by Gemma James
I narrow my eyes. “How is that a reward for winning?”
“Because you haven’t gone for a swim with me since the lagoon?”
“I don’t want to go back to the house to change.”
Slowly, his gaze travels down my chest. “I’ve already seen it all. You don’t need a swimsuit.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “No.”
I can’t strip in front of him. Not today—not when I chose a scandalous bra and panty set I have no business wearing in his presence. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I’m not sure why I pulled the undergarments from the sordid chest of drawers overflowing with scant and sexy things.
Except that tugging the thong up my thighs and feeling my nipples poke through the see-through soft lace felt like keeping a secret. I did it for me…and maybe on a subconscious level, I did it for the potential of possibilities. I’m ashamed to admit that to myself.
“It’s not a good idea.” I shake my head as panic mounts, ready to gallop ahead. What did I get myself into?
“Suit yourself,” he says with the type of careless shrug I don’t believe. He stands in the sand, his hands moving to the button of his shorts, and my mouth goes dry as he strips in front of me—unabashedly and with too much smug confidence as he drops his clothing on top of the chessboard.
“Are you…?” Unable to help myself, I gawk at his erection. “Are you always hard like that?”
Bending, he raises my chin, warm and gentle fingers forcing my eyes to his. “Only when I’m around you, or thinking about you, or stroking myself while thinking about—”
“Okay,” I interrupt, pulling away. “I get it.”
His mouth quirks into a sexy grin. “Come for a swim with me.”
A heatwave spreads over my skin at the gruffness of his voice. I could blame the sinking fireball in the sky, but the sun isn’t the culprit. “I’m good right here.”
“You’re flushed.”
Flushed in more ways than one. Gathering my knees to my chest, I hug myself. “You go ahead.”
“What are you scared of?”
Besides the tempting cock staring me in the face? “I’m not dressed for it.”
“Then leave your undergarments on.” Before I can object, he hauls me to my feet and grabs the hem of my sundress.
“Liam, don’t.” I fight off his insistent hands.
With a tilt of his head, he takes me in from head to toe. “What are you hiding under that dress, my sweet girl?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
He steps forward.
I step back.
Unlike chess, this is a game we play on even ground. But even as I fend him off, I know I’ve already lost. The realization barely has time to materialize before he strikes, and my dress is gone from my body in seconds.
“Don’t look so triumphant,” I say, glaring at him as he drops my stolen dress on the pile of discarded clothing. “You know you’re stronger than me.”
His attention lowers to the rosy hue of my nipples, much too noticeable in the sheer white lace cups he picked out for me. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m weak as hell right now.”
I don’t like that look in his eyes—it only grows more pronounced each day we spend in all-consuming isolation. Eventually, I’ll stop running from that look, and he’ll jump on me like the sex-starved man he is.
But not today. Before he touches me again, I run toward the shoreline, my heels digging into the sand, and crash into the waves.
7
Dodging the advances of Liam Castle is an exhausting way to live. He’s relentless, taking every opportunity he can to touch, tease, and tantalize.
From walking in on me in the shower to melting my heart with the way he takes care of me—like cooking dinner every night while I enjoy a glass of wine—he whittles away my will.
But never my conscience, and never my memories of another man.
“A storm’s coming,” he says, his attention veering over my shoulder.
I turn in time to spot a streak of lightning in the distance through the window. Ominous clouds hug the horizon, growing more sinister by the second.
I hate storms. Not because they scare me, or even for the destruction they cause, but I’ve always felt at odds when thunder rumbles under the soles of my feet. It’s the type of disruption felt deep in the marrow—an unnerving sensation that brings my vulnerabilities to the forefront.
The wind picks up as the booming grows louder, coming closer with each flash of light in the sky.
I pick at my chicken salad, appetite gone now that the air has changed. There’s an endless charge between us that has nothing to do with the approaching storm. No, the tension spiraling out of control has everything to do with the days passing by on the calendar.
The uncertainty is killing me.
“Will you take me back next week?”
He sets his fork down. “You want to go back that badly?”
“I don’t like being in limbo,” I hedge.
“Then don’t be in limbo.” He crosses his arms. “Let your guard down and give us both what we want.”
“Liam,” I say thickly, pressing my thighs together. “Giving in isn’t going to change how I feel. It’ll only cause more pain.” Being with him would be an unforgivable betrayal—one I’d despise myself for.
Thunder sounds overhead, making me jump.
“I’ve been more than patient.” He pushes his plate away and taps his fingers on the table. “I could have forced you at any point during these last several weeks, but I didn’t. Not on the ship, not in the lagoon.” His eyes pierce me from across the table. “Not while sleeping in bed next to you every night, an arm’s length away.”
I bite my lip. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”
“It hasn’t been easy for you either. You want us both, but the guilt is chewing you raw.” He frowns. “If I were a better man, I wouldn’t push you.”
“You are a good man.”
He arches a brow. “I told you I’m not, but you refuse to believe me.”
“You’re better than you think. You have a selfless streak in you, Liam.”
“What if I’m tired of being good? Maybe I want to be selfish.” With a thick swallow, he pauses a beat. “I want to strip away your clothing and your fucking inhibitions. If I were less of a man, I’d bend you over this table and fuck you until you forget his name.”
I grip the table’s edge, my heart thudding in my chest. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” His satisfied smile borders on cruel. “Does it get you wet, my sweet girl, hearing what I want to do to you?”
Jumping to my feet, I push the chair back, the legs scraping across the floor, and open my mouth to issue another useless protest. Before I get a word out, an ear-splitting rumble shakes the ground.
“Saved by the thunder,” he says, irritation soaking his words. He stands, drawn features cast in shadow from the sun’s exit. “Guess we’ll take it as a sign to shelve this conversation for another day.”
“No,” I say, folding my arms. “Let’s air this out now.”
What am I doing? Why am I prodding him when we’re both struggling to keep our cool under heightened senses? I’m begging for trouble, but as he rounds the table, I can’t bring myself to back down.
“Let’s air it out, then.” He invades my space without touching me. “What do you want from me?”
His simple, straightforward question catches me off-guard, and I regurgitate my favorite vague cop-out. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. You do know. You’re just too scared to admit it.”
I shake my head, denying, though the lie won’t leave my mouth. He dips his head, dark eyes searching my face, and suddenly, I’m fixated on his lips. Awareness sizzles in the space between us, crackling stronger than the storm.
“If you’re going to kiss me,” he says, his breaths soughing louder than the
thunder, “be sure you mean it, because once I taste you, there isn’t a damn thing in this universe that will stop me.”
He won’t stop.
A shudder travels down my legs, making me slump against him. I clutch his shirt as he wraps his arms around me, keeping me steady, protected, warm. I try to convince myself the shudder was one of dread and not a delicious thrill of excitement at the thought of his mouth on me.
But I can’t.
Surrender is the only path forward, just like my defeat in our last game of chess on the beach.
That was days ago, but suddenly, it feels like hours.
And my resistance is gone.
Licking my lips, I lift my face to his. “Kiss me.”
A moment passes, and then he lets out a shaky exhale. Cradling my cheeks, he brings his mouth down on mine, his lips unmoving—a bold test of my willpower.
I said the words, but it’s not enough for him. He wants me to make the first move, to be sure. To want him without reservation. It’s the only logical explanation for his lack of take-control authority. The Liam Castle I know wouldn’t wait for me to give him what he wants.
He’d take it.
But he’s not taking it, and I’m ashamed to discover that I desperately want him to. If he pushed just a little harder, maybe it would assuage the guilt.
“Please.” I part my mouth under his patient lips, and a small sigh escapes. A whimpering plea.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“Please, Liam. Kiss me.”
With a groan, he lifts me onto the table and settles between my knees. “You’re sure?”
I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull, needing his lips closer. “As sure as I can be.”
“What if a kiss isn’t enough for me?”
Heat flares on my cheeks, spreading swiftly down my neck. I avert my gaze, flailing on the border between fight and flight. “What do you want?”
His hand settles on my thigh, fingers teasing under the hem of my dress. “I want to feel your little virgin pussy.” Quickening breaths fan over my bare shoulder, and then his mouth stalls at my ear. “Hot, tight, and silky wet, Novalee—like a fucking glove made for my fingers.”
Another delicious shudder tears through my limbs. With a near-silent groan, I tighten my thighs around his waist, my toes curling with desperate, aching need. I can’t speak, can hardly breathe. Every nerve ending comes alive at the sound of his gruff tone.
He squeezes my flesh. “Do you want it, my sweet girl?”
God help me, I do. Conscious thought shatters as I lean back on my elbows, and the splay of my thighs invites him to turn words into reality. His hand disappears under my skirt, slips beneath the edge of my panties, and those warm, deft fingers thrust into me.
The fit is snug, his technique experienced, and he wastes no time in making me cry out a litany of pleas for more. Riding his hand, I moan his name.
“Damn, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He pushes forward until the barrier of my innocence halts those fingers. Innocence in name only, because I’m wanton and without shame, spread out on the table as he plunges his fingers into me over and over again.
“God, Novalee,” he breathes. “I need you.” Lowering his head, he scrapes his teeth over my right nipple through thin, soft cotton. “Let me be the one to love you.” He adds another finger, gifting an exquisite sensation of fullness I’ve never experienced there before.
As if he’s close to breaking through to make way for his cock.
As if he’s close to breaking down the last vestiges of my resistance.
“Liam, please…I can’t.” I shake my head, unable to verbalize the war going on in my mind.
His sigh is one of frustration as he withdraws his fingers.
Immediately regretful, I lurch upright. “Don’t stop.”
“Your body doesn’t want me to, but your head is still saying something else.” He crosses his arms. “Besides, I think it’s my turn this time.”
Intense arousal clouds my thoughts, making it difficult to latch on to what he’s saying. “Don’t leave me like this.”
“You need to earn it.”
“W-what?” I mutter. “Why?”
“You stole my heart then gave yours to someone else.” Stepping back, he nods toward the floor. “On your knees.” When I don’t immediately move, he pulls me up by the arms. “Down, right now.”
His authoritative tone makes my knees buckle. I lift my chin, and my gaze is eye-level with his confident hands as he reaches for the zipper of his pants. He takes out his cock before rubbing his thumb across my parted lips, leaving my scent in his wake.
“This pretty little mouth is going to take every inch,” he rasps, eyes locking with mine as he gathers my thick hair into one hand. There’s nothing slow or careful or respectful about the way he fists the base of his massive erection and guides the tip between my lips.
His pace is slow at first, shallow as he pushes the plump head against my tongue. A gentle thrust brings him deeper, his grip on my hair pulling my lips down his impressive length.
He sucks in a breath. “God, I’ve missed your mouth.” Pushing even deeper, his hold is absolute, the need to conquer and punish urging him on. His possessive nature drives him, the unstoppable force of dominance boiling in his blood. But underneath his thirst for power, I sense something else.
Something far more dangerous.
He’s incapable of holding himself back, the last few weeks pushing him to the brink of indecency. I held out too long, my ripped and indecisive heart brewing a storm in him.
“Sweetest hell,” he groans, flinging his head back. “You suck me so damned good. Every inch, my sweet, precious girl.”
Growing delirious and dizzy, I brace myself against his thighs as he pushes past my tonsils. His stamina is an endless vow, an endowing gift, an empowering display of a vulnerable man. He has me right where he wants me, uncontrollably gagging as my knees dig into the floor, but his throaty moans give me all the power—a fact detected in the frustrated, unstoppable shout escaping him as he takes his pleasure and his vengeance.
It’s deja vu, and in that moment, on my knees with my mouth used and abused, I realize we’ve come full circle. Only I’m not innocent like I was the first time, because an intact hymen is just a technicality.
This man is the master thief of my innocence all over again.
In the aftermath, he slips from my mouth before hauling me into his arms and drawing me into a tender kiss. The strokes of his tongue are as gentle as his cock was vengeful, as unhurried as his thrusts were desperate.
But no less earth shattering.
Long minutes pass before he inches back. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“For realizing the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the way you love me,” he says, pushing his thumb between my lips. “From your mouth to your conscionable heart.”
Another piece of the treacherous organ in my chest cracks. “This isn’t fair to any of us.”
“Shhh.” He presses a finger against my mouth. “Lock up the guilt and regrets for the night.”
“And what about tomorrow?”
“By morning, you won’t be coherent enough to feel anything but satisfied.”
“Liam—”
Cutting off my response, he flings me over his shoulder and heads down the hall.
8
By the time we enter the bedroom, the thunder has calmed, unlike the desire boiling in my veins. I left my shame somewhere on the dining room floor, discarded as quickly as my dress and undergarments. After shedding his own clothes, Liam sets me on the bed before grabbing his belt off the floor. With a snap, he pulls the leather strap tight.
“What are you doing?” I scoot back, sliding my butt along the velvety comforter, my heels digging into the mattress.
“Teaching you a lesson in delayed gratification, though you’re already
an expert at it.” With a rakish grin, he climbs onto the end of the bed and turns me onto my stomach. His voice is decisive as tells me to tuck my knees and raise my ass. I’m tense with expectation, arming myself for that first painful strike as he settles behind me.
But the pain of his belt never comes, and I give myself a mental kick for anticipating it. This is Liam—the man who couldn’t bring a belt to my ass even when he thought I deserved it. The only punishment he’s about to dish out is one of pervasive pleasure. Confirming my suspicions, he drags my arms behind my back and wraps that pliant strap around my wrists.
“Does this make you feel helpless, my sweet girl?”
“Yes,” I breathe, feeling like easy prey caught in a Venus flytrap.
“Are you wet from sucking me off?”
“You know I am.”
Two fingers run the length of my drenched slit, and I groan.
“Your greedy pussy is begging to come.” He pushes a digit into me, and I arch into his touch with a whimper.
“Hold still,” he says, smacking my ass. “You’re going to take everything I give you.” He slips in and out of me, his fingers wet and warm.
A distant flash of lightning brightens the room for a moment, leaving me in a dream-like state of mind. Warmth gathers low in my stomach, shooting tingles down my thighs. The pressure amps up, and I wish I could clutch the bedding. Keeping my ass raised right where he wants it puts an unbearable strain on my cuffed wrists.
“This pussy’s about to gush for me.” Driving his point home, he crooks a finger inside me, and I cry out as I drip down his hand.
Still, the pressure intensifies. “Please, Liam.”
“Hush,” he murmurs, landing a smack on my ass that’s louder than his command. “You’ll come when I allow it.”
His ministrations continue tortuously slow, each stroke designed to bring me that much closer without allowing a plummet into ecstasy. But the more I beg, the longer he keeps me on the edge.
Except for the occasional flash of lonely lightning—a muted brightness in the distance through the picture window—shadows casts the bedroom in a sense of anonymity. It makes it easier to shed my conscience and unload the burden of my heart as I near climax for the fifth time.
