by Sara Cate
"I think she wants you to kiss her, Nash. Why don't you?"
I can't not obey him. For one, I don't want to disappoint him. And two, I do want to kiss her. I'm already sporting a hard-on that appeared shortly after we got to the apartment. Just the quiet intimacy of being in Ellis's house is sending thrilling jolts of excitement through my body.
So, I turn toward Britta, putting my hands on her jaw and pulling her toward me. I lock onto her lips more gently than I normally would and she purrs in response. We kiss for a few moments, her climbing even closer until one of her knees is resting between my legs. My hands travel down her neck, over her shoulders until they're resting on her waist. I almost forget Ellis is watching until I open my eyes and see him staring at me. Our eyes lock for a moment, and I get suddenly self-conscious, so I gently pull away from the kiss.
Her lips don't stop, traveling down my neck and up to my ear.
Ellis is still watching.
Is this weird? I briefly wonder. He's my dad's friend. He knew me as a kid. It doesn't feel weird, not to me. But I'm fucked up. What if I humiliate myself by showing how fucked up I really am?
"What's Nash like in bed, Britta?" he asks, and I stare at him.
She laughs against the cool, wet skin of my neck. "Well, we never made it to a bed, but he likes it rough."
I swallow down my nerves.
"Was he good? Tell me."
"He was good," she replies, looking at me now. "I think he was holding back though."
"Is that so?" He takes another puff on his joint, and I can't tear my eyes away. "I wonder if we can get him to let go."
"I'd like to give it a try," she hums against my lips.
"Help him relax a little first."
I watch as Britta sinks down to her knees between my legs. As she tugs my zipper down, I let out a small gasp when she pulls my cock out and wraps her lips around the head. With her eyes on me, she slicks up the length, running her tongue from the base to the top. Then, when she swallows me down, I lose my head, a groan escaping as I melt into the sofa.
He's watching, and I don't even care. I can feel his eyes on me, and I remember he wants to see me let go, so I do. Digging my hand into her hair, I make eye contact with her as I force her down a little farther, watching the way she gags when I do.
I see him smile across the patio.
So, I do it again, thrusting my hips up until I feel the back of her throat, and this time she gags even louder, pulling her head away to gasp for air so I let her go. When she pulls her mouth off, there's a hint of shock in her eyes, then an arousal-laced smile. She goes back to stroking my cock with her lips and I have to concentrate hard to keep from coming already.
"Britta," Ellis barks, and I look up to see him nod his head at her. It's an obvious cue for her to go to him. And I watch as she crawls toward him on her hands and knees. Stroking myself, I can't tear my eyes away. She pulls him out, letting him fuck her mouth the same way I did.
The look of determination on his face. The cool awareness in his expression. The way he strokes her back gently while also jerking her head down. His controlling grip on her hair. It's so fucking hot to watch, so hot I have to stop moving my hand.
"I think she's ready for you, Nash," he mumbles, and she hums with delight as soon as he says it.
I've done this before. A few times actually. Sharing a woman isn't anything new for me, but right now, it feels brand new. Because there's something different happening this time. Something I didn't see coming. So, when I make my way toward her, pulling her dress up to find her moist and waiting for me, I do exactly what Ellis says, and it's fucking amazing, but it's still different.
And I can't seem to put my finger on why.
8
I never should have come here. I'm bored out of my mind, and as it turns out, trying to relax just means all you're left with are your thoughts. And after that strange encounter with Nash last night, it's clear I need to get back to the mainland. I don’t want to be around my mother, but somehow being alone with myself is worse.
So, after spending the morning lying around on the beach without a soul to talk to, I decide I can't take another moment. Before texting Zara, I'll just ask Thalia if I can catch a ride back when everyone returns tonight.
I can't risk running into Nash again, so I wait until I see him crossing the yard to the office building next to the hangar before I rush to the house. It's empty at first, but I hear movement down the hall. Assuming it's Thalia, I head in that direction. It sounds as if someone is tidying up the bedroom, and the door is open, so I walk in without hesitation. Since Nash is in the office building, I don't have to worry about sneaking up on him and having another violent bathroom incident. I don’t think my poor scalp could take it.
I nearly yelp when I come face to face with a shirtless man pulling on a long-sleeve button up.
"Well, hello there."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I thought you were Thalia."
In a rush, I spin around and hurry down the hall and out into the living room. I am an idiot. At least he was mostly dressed. Unlike when Nash bombarded me in the guest house, and I was completely naked.
Which was embarrassing enough. Then I had to go throw myself at him last night basically inviting him to fuck me because I was bored. Get me the fuck off this island.
"Now wait a minute," the man calls, following me out into the main area of the house. His shirt is buttoned now, and this time my eyes actually make it up to his face. God damn...he's handsome. He looks a bit older than me…maybe late thirties, with warm honey-brunette hair, tan skin, a sharp jawline, and rich brown eyes.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to just walk in on you."
"Well, the door was open." He puts a hand out, palm up, inviting me to put mine in his. "Ellis Prior. I'm here on business. And you are?"
I swallow, getting lost in those eyes. "Hanna Thurber," I reply, putting my hand in his. He lifts my knuckles to his lips, and suddenly it feels like I'm on stage again, roses being tossed at my feet with the crowd beyond the bright lights applauding for me.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Thurber."
Who the fuck is this guy?
Then, I remember my conversation with Nash last night. Before going full slut mode and trying to get him to sleep with me, Nash told me he had a business consultant coming to the island to stay.
"And what brings you out here, Hanna?" he asks as he buttons his tight-fitting shirt at the wrists. My fingers itch to reach out and button them for him, but I don’t—because that would be crazy.
"Oh, just a short retreat. Get away from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Alone?"
My eyes meet his. "Yes, alone."
"And what is it you do for a living?"
"I'm a dancer. Ballet."
His eyebrows lift and the spotlight burn of his gaze literally warms my skin. A flush rises to my cheeks as I send him an easy smile.
"That is very impressive."
"It's really not," I stammer with a blush.
"Of course, it is," he answers matter-of-factly.
It's silent a moment as I bask in the warmth of his attention.
"Listen, Hanna. I have to run. I have a meeting with Mr. Wilde in five minutes, but I hope I see you this evening. Perhaps for drinks when the workday is done?"
"Of course. I'll be here," I answer sweetly.
Then his hand lands gently on my arm, and he gives it a subtle squeeze before passing by to the door and heading out toward the office.
"Ms. Thurber, can I help you with anything?" Thalia enters the room, pulling me from my silent reverie.
"No, thank you, Thalia. I'm fine."
I spend the rest of the day looking forward to the evening in hopes of seeing this new mystery man again. There's a studio in the basement Zara has kept for years even though she has her own dance studio on the mainland now. I find myself down there sometime after lunch. I don't put on my shoes, but I feel a little closer to being able t
o actually dance.
I run through some basic warmups, letting my phone play a random playlist while I move. Staring at the girl in the mirror, I try to find the same woman who danced on stages and wowed audiences. I was a shell of a person then. I can remember how fast everything happened, how I never had a moment to breathe, reflect, enjoy it, before it was too late, and I suddenly had all the time in the world.
Now, I see a girl I don't recognize. I have no idea who I am anymore. What defines me now that the role is no longer filled?
My form is terrible, but in my defense I'm not really trying. It's no longer as effortless as it once was. And after about an hour, I stop trying altogether. Turning the music as high as it will go, something by Sia comes on and I practically deafen myself with the volume.
Losing myself in the poetry of the lyrics and the music, I let go. There is no form, no technique, just pure movement letting the rhythm pull my body along with it. By the time the song ends, I'm breathless, lying on the floor, gasping for air.
Then, the tears come. Draining me dry, I sob, glad to at least be feeling something. I don’t even know why I'm crying, only that sometimes it comes, and I can't stop it. If I hold it in or keep myself from letting go, it festers and becomes explosive until I end up like I did last year. Mostly I think I cry because I'm alone, like always. Like maybe if I had someone to share in my sadness at least I wouldn't be so fucking lonely. But if I wasn't alone, maybe I wouldn't be so goddamn sad.
After my dance, I head back to the house to get showered up and ready for dinner. And yeah, I take a little more time on my makeup knowing I’ll see Ellis again. And yeah, I hope he's the kind of guy who might be willing to bring me back to the guest house to fuck me straight into next week. I need it so bad, this is what I've resorted to. It's been too long.
Putting on a slick black shirt and a narrow black skirt, I slip on some heels and make my way to the house. It's just past six, and I figure I'll use the excuse of wanting a drink by the pool to explain my presence. The staff has just headed for the mainland, and the office looks quiet as I pass by.
There are men's voices when I enter the house through the kitchen.
"Because she's Zara's friend."
"That makes her off-limits?"
"It does for me," Nash snaps, and I freeze by the door.
They are silent for a moment before Ellis replies, a darker change in his tone. "You're harboring a grudge against me, Nash. If you'd like to talk about it, let's talk about it."
"I'm not harboring a grudge. I told you, water under the bridge, but this isn't like Britta, Ellis. Hanna is family to me."
And suddenly I realize Nash is trying to cock block me, and the blood drains from my face. That asshole.
"I understand," Ellis responds as their voices grow nearer.
"I'm being protective," Nash says while I consider slipping back outside through the patio, but it's too late.
"Protecting her from me?" Ellis says as they enter the living room. I'm standing by the door, clearly having heard everything they said.
"Hanna," Nash blurts out.
Ellis doesn't even bother looking embarrassed. He wears a smug grin as he greets me. "Hello there."
"Did Thalia not deliver your dinner?" Nash asks.
"She did. I just...I wanted a drink..."
"Well, come on in. That's exactly where we were headed," Ellis says, waving me toward the bar. I can feel Nash's eyes on me, specifically on my outfit and heels. But I ignore him, holding my head up as I follow Ellis to the bar in the living room.
"Ellis told me you two met already," Nash says. There's some tension in his voice, and I peer back at him to notice his shoulders by his ears again. The urge to go over and run my hands down his back to ease some of his stress is intense.
"Just for a moment," Ellis replies as he pours me a glass of red wine after I pointed to the bottle. “Hanna found me getting dressed," he adds with a laugh.
“I apologized,” I reply with a smirk.
"What would you like to drink, Nash?"
"I'll fix my own drink," he barks, and I glance up at him. I came over here to find Ellis, hoping for a connection I couldn't make with Nash, and now that he's watching, I feel unsettled. He won't stop looking at me.
Ellis puts his hands up and moves away from the drinks to come stand by me. "So, are you getting the break you needed?" he asks me.
"It's not so bad out here. It's so quiet though. Don't you ever get bored, Nash?"
"No," he answers abruptly.
"Because you work too much," I reply.
"I work a lot, but it's not too much."
"So, what do you do if you need a break? You already live on an island," I say playfully.
"I go to the mainland and find plenty of company there,” he replies calmly. I know what he’s trying to say, so my gaze lingers on his face for a moment. He’s implying he finds women there. That women are his stress relief.
The three of us take our drinks and sit on the patio under the large cabana by the pool. There are two sofas shaped in an L, and when I sit, Ellis takes the spot next to me. I notice the way Nash watches him, sitting across from us.
“This place has changed a lot,” Ellis says, looking around at the island. His arm rests on the back of the sofa.
“You’ve been here before?” I ask.
“He used to work with my dad,” Nash interjects. “When I was a kid.”
Ellis laughs, a deep, low rumble of a chuckle. “What he’s saying is I’m old.”
“How old?” I ask, leaning back so my cheek almost brushes his arm. It feels almost intimate.
He smirks at me, and I know I’m being bold by asking, but I’m nothing if not a good flirt. Plus, Ellis doesn’t seem like the kind of man to feel ashamed of his age or keep secrets. He looks too proud.
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“That’s not old,” I reply softly, and I feel his fingers touch my hair.
Nash shifts in his seat to get our attention. After taking a drink of my wine, I look back at Ellis. “So, what was Nash like as a kid?”
“Much like Nash as an adult actually.”
“Fuck you,” Nash growls, but Ellis and I laugh. When I glance over to see his expression, I’m disappointed he’s not even smiling. It may have felt like a joke to us, but he’s still so tense, and something is bothering him.
How did Zara put up with him for so long?
And why do I always feel the urge to heal him? To heal any man, for that matter? To fix them, comfort them, help them in any way I can when I’m the one who is usually drowning? Why do I do this to myself?
Then, I look at Ellis. If I had a man like him, I bet he would take care of me. I bet I could finally get the attention I want, the nurturing comfort of someone who doesn’t need me, but has the time and interest to give me what I need. Would I get bored? Would a part of me be unfulfilled by not being needed by him?
“You have exquisite eyes,” he says softly, staring so close I feel almost insecure about it.
“Thank you,” I mumble, biting back a smile. “I usually wear contacts to hide it.”
“You shouldn’t,” he replies.
“That’s what I told her,” Nash interjects, and I tip back my wine glass to hide the awkwardness I’m starting to feel between them.
We only have two rounds of drinks before it starts to get dark. Nash and Ellis talk mostly about business and a little about Ellis’s time with the Wildes over a decade ago. And that’s it. But I get the feeling there is more they’re not telling me. Nash carries so much resentment in his shoulders, I can see it. And there is a mix of admiration and skepticism on his face when he looks at the man sitting next to me.
He’s watching Ellis with intensity, and I’m not the only one who notices. A moment later, Ellis stands unexpectedly. “Well, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I think I’ll call it a night.” He turns toward me. “It was really nice meeting you, Hanna.”
And with that, much to my di
sappointment, he walks into the house, shutting the door and leaving me and Nash alone outside.
He’s still watching me coldly.
“What?” I ask casually.
“You know what,” he growls.
“No, I don’t think I do.” My tone levels as I glare back at him, heat pulsing under my skin.
“The way you’re dressed, the way you flirted with him. What is your deal?”
I scoff. “What the fuck is your deal? I can dress however I want and flirt with whoever the fuck I want.”
“Yeah, well last night you were begging to ride my dick, but I said no, so you moved on quickly. Is that it?”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, standing up and stomping away toward the guest house.
He doesn’t follow me, at least not at first. But when I get to my room, my door is only shut a moment before he’s opening it again, closing himself in with me.
“What do you—,” I say through the darkness, but before I can get out another word, he stalks across the room and presses me against the wall. Then his mouth is on mine, and I'm struck silent. Nash is kissing me. It's rough, passionate, and so intimate I can hardly focus. His breath on my face rips every thought from my head.
"Do I still scare you, Hanna?" he whispers into my mouth, and I realize my hands are shaking.
I can feel his fingers against my thighs, slowly crawling the length of my skirt, gathering it up to my waist.
"Nash," I whisper, putting my hands against his chest. If I want him to stop, I can push him away, but I don't.
"I said, do I scare you?" he repeats himself so harshly in my face.
"Yes," I yelp.
"Good."
He lifts me abruptly off the ground, winding my legs around his waist as he presses me hard against the wall, his mouth on mine again. This time I do push him away, but he doesn't retreat. I can only feel his fingers moving toward my underwear until they get a hold of the hemline, tearing them down my leg, and he has to drop my legs back down to the floor to pull them off.
"You still want this? You wanted it last night," he mutters, and my blood begins to run cold. I do want this, fuck I want this! What is wrong with me?