecstasy are still floating about in my skull like a shaken snow globe. Basking in the pleasure of simply lying here after such an orgasmic experience, I am absolutely content. Here in this moment, there is no past. No prior sins. No worries of what tomorrow will bring. It’s just me and Jessie, together again.

  When he lies down beside me, I’m expecting a cuddle. Sure, he hasn’t gotten off, but we’ll get to that soon enough. But what he does instead is go for one of his favorite positions.

  Lying side by side, he enters me from behind. His left arm is under my head, so that when he slides in, I turn and suck on his forearm. His right hand glides over my oily body. Caressing around the curves of my breasts. Pinching lightly at my pert nipples. And finally sliding across my tummy and down, down, down.

  All this time, he’s pumping in and out. Slowly at first, but within one minute it’s a continuous motion. After having already cum once, I’m back on the verge much more quickly this time. And when his fingers flick across my clit once more, I orgasm almost instantly. My quivers have me curling up around myself as Jessie continues to slide in and out.

  It’s more than I can bear, but it doesn’t end here.

  As I said, this is one of Jessie’s favorite positions because he knows that he can hold out longer while bringing me to orgasm again and again.

  Which he does with expert handling.

  It’s like he’s in my head, knowing exactly when to touch me and when to back off, when to speed up, and when to slow. There were many reasons that prompted me to give up my life in Cali and head east with him, and this was definitely near the top of the list.

  By the time Jessie speeds up to what I know will be his climax, I’m a molten puddle of oxytocin, my brain numb to everything except its pleasure transmitters. When he cums, he presses into me with a fervor.

  After this marathon, neither of us speaks. His cock finally slides out of me, and he flops back on the bed, his breaths ragged and fast.

  It’s at this point that I should roll over and curl up next to him. And while there’s nothing more that I would like than to wake up beside him on this gorgeous Hawaiian beach, my brain betrays me with a memory of our last time together. It was very much like this, and it was right after—which I’m sure was a calculated move on his part—that he broke the news that he was moving to New York.

  With or without me.

  I’m with him now, but at what cost? As all the feel-good hormones drift away, I’m left wondering where we go after this. I don’t even know how long his trip here will last. There’s a chance he flies out tomorrow. And then what? Do we write this off? Or does he expect me to finally get over myself and follow him to New York? Because that’s not happening.

  I’m not a girl who thrives in big cities. I need open air and adventures away from the constant onslaught of technology. The concrete jungle of Manhattan would be a prison to me.

  But is a cage better for me if it means being with Jessie? Or should I fly on my own once more, even though I don’t know where the winds will carry me? Because as much as I won’t move to New York, I can’t stay in South Carolina anymore.

  This week
was supposed to be a chance for clarity. A moment to reflect and decide where I go next. But Jessie just had to be here, and now everything’s foggier than it ever was.

  So when I roll over to face him, his eyes soothing and content, my words are anything but.

  “What do you want from me?”

  It’s like I’ve shoved a Taser up his ass and unleashed 10,000 volts of electricity. He sits up in a sudden jerk and takes a steadying breath before exclaiming, “What is that supposed to mean?”

  His words are not combative, but his tone is. It was always the thing that grated me the most in our relationship. His tone. Maybe it was just that he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he was never good at hiding his annoyance. Not that he should have been annoyed all that often anyway.

  I take this moment to sit up too. Leaned against the backboard, the sheets pulled up over my chest, I repeat my question: “What do you want from me? If we do get back together—and that’s a fucking massive if—what are you expecting me to do? Because if you think for one second that I’m going to move to Manhattan, then I guess you haven’t learned your lesson from the first time. So what’s your plan?”

  “You think I have a plan? I didn’t know you were going to be here. And I sure as hell didn’t expect us to end up like this.”

  I can’t help but let my own frustration show. With an angry shake of my head while looking up at the ceiling in utter disbelief at the bullshit he’s peddling me, I say, “You always have a plan. For everything. You never deemed me worthy to know about it until the last minute, but you always had a plan. So don’t tell me you’re suddenly Mr. Free-As-The-Wind.”

  I don’t even give him time to answer. Not that I asked him a question in the first place. In an instant, pleasure has turned to old pain and I can’t stand to be in the same room as him for a single second more.