by Dee Palmer
“Pink told me you and he had talked. Are you okay with this?” Charge loses his steely reserve as compassion and concern coat each word.
“I really am. She’s a changed person, I saw that last night. I need to tell her I’m okay with it all. I don’t want her hiding her feelings because of me.” His eyes search mine for any hint of reticence, and only after his glare seems to have searched my soul, does he nod and relax his rigid frame. He lifts his hand high and lets it drop with the full force and momentum of his muscular arm onto the round curve of my arse cheek.
“Then get your ass up.” His hand bounces on the comforter, which did little to soften the impact. The sound is dulled from a loud crack to a soft thud and the sting is not the same as skin on skin. However, my delicate condition meant that his playful strike has shaken every bone in my body and has left more than just my ass throbbing.
“Ow.” I don’t know whether to clutch my cheek or my forehead. He stands up from the bed, and a deep throaty chuckle fills the room, which stops when he turns.
“Oh, it’s cute you think that hurt, angel.”
“I’m not going to be able to sit for a week, am I?”
“Try a month, angel. Try a whole. Damn. Month.”
I doze back to sleep, but only for a moment. I feel more awake, and suddenly I have the need to clear the air with Hope. Slipping Charge’s hoodie over my head, I leave the bedroom in search of my best friend. I don’t have to search at all. A wisp of red hair disappears down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and I call out.
“Oh, Hope, wait up!” My thick socks skid on the polished wood floor as I shuffle to catch Hope at the top of the stairs. I’m still in my pj’s and am rocking a bird’s nest of a hairstyle, but I figure personal hygiene can wait; this can’t.
“Oooh, you look like shit.” Her face wrinkles, and her hand flies to cover her nose.
“And good morning to you. I need coffee, and I don’t smell that bad.”
“It’s afternoon, babe, and yeah, you do.” She belts out a loud dirty laugh that rattles and ricochets in my tender skull.
“Inside voice, Hope.” I push my index finger to her lips, momentarily stopping the noise. “It’s not fair. I’ve got the world’s largest pneumatic drill rearranging my brain, and you look like a ray of fucking sunshine. You drank as much as me, didn’t you?”
“I’m a pro, babe. You’re in the minor leagues.” She tilts her head and goes to ruffle my hair in a playful manner. Her hand hovers above my head when a cursory assessment of the state of disarray quickly changes her mind mid-manoeuvre.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“Good, because I wanted to tell you something, too.”
“I know already.”
“You do? What do you know?” She jolts like I’ve slapped her across the face, wide eyes quickly narrow with suspicion, and I’m excited to let it out and rush to clear the air.
“That you love Pink.” I grab her shoulders and shake her. The smile splitting my face obliterates the killer hangover in one excited declaration that I’m finally able to accept and share in this happy event. She’s stunned silent, and her face is a picture of…horror. She steps out of my hold, sweeping her hands either side of her arms to sever the contact like my touch is infecting her in some way.
“What! No, wait, I don’t. What are you talking about?”
I try to step closer, but she hops down the stairs to keep me at a distance. My voice is low, hushed, and filled with concern and confusion. “Hope, last night you said you loved him, you said that he doesn’t deserve you, but that’s not true, he does.” The doorbell rings, and we both look down the stairs and then back to each other. Her face is incredibly pale, and her eyes are glassy. I rephrase and repeat my question, a chill dancing the length of my spine. “Who doesn’t deserve you, Hope?” I step down, and she does the same, shaking her head. My mind is trying to make sense of what she’s saying, and all I can hear is the incessant bells chiming in my head and all around us. “Hope, what the fuck have you done?” Tears trickle down her face, and she rushes down the stairs. I race after her, calling over my shoulder as I catch up to her in the kitchen. “Can someone get the damn door?”
“Got it!” Tug calls out, and that, at least, stops the damn bells.
“Finn, I’m sorry, I never—” She breaks, shaking her head and sobbing. It’s breaking my heart. She keeps retreating from every attempt to pull her close. Whatever she’s done, it can’t be that bad.
“Hope,” Tug calls out, and I bite back my curt response.
“Little busy here, Tug,” Clearing my throat and looking into Hope’s sad eyes, I get a terrible churn in my stomach. “Hope, you better explain.”
“Hope, I think this one’s for you.” Tug announces behind me, and as I turn, Hope sucks in a sharp breath.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Hope’s husband.”
A little over a week ago…
“I DO.” MY TOES GRIP the edge of the rock face as I teeter and try and catch my breath. My heart jackhammers in an effort to escape my chest, and my hair is whipping up a storm of wild red and golden strands dancing in the wind from the height and exposure on this precipice. I take another glance down at the crystal clear aquamarine blue pool, embracing the fear as it tightens my tummy and steals my resolve at the same time as it questions my sanity. What was I thinking? We’ve been on the island for nearly three weeks now, and each time we’ve visited this magical lagoon, I’ve chickened out of jumping. Although I don’t really consider myself a chicken, it’s a forty-foot drop. I’m not great with heights, and the last time he did this jump, he confessed he was an idiot teenager with too much testosterone showing off to his sister’s friends.
“You’re sure?” He arches a challenging brow and smirks, waiting for me to back down, again. I give a tense nod and try to muster enough moisture in my mouth to swallow the dry boulder clogging up my throat.
“Will you hold my hand, and we can do it together?”
“Of course. Ready?” He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes. “Big breath before you hit the water, hold your nose, keep as straight as you can, and point your toes.”
“Or?”
“Or you’ll probably break your ankles.”
“Great, maybe not such a great id—…Ahhh!” The sarcastic tone was clearly too subtle as my change of mind was cut mid-sentence, and with a firm tug of his arm, he launches us both into a terrifying leap into the abyss. The wind rushes around my flailing limbs, terror silences my screams, and I’ve never felt more alive. The vivid colours of the tropical scenery blur as we hurtle toward the water. I suck in a deep breath just as my toes hit the crisp surface and I plunge deep into the pool. Somewhere between hitting the water, the sting of the contact, and the swirling panic as my body continues to sink, I’ve let go of Jørgen’s hand. The pressure on my chest is too much, and I let out the breath I was holding, the bubbles cover my face, and I start to kick for dear life, trying to pull myself to the surface. I don’t seem to be going anywhere. Panic rises in my empty lungs, which burn with the need for oxygen. All of a sudden, two strong hands fix on my waist and I’m being propelled to the surface with surprising speed. The first breath is filled with sweet relief that I survived, and the second has me grinning like an idiot.
“You okay?” Jørgen flicks his hair back, treading water so close to me, I swear the heat from his body warms the water between us by at least a hundred degrees. His golden tan shimmers, wet from the water, and the half-day stubble just adds to the rough and sexy intensity he’s levelling on me with his smouldering stare. If I couldn’t breathe from the impact, I’m still struggling because of him. How can he make me feel safe and scared at the same time? I loosely wrap my legs around his waist and help keep us both afloat, swishing my arms through the crystal clear cool pool, although I’m not sure he really needs my assistance. The adrenaline still coursing through me is thankfully giving me a moment of respite and d
istracting me from the ever-present sexual charge that fires between us and which could easily power the national grid.
“Fuck! My heart feels like it’s going to explode, but, god, yes, that was incredible! Scary as fuck, and I want to go again.” His happy laugh makes him look so young, carefree, and fucking adorable. I playfully squish my mouth to his, only the instant our lips touch, humour is the last thing on my mind. My hands spear his hair. He deepens the kiss, and we both forget basic physics and sink below the surface. I’m happy to drown, just like this, in his arms, sharing the sexiest kiss in the history of kisses. He breaks the contact and pulls me to the surface, only to release his hold and swim backward toward the shore. More striking than the sudden temperature drop when I hit the water, I feel his absence like an icy chill in my chest. Another new feeling, and this one I don’t like one little bit. Kicking through the water, I race to close the distance and catch up.
Each day, I’m battling the chaos this man creates within me; it’s havoc in my head. My heart has lost the plot since it realised it has another function other than pumping blood, and my vagina is beyond confused, what with the lack of dick and the mind-blowing orgasms.
I try and keep my voice level when he hands me a towel. He’s a very distracting sight, tall, firm, with all the right bumps in all the right places. My tongue wets my lips just as my eyes follow the trickle of water down the centre of his chest, joining with other droplets to gain volume enough to ride the ripples of his abdominal muscles. He coughs to get my attention, which is fixed on the lucky H2O that’s just dipped below the waistband of his shorts. Damn, why can’t I ride him like a Derby winner exactly? Oh, yes, that’s right, no fucking, not until I’m ready to ‘make love’.
“I’m so ready.”
“To go again?”
“Yes, that, too.” He looks a little confused, and since I didn’t mean to say that out loud, I shrug it off and wave my hand for him to lead the way back up the mountain. The instinctual way he reaches for my hand is only disconcerting because of the way it makes my tummy flutter. What the hell has happened to me? If I’d ever been a love-struck schoolgirl, I doubt I would’ve looked as ridiculous as I must right now, skipping to keep up and with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon plastered on my face.
“I can’t believe you used to do that jump as a child. You must’ve given your mother a heart attack.” We weave our way up the narrow path, Jørgen is careful to keep wayward branches out of my face and has pointed out every crack or bump in the path that might make me trip.
“My mother never knew, neither did my father for that matter, although I’m sure he suspected. Storm and I were always up to some sort of mischief, something I grew out of.”
“But not your sister, I take it.”
“Storm brooks trouble and attention wherever she goes. I love her dearly, and we are close; however, she does cause my father a good deal of heartache.” He smiles softly, and I can hear the tender affection in his tone when he mentions his sister.
“But not you; you’re the good one, I take it.”
“I let him down once, and I vowed never again.”
“He sounds like a tyrant.” I regret the comment instantly when Jørgen turns abruptly, looking both shocked and distraught. He shakes his head and takes both of my hands in his, imploring me to understand with his intently serious expression.
“Oh, no, Hope, not at all. He is a great man, honourable, loving, and extremely private. He’s the best father. He is of a different time, that’s all.” A deep frown darkens his features as he seems to be drawn into some painful recollection. He takes a slow, steady breath before he continues. “Reputation is everything. He values the good standing of our family name above all else.”
“Even his children?”
“It’s complicated.” The muscle in his jaw ticks, and the tension is unwelcome. It barely matters what I think. It’s not like he’s my father, and even as a tyrant, it means he cares about more than himself, which is more than mine ever did. In my book a tyrant is still better than being a complete cunt.
“If you say so. I think I’d like to meet your sister, though. She sounds like my kind of girl. Storm is just the coolest name ever.”
“The name certainly suits her temperament. I believe she would like you very much, even if it was because there was someone else in the family taking the heat for a change.”
“Not exactly in the family, though, am I?”
“The month’s not over yet.” He winks, pulling me up the final steep part of the path to the jump-off ledge. I fall against his chest and use the release of his hold to grab a healthy handful of arse cheek in each hand. I squeeze, teasingly grinding against him at the same time. A deep grumble rumbles from his chest. It’s the sound he makes when he’s focusing on resisting me. I know this sound well; it usually follows me screaming to the heavens as I climax from his magical ministrations or talented tongue. Which is then followed by him taking a cold shower. As frustrating as it is, at least I do get to climax, and I have to, at the very least, be impressed with his resolve. He is very much a man of his word. It’s not the first time he’s mentioned me becoming part of his family, but it is the first time I choose to engage.
“Well, I’m definitely not marrying someone I haven’t fucked, made love to…fornicated with, however you want to phrase it. Sex is important, and we might not fit.” His cock is like a branding iron against my tummy, and it’s my turn to groan with frustration when he lifts me high on his hips. I wrap my legs tight and sink my weight into his palms. He drops my bottom so it hovers temptingly close to the tip. Just the tip.
“You think we won’t fit.” He sinks me a little lower and moves his hips so my core slides along the length of his cock, wet heat seeping through my bikini bottoms, making my eyes roll.
“Oh, god, that…that there is pure torture, Jørgen. You have no idea.”
“You want me to ease a little tension, baby?” He repeats the movement, and I whimper and bite down on my lip to keep from howling. I’m not above begging.
“I want your cock, Jørgen. More than my next breath, I want you to slam me against that rock over there and fuck my brains out.” He takes a quick glance to where I’m pointing, and when our eyes meet, he smirks.
“You’re so romantic when you’re horny.”
“I want you, please.” Pleading with panting breaths, I’m struggling to find the humour that is so apparent on his smug handsome face.
“I’ll make you come.”
“That’s not what I want.” Air escapes my lungs, deflating the tension in my frame along with any hope that I’m going to get what I really want.
“You don’t want to come?”
“Jørgen, it’s been three weeks of edging, and I can’t do this anymore. I need—”
“Yes?” He doesn’t so much interrupt as encourage me to continue since I can’t seem to finish the sentence.
“I need you—” My throat bobs swallowing down the lump choking me.
“Yes, Hope, what is it you need?” Coaxing me to tell him what I really want, I feel like I’m being led to the edge of a much scarier cliff. There is no going back from this one, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
“I need you to make love to me.” My jaw is tight, forcing the words through a strained yet imploring smile.
“Almost there, baby. A few more days and I think you’ll actually get it and mean it.”
“Gah!” I wiggle from his hold and stomp my feet on the ground like a brat.
“Ready?” The pout fixed to my face barely gets a second to settle when he grabs my hand and starts to run toward the edge.
“What! No! Ahhh!”
“YOU LOOK STUNNING.” HIS THROAT bobs with a slow swallow, and he takes his sweet time letting his gaze travel the length of my body. A sinful mix of raw desire and primal passion smoulders with barely tempered lust, and just like every other time he looks at me like that, making my heart hurt and my insides a molten mess, I curse h
im and his damn rules.
“You’re an arsehole.” I brush past him, and he catches my hand, holding it firmly, as his thumb strokes the pulse in my wrist. My whole body tingles with the sizzling contact, and as much as his soft tone and teasing grin are utterly disarming, I’m in a constant state of un-sated erotic torture.
“You can’t still be mad?” He dips low to make eye contact, tilting his head, wisely cautious. If I thought for one minute he wasn’t suffering just as much, this could easily go south, and not in the way I would like.
“Really? I can’t?” I take my hand back and walk over to the full-length mirror to fix my necklace. He steps behind me and sweeps my hair from my neck. The slight change in temperature from a breeze in the room makes me shiver. Yes, definitely the breeze making my skin prickle with gooseflesh. His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and I watch as he is about to plant a kiss in the crook of my neck. My whole body yearns to lean and give him access, but this has been a very long few weeks, and I happen to know exactly where this little interaction is going to end up. And phenomenal orgasm or not, I need cock. I spin on my silver strapped sandals, my silk dress swishing wide with the sudden turn. Pointing my finger and poking it hard onto his crisp white shirt I create some much-needed distance. Even if it is only a few inches, it’s enough. “Because the last time I checked, abstinence wasn’t one of my virtues, and being trapped on an island with a fucking sex god who won’t actually fuck is doing exactly that: making me mad…crazy…insane. Is there such a thing as death from cock deprivation?” The harsh edge to my exasperation evaporates when I see his adorable smirk, and I fall into a fit of giggles.
He pulls me into his strong and perfect embrace. “You could be the world’s first case.” Kissing the top of my head, the sense of security is both foreign and welcome, and I find myself nestling against his chest like some needy kitten.