by Dee Palmer
“Before what?” he prompts.
“Before I…I need a drink.” I hold his intent gaze, and after agonising seconds, he reluctantly accepts I’m not going to say what he wants to hear, and he signals for a waiter.
The evening is entertaining, even if we are voyeurs to the fun. I find, even with a party in full swing, I prefer to be with him, talking, touching, and no one is more surprised than me. Sitting together in a secluded corner on the periphery, I discover that Jørgen is a people watcher, too. Although it’s mostly me he seems to be watching.
“I’m sorry I tried to stop you earlier. I never want to stop you from being you. You must understand that.” I return an instant forgiving smile, it’s easy enough to accept the apology when it’s so sincere and heartfelt, and in all honesty, it’s already forgotten. “It’s part of the reason I wanted to bring you to my island, to have some real time together before the madness of the outside world starts to interfere and test us. We have to be strong and united.”
“You make it sound like a battle.”
“Sometimes it can be.” He pauses for a long thoughtful time, and just when I think there is no more to say, he elaborates. “I mentioned before that after my wife passed, it was a difficult time for me. I was wild and reckless.” The pain of the memories looks real. He seems to flinch, pinching his eyes shut, as he clearly struggles with the recollection. “The shame I brought on my family nearly killed my father.” He drops his head, and it hurts to see him so distraught. I hate even the smallest distance between us, and I manage to wiggle my way on to his lap. He lifts his head, a soft smile now lighting up his sadness. “I am just more cautious of how my actions may be perceived, hard lessons learned.”
“The media can twist things, I guess. What did you do?”
“Unfortunately, in this instance, there wasn’t much twisting.” He sucks in a sharp breath and sighs. “I checked out. For six months, I lived in Vegas.”
“Ah, Vegas. Say no more. What happens in Vegas…” I meant to leave the common phrase hanging; however, he cuts matter of factly.
“Didn’t stay in Vegas. My family dates back to Viking royalty, the name is respected, revered, and I nearly ended it.”
“Christ, what did you do?”
“Drugs, and there were prostitutes.” He closes his eyes, and I wait for him to continue his list of atrocities that nearly brought down a dynasty. Nothing.
“And?” I nudge him, and he looks up, confusion crinkling his forehead.
“And?”
“I mean and? Did you kill someone?”
“No, of course I didn’t.”
“Kidnap someone?”
“No.”
“Terrorism? Sex trafficking? Paedophilia?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous?” I scoff, cupping his cheeks and trying not to make too light of this when it’s clearly ‘a thing’. “Look, Jørgen, you were heartbroken. You were letting off steam and trying to ease your pain, that’s all. You didn’t set out to hurt anyone, and you probably hurt yourself more than you hurt your family. I think you need to cut yourself a break there, buddy.” He nods and tries to smile. It hurt’s me that it seems to be taking so much effort. I pull him into my hold, hugging his head to my chest and wanting to protect him as much as he seems to want to protect me. I’m shaking my head and starting to laugh when he looks up for some explanation. “We all do stuff we regret. God, if I’d been spanked for all the stupid shit I’ve done, I’d never be able to sit down.”
“What have you done?”
“How long have you got?”
“A lifetime, Hope. I thought we had established that already?” He swoops in with that subtext, and for the first time, it doesn’t cause a riot of terrifying emotions and panic to rise inside me. I let the comment ride, though.
“I’m just glad I’m a nobody, or the press would have a field day with my history of shenanigans.”
“Really?” His tone is light, but his body tenses beneath me.
“Worried?”
“You don’t scare me, Hope.”
“And there was me thinking you were smart.” I drop my forehead to his, so we are nose to nose, grinning like idiots at each other. A voice I recognise makes my stomach churn, and a nasty taste hits the back of my throat. I look over Jørgen’s shoulder to where Chad is now sitting alone with a lady.
“Talking of smart, do you think I should go and tell that lady that accepting a drink from Chad means she’s expected to put out— Oh. My. God!” I cry out, hushed and shocked.
“What?” Jørgen turns to look where I’m staring. There’s nothing to see now. A lady sitting at a table checking her lipstick in a small mirror and two glasses of champagne in front of her.
“He just slipped something in her drink.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I leap from his lap, and he catches my arm, yanking me back to his side.
“Hope, don’t. Where did he go?” His stern voice brooks no discussion. There is a fury in his eyes that makes me hesitate.
“The restroom, I think. Jørgen, I have to do something.”
“Yes, of course, just give me a minute to find Giles. Talk to the woman, but keep it quiet, please. I don’t want—”
“Yes, I know. You don’t want to cause a scene.”
“Actually, I was going to say I don’t want the man being tipped off and getting away.”
“Oh, good.”
“Be careful.” His fierce expression softens momentarily; nevertheless, his whole demeanour is kind of scary and seriously hot. I press a quick kiss to his lips, nod my concession, and we head in different directions.
The colour drains from the woman’s face when I explain what I saw.
“I can’t believe it.” She exhales, clasping her shaking hands together on the table.
“I’m sorry. I’d like to say I may have been mistaken, but I don’t think that’s true. He definitely put something in this glass.” I point to the glass with innocent bubbles of champagne streaming up the sides, racing to pop free at the surface.
“I feel sick. Would you excuse me?” She eases her chair back.
“Did you come on your own? Is there someone I can get for you?”
“I’m Brandy’s sister.”
“Right.” I nod, not knowing who the heck Brandy is, but the name is clearly supposed to hold some relevance because the woman looks surprised at my vacant expression.
“Brandy is Giles’s wife. This is their home.”
“Oh, right. There’s Giles; he’s coming over with your sister.” I point over her shoulder. The woman seems to relax with the visual of familiar faces, and I smile at the one I recognise. Jørgen is just behind Giles, and only when he steps around him and up to me, do I notice his state.
“You’re bleeding. Are you all right?” The pocket on his shirt is torn, he has a deep red mark on his cheek and his lip is puffy and swollen. His nostrils are bright red with traces of fresh blood, and his knuckles are raw, torn to shreds and dripping blood down his white linen trousers and on to the floor. I grab a napkin and dunk it in a nearby jug of ice water. Squeezing off the excess, I carefully take his hand. Wiping the blood clean is pointless since the cuts are too deep, I just wrap the cloth tight and try and stem the flow until we can get to a doctor.
“I’m fine.”
“Jørgen, what’s happened?” Giles asks calmly. Brandy sniffles a squeamish cry into her hand when she sees the state of Jørgen’s hand.
“One of your guests is going to need a doctor. He’s in the men’s restroom.”
“You’re going to need a doctor,” I say.
“I’m fine, really.” He thanks me for the makeshift band aid and, with his good hand, takes mine and holds it a little too firmly. I can feel the tension and rage like a palpable force field radiating off of him. He feels like a ticking bomb in my hand.
“What happened?” Giles looks to Jørgen, to me, and then to the woman still s
itting shell-shocked at the table.
“We’re leaving. Giles, let me know the damages, and I’ll pay for them.”
“Damages?”
“Goodnight, Giles.” Jørgen politely shakes Giles’s hand, as if he isn’t expending every ounce of energy containing his temper, and he turns to leave. Under any other circumstance, the confusion on the host’s face would be comical.
Calling over my shoulder, I feel he’s going to need more of an explanation than either of us are prepared to hang around and give. “Talk to Brandy’s sister; she will explain.”
“Thank you,” Brandy’s sister gives an awkward wave, and I return her tentative smile, not much to smile about, really.
“I hope you don’t mind us leaving.” Jørgen’s question seems a little redundant given that he’s helping me onto the speedboat as he asks it.
“Mind? You’ve just made my night, possibly my year.” I settle back against the plush leather seat and pat the space beside me.
“Year, hmm? I don’t think I’ve earned that accolade.” Jørgen slides next to me and lets out a deep sigh.
“The night’s not over yet.” I purr, swinging one leg over his thighs, laughing when he pulls me roughly onto his lap…yes!
THE BOAT RIDE SEEMS TO take no time at all, and after giving up trying to get him to call a doctor, I make the best of cleaning up Jørgen’s cuts. Leaving him momentarily, I fix us both a nightcap of warmed spiced rum, my nursing skills limited to a hot toddy cure-all.
“Here, drink this.”
“I’m fine.” He shakes his head. I sit down and place the heavy crystal glass into his hand, close his fingers around it and lift it to his lips until he takes a sip.
“I can see that, what with the deep frown, clenched fist, and silent treatment.” His stony gaze glances up from the glass, only to drop. His jaw muscles bulge as he forces himself to speak.
“He fucking bragged about it, Hope.” I fear the glass in his hand is about to shatter, and my calming hand on his arm is only a slight distraction from his dark mood.
“Not shocked about that nugget of information, Jørgen. The man was an arsehole.” I pick up my glass and sip.
He necks the rum and places his tumbler on the table. Turning to face me, he draws in a steady breath, and his eyes flit from my own glass to the table, so I do the same. “You know all I could see was you in a bar, sipping on a drink he may have bought you.” He clips out the words, wincing as if they are causing him physical pain just saying them out loud.
“I have better taste in men.” My light tone and teasing smile fail to amuse him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.” He sits back, spearing his hands through his hair with agitation.
“You totally should’ve done that.” I straddle him and plant my bottom on his thick and solid thighs, curling my fingers around the leather belt around his waist like I’m preparing to ride some wild animal.
Mmm, now, I do like the sound of that.
“I know he deserved it, but I wasn’t in control of my emotions. All I saw was red, a violent, explosive uncontrollable rage. I know better, and I didn’t care. I needed to protect you.” His declaration is passionate, tormented, and sexy as all hell. If I was ever unsure of his true feelings, I’m certain now. With every word, every glance, and every touch he has carved his place deep within my heart. I always joked that I didn’t have one, yet with him, I know I do, because I feel him in my soul.
This isn’t normal, this isn’t me, and yet it feels right, perfect, and I want it. I want it all. I want him.
“I wasn’t in danger, Jørgen. That woman was, but I wasn’t.”
“I know. Still, I wanted to protect you with my life. I want you safe. I want you to be mine.”
“I am yours.” I’ve fallen…he must know it…hook, line, and sinker.
“I want you so fucking badly.” His hands are on my face with an urgency that mirrors the storm raging in his eyes. He sits up so we are nose to nose. His hot breath washes my skin, full lips so close I can feel the pent up passion spark across the veil-thin distance between us. We’re a powder keg, only I’m not sure who’s holding the match.
“What’s stopping you?” My breathy exhale sounds more like a plea than a question.
“You.”
“Jørgen.” His name hangs hopeful on my lips. I feel so unbearably vulnerable, exposed, and safe too. I may have lost my mind, but I’ve found my soul, and it belongs to him.
“Ask me.” He demands, and everything falls in to place. I get it. This isn’t me; this isn’t him. This is us.
“Jørgen, will you make love with me?”
“Fuck, yes!”
Boom!
I WANTED OUR FIRST TIME to be more cherished, reverent, slow, savouring each moment of pleasure we draw from each other’s bodies, but honestly, this intensity, passion, explosive desire could not be tempered. My lips find hers with the desperation akin to a starving man. Consumed with a primal need to devour her, I drink her down. She tastes divine, honey and nectar combined, a heavenly ambrosia to my famished soul. I can’t get enough. My heart thunders in my chest with an unprecedented surge of emotions I’m struggling to contain. I worry for a moment that I may actually hurt her with my fierceness, as we tear at each other’s clothes, savagely shredding the material from our bodies, as if it were tissue paper. Looking deep into her eyes, however, I can see the wild fire dancing in the emerald depths, and I feel the sweet curl of her mouth just before she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth and bites down. She swipes the coppery taste from my lips with her tongue, and shock widens her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Her hand is soft on my cheek, a tender respite from the feral urgency consuming us both. We’re naked, breathing hard and there’s a surreal, erotic energy paused like a force field around us. Her pale skin glistens with a sheen of sweat that has my mouth watering. I want to kiss every inch of her sweet body, and now I’m confused as to why we’ve stopped.
“For what?”
“I made you bleed.” Her thumb touches my lip, and I grasp it between my teeth. She closes her eyes and whimper-moans when I suck it, slowly releasing it with a soft plopping sound.
“Hope, I’ve been numb for so long…you made me feel alive.” Her eyes sparkle with moisture. A smile bursts brightly across her face, but only for a second when a much more determined expression fixes on her beautiful face. Her hands secure my cheeks and her mouth is once more fixed to mine. We duel, tongues entwined in a hungry battle, hands grabbing, kneading soft flesh and firm toned muscle, delving into warm wet places my cock is weeping to explore. The ample sofa isn’t nearly up to the task of accommodating our heaving bodies as we tumble and roll to the ground. The deep pile of the soft woollen rug cushions the fall onto my back. Satisfied I can barely feel the hardwood floor beneath me, I roll us until I am on top, and she is just where I want her: in my arms. Reluctant to cease even a sliver of contact, I speak against her lips when we momentarily untangle our tongues.
“I’m the one that should be sorry.”
“Why on Earth would you need to be sorry?”
“I wanted to take my time.” Lifting my head, I break the kiss so I can look into her eyes.
“Trust me, you’ve taken long enough. I did mention I’m going to die if you don’t fu…make love with me. I’m not even joking right now. It’s life or death, Jørgen. You can do slow after.” Her long legs glide up my thighs and cross my back at my hips. Her heels dig a little too firmly into my butt. Not that I would back out now if my life depended on it, but judging by the strength of her grip and the wild look in her eyes, my life may actually depend on it.
I’ve never felt so wanted or wanted someone so fiercely as I do her.
She rolls her hips, and her molten heat is like liquid honey against my shaft as we writhe together, teasing with the tip, tempting touches of what’s to come. The sexual chemistry is insane. I ease the length of my pai
nfully hard cock along her silken folds, and it takes everything I have not to explode when I position the crown at her entrance. This may not be as slow and tender as I envisioned, but I’m still going to make her scream so loudly the fucking neighbours curse my name before I come.
“Okay, that I can do.” I breach her tight wetness, and she pinches her eyes shut. The tight muscles in my butt seize with the need to lunge, but I stop myself.
“Not like this, Hope.” I pepper kisses around her mouth, across her cheek and back to soften the panic in her face.
“What? Please don’t stop,”
“I promise I’m not going to stop. I need you to look at me.”
“Jørgen…please.” I crave all of her, especially her vulnerability; even so, the reticence and uncertainty in her voice is killing me. I don’t know what she’s afraid of, but I don’t want her to hide it from me. Every single time I’ve made her come, she either has her eyes clamped shut, or her hands are covering her face, albeit while she cries out in pleasure, she’s still hiding. There is nothing more intimate than eye contact, nothing more honest, and I have to see her truth. She has to give it to me, or we won’t survive.
“Trust me?”
“Yes.” Her instant response makes my cock twitch and her eyes roll.
“Then prove it.” I thrust deep, hard and right up to my balls. It’s fucking heaven, I knew it would be, and as good as this feels, it’s nothing compared to what’s before my eyes. A gaze so intense I’m the one that feels exposed. She gasps when I pull back and lunge forward just a little bit deeper. Her eyes lose focus for a second, but unblinking, she holds the contact—open, honest, and mine. I can’t hold still a moment longer, I thrust again and again, harder, faster, deeper.
“Ahhh…oh, god, Jørgen!” I pitch up and slide my arms under her knees, lifting them high on to my shoulders and rolling her up and on to hers. She’s unbelievably tight and flexible.
“Fuck!” The guttural cry sounds like a prayer to Satan, a tortured mix of sinful pleasure and blissful pain as her whole body contracts at the deeper position.