Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I don’t even care that we could get caught at any minute.

  I just know I’m finally right where I’m supposed to be.

  Loving Ellie.

  Pleasuring her.

  Her gasps are muffled, but she’s holding my head steady through her skirt, urging me higher, left, right there oh my god more right there suck me harder Wyatt yes harder YES.

  I slide two fingers deep inside her hot, wet channel, and when my lips find her sweet little nub, I nip gently, then suck it, and she’s suddenly clamping around my fingers, her thighs squeezing my head while she comes for me.

  “Yes,” she gasps. “Wy-aa-aah-”

  I tense, and sure enough—

  “Ah-choo!”

  Her walls clench tight around my fingers again, spasming harder and coating me, and fuck if her coming doesn’t make me about to blow my own load in my pants.

  “Dammit,” she mutters, but it comes out on a half-groan while her pussy’s still coming for me.

  She sneezes once more, and I pull my fingers out, gently replace her panties, and peek out from under her dress.

  “Baaah!’ the baby goat bleats.

  Ellie’s wiping her nose with her arm. Her cheeks are rosy, her body slumping on the bench.

  “It was messy,” she grumbles, pointing to her nose. “And we’re probably going to get eaten by baby goats in our sleep. But thank you. That was the best orgasm I’ve had in years.”

  I frown. “So I have work to do to be the best ever.”

  She sniffles. “You really want to do this again?” she asks, gesturing to her snotty face with the healing black eye.

  God, she’s gorgeous. And so very Ellie.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “Preferably soon. And often.”

  The hesitation in her bright blue eyes wavers, and then she’s laughing again, leaning in to kiss me. “You know something worse than goats will happen now, right?”

  I grip her chin. “Nothing. Bad. Is. Going. To. Happen.”

  One eye wrinkles.

  “I like you, Ellie Ryder.” I love you, but I don’t want to scare you.

  “I like you too, Wyatt Morgan.”

  “Then don’t be afraid.” I lean in to kiss her again when we hear the gate rattle.

  She jerks back, and I straighten too when I recognize that voice.

  “But I want to show you the fountain!” Tucker says.

  “Leg better?” I ask her.

  She smiles softly. “Nature’s miracle cure worked.”

  “See? That’s not bad.”

  “Hmm.”

  I can still taste her on my lips, and I’m more than a little sore and eager in other parts of my very unsatisfied anatomy, but I take a seat next to her, cross my ankle over my knee, and fling an arm around her shoulder while the gate creaks open.

  She glances at my crotch, then back up to my face. “Not going to complain?”

  “About getting to eat you? No. Are you going to complain about it?”

  “No,” she replies with a smile.

  “Good. But I’m sneaking into your bed tonight after your parents are asleep.”

  “Are you?” she murmurs as Tucker races into the garden and spots us.

  “Yep. And I can’t wait.”

  She lays her head on my shoulder as her parents follow Tucker, who’s talking a mile a minute about the goats and the pirates and the wedding and acting out a sword fight.

  “This isn’t fake anymore, is it?” she whispers.

  “No, ma’am,” I whisper back into her wig.

  And I’m not sure it ever was.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellie

  Monica and Jason’s party at The Grog is more fun than I’ve had in months. Possibly years. There are pirate jokes and impromptu sword fights and a limerick contest with a bunch of implied words to protect the innocent ears in the room. Tucker makes friends with Monica’s cousin’s daughter, who’s a year younger than he is, and the two of them spend the evening playing pirate and talking about Pokémon cards and video games.

  Nobody talks about work or where we’ll be next week, except Monica and Jason, who will be on a cruise in the Bahamas.

  My parents want to know about when Wyatt and I hooked up though.

  “A psychic set us up,” he says, which makes my mom spit her ale.

  “I watched him lift a burning car off a baby and decided he was okay,” I say, which is lame after his answer, but Mom stops the third degree, and I find I can breathe again.

  I don’t mean to rub my leg, but it’s aching after coming down off my post-orgasm high, and suddenly Monica’s next to us. “If you don’t take her home and get her a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine right now, I’m going to ask the Rocks to blacklist you from Crow’s Nest and Anchovies,” she informs Wyatt.

  “It’s your wed—” I start, but she clamps her arm around my head and her hand across my mouth and gives Wyatt the I’m watching you hand gesture, then points to the door.

  “We both have cars here,” I say, but it comes out as “ee owe aah rrr rr” with Monica’s hand still over my mouth.

  If it weren’t her wedding day, I’d lick her hand, but honestly, I don’t know where it’s been, and I like Jason, but I don’t want to accidentally lick his penis sweat.

  “We’ll drive your car back, sweetie,” Mom says.

  “It’s like she doesn’t know you at all,” Wyatt whispers. “Sweetie?”

  Monica snorts with laughter.

  So does my father.

  “I’ll go get Tucker,” Wyatt says to Monica.

  “Oh, we’ll bring him home,” my mom says quickly. “He’s having so much fun.”

  He’s drinking root beer and completely missing all of his dart throws, which is about the cutest thing I’ve seen all day.

  “Out! Out!” somebody suddenly crows. One of the wandering goats has wandered into the bar.

  “Goats a normal part of the festival?” Wyatt asks.

  Grady Rock pauses on his way to the animal and shakes his head. “Never. Don’t know where the damn—darn things came from.”

  “They’re homeless goats?” Dad asks.

  Grady leans down and gets it by its horns. “Or somebody over in Sarcasm sent them,” he mutters.

  “Wouldn’t they have unicorn horns if Sarcasm sent them?” I ask.

  He glares at me. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you’d be really annoying.”

  “They could be wild goats,” Wyatt points out. “Nomadic mountain goats. Psychic nomadic mountain goats come down to make sure you don’t call very nice women annoying.”

  Mom coughs to cover a laugh when Grady pins him with a look. “So let’s move the goats to your bedroom and see how you feel.”

  “Aren’t they the cutest, Chris? We should take one home,” Mom says to Dad.

  “Nomadic mountain goats wouldn’t take well to domestication,” he replies.

  “Dad! Dad! Can we keep a goat?” Tucker barrels over, wedding cake frosting on his cheek. I wipe it off while Wyatt shakes his head.

  “Your mother would kill me. You ready to go, or do you want to stay a while? I have to take Miss Ellie home.”

  Tucker frowns at me. “Does your leg hurt, Miss Captain Ellie?”

  “Just a little,” I tell him.

  “I got a cut on my finger.” He shoves the digit an inch from my nose, and I draw back to peer at the pinprick-size dot of red on his middle finger.

  “Did you get in a sword fight with toothpicks?” I ask.

  His eyes go wide. “How did you know?”

  “That’s how I get all my best cuts.”

  “Tucker?” Wyatt asks.

  “I wanna stay. Me and Sophia’s gonna play darts some more and pet the goats.”

  Grady groans as he wrestles one goat out, but two more come in.

  “You be good for Mr. and Mrs. Ryder, understand?”

  “Yeah, Dad!”

  He catches the little boy by the hips before he can dart away. “And whe
n they say it’s time to go, it’s time to go. Yes, sir?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I go play darts now?”

  “Hug first.”

  Tucker launches himself at Wyatt and squeezes. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, bud.”

  He scampers off, and Wyatt shoots a look at my parents. “He’s a little sugared up.”

  “Psh. I raised Beck. I can handle Tucker on a little sugar.” She and Wyatt trade keys so we don’t have to swap Tucker’s booster seat.

  “I’m becoming displeased,” Monica says.

  “Want me to toss them, babe?” Jason asks.

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going,” Wyatt tells them, pulling me to my feet. He frowns, and shakes his head as he looks at me. “Nope. Not that way.”

  “What—” I start, but before I can finish, he’s hefted me over his shoulder again like a sack of potatoes.

  “Leg okay?” he asks.

  “This is really annoying.”

  “I’m so tempted to slap your ass, but that would be a bad example for my kid.”

  “And my parents are watching.”

  “I know. Your dad’s glaring at me.”

  I manage to shuffle around until I can see my dad’s upside-down face.

  And Dad’s not glaring.

  Nope.

  If anything, he’s watching me like he’s realized his baby girl is all grown up. “Drive careful,” he says gruffly to Wyatt.

  “Always,” Wyatt replies.

  And despite that lingering fear that something terrible is waiting around the corner, because holy hell, that was quite the orgasm Wyatt gave me before the reception, I’m not the least bit concerned about making it back up to the house safe and sound.

  It’s Wyatt.

  Dependable, reliable, smokin’ hot, likes me Wyatt.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back,” I tell him as we leave The Grog.

  He doesn’t ask when.

  Nope.

  “You needed your energy to kick recovery’s ass,” he replies.

  I could argue that I owed him an hour of my time. That it wasn’t nice of me to let him worry. Or any other argument in the world.

  Instead, I murmur, “Speaking of asses….” and take advantage of being carried over his shoulder, which puts me in a great spot to not only ogle his, but also squeeze it.

  His pace speeds up, and there I go again, laughing.

  I haven’t laughed this much in ages.

  And all it took was learning not to hate Wyatt.

  Who knew?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ellie

  We ride in companionable silence up to the house.

  Holding hands.

  While my heart pounds in my throat.

  Everything’s different, but it’s also right.

  Wyatt knows my cranky sides. My stubborn sides. My ugly sides. He knows what he’s in for.

  And he wants it anyway.

  Despite who I am at my worst.

  And he’s not pretending to be anyone he’s not either. I know this side of Wyatt. I’ve seen him with my brother. With the other guys we grew up with. With their sisters.

  With Tucker.

  Even with Lydia.

  The difference is, he doesn’t hold back with me.

  He lets me see his ugly sides too.

  He’s barely turned the car off in the garage before I lean across and grab him by the shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

  I’ve always hated that Wyatt always seems to know exactly how to do everything.

  That hatred does not extend to how well he kisses.

  No, I’m seriously enjoying that right now. From my roots to my toes. Every bit of me is lit up, turned on, and ready.

  “Ellie,” he gasps, pulling back. “Inside.”

  “Race you.”

  “Okay, gimpy.”

  “Oooh, you—”

  I cut myself off, because he’s flinging open the car door, and there is no way I’m not even putting up a fight.

  Or maybe I’ll fight dirty.

  “Wyatt? I don’t think I can walk by myself.”

  I bat my eyelashes.

  He snorts with laughter.

  I grin.

  And he circles the car to pull me out. We stand toe-to-toe, belly-to—huh.

  “That’s not your belly,” I whisper.

  He looks down between us. “No, it’s not.”

  “So it’s not some kind of intestinal protrusion either?”

  “You are a pain in the ass,” he says with a laugh, and then I’m up in his arms—not over his shoulder, but cradled close to his chest while I loop my fingers together behind his neck.

  I press a kiss to the pulsing vein under his rugged jawline.

  “You don’t suck at that,” he says huskily, so I kiss him again. Except this time I graze my teeth over the throbbing vein and follow it with a quick swipe of my tongue.

  He stumbles through the door and puts me on the ground. “Do you know what I need?” he growls.

  I arch my belly into his hard length. “I have an idea.”

  He nods. “That’s right. Strip darts.”

  My eyes jerk wide, and he grins. “C’mon, Ellie. You’ve gotta earn this body.”

  “Oh, those are fighting words,” I say, my own smile growing in direct proportion to the arousal pinging through my veins.

  Strip darts.

  This is going to be fun.

  I take the lead, ignoring the twinge and fatigue in my leg to pull him down the hall and around the corner into the game room. I hit the lights, and he instantly turns the knob to dim them.

  “Ah, a real challenge,” I say softly, drawing my fingertips down the corded muscles on his forearms. “Throwing pointy objects in the dark.”

  “Guess you’ll have to trust me not to miss.”

  I let him grab the darts out of the board while I lean against the pool table, and when he returns, he hands me the set. “Ladies first.”

  “Oh, no, I’m much more motivated at seeing what I’m working toward. Gentlemen first.”

  The challenge in his smile is pure Wyatt, but it’s also…more.

  “Rules?” I ask.

  “One of us gets a bullseye, the other takes something off.”

  “And one of us misses, we take something off.”

  “In a hurry?”

  “With the way you play darts, I’d never get my shoes off if I had to wait for you to hit a bullseye.”

  “Prepare to lose your socks, Ellie Ryder.”

  He throws his first dart, and it impales the wall six inches to the left of the board. “Bullseye,” he declares.

  I shriek with surprised laughter. He grins, and pulls off one shoe. “So close,” he declares, and now I’m almost bent double.

  His second dart gets closer to the board. “You’re gonna be handing me those pantaloons next,” he says while he kicks off his second shoe.

  “Pantaloons?”

  He gasps a mock gasp. “You’re not wearing pantaloons? Ellie, did you go to your friend’s wedding commando?”

  “You know I didn’t.” But the idea of being commando, of being able to push him to the ground, straddle him, and take him inside me in an instant, is doing exactly what he wants it to do, and my panties are getting soaked again.

  He grins like he knows it, and takes aim again.

  This time, his dart doesn’t even stick. It bounces off the Dogs Playing Poker poster two feet to the left of the board.

  “Damn,” he says, but he doesn’t sound the least bit unhappy.

  Nor does he look the least bit unhappy when he shucks his khaki shorts and stands there tenting his St. Patrick’s Day boxers.

  I’d laugh at the boxers, but there’s nothing funny about how hard he is.

  No, that’s just plain intriguing. And arousing.

  “You’re up,” he tells me, handing me my three darts.

  “I’d say you’re up.”

  “Recurring problem arou
nd you.”

  “My nipples are commiserating.”

  His eyes go dark. I turn to take my first throw, and he brushes my hair off my neck and presses a kiss to my nape.

  Oversensitive aftershocks from his touch ripple across my skin. The dart doesn’t even reach the wall.

  “Do that again,” I whisper.

  “Ah-ah. You need to take something off first.” His breath is hot on my ear, and he follows the chastising with a nip to my earlobe that has me whimpering in pleasure.

  “Shoe,” I say, holding out my foot for him.

  He bends and obliges, pulling off my boot. “Cheater,” I whisper when my sock comes off too.

  “Just saving us some time when you miss again.”

  I line up for my shot, and he lines his erection up with the top of my ass, then dips his head to nibble at the crook of my neck while I fire the dart.

  “Bullseye,” I gasp.

  “Bullshit,” he says with a chuckle.

  “But I hit the board.”

  “Barely. Gotta lose something, Ellie. It’s the rules.”

  “Fine. You may remove my other shoe.”

  God, this is fun.

  He obliges again, and this time, he doesn’t let my foot go until he’s kissed a path from my ankle bone to my knee.

  “Cheating,” I gasp.

  “Well, yeah,” he replies with another smokin’ hot grin.

  This is the side of Wyatt I’ve overlooked for years. The fun, playful side. He’s always been obnoxious and buttoned up and stiff, perfect for a military career, but that’s not all there is to him.

  I could throw my last dart before he tries to distract me, but what’s the fun in that?

  And sure enough, as soon as he’s straightened and behind me, his hands are on me again, this time high on my waist. “Need pointers?” he asks.

  “I think you’re already giving me pointers.” I arch into the bulge against my lower back, and his breath hitches.

  “I’ve been giving you pointers all day, but you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “You gonna throw that last dart?”

  “Debating if I want to hit a bullseye and make you lose the shirt.” It’s so freaking right here in his arms.

  “Not the boxers?”

  “I’m a big fan of anticipation.”

  “You’re a big fan of torture.”