Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

My thighs quivered, my pussy tightening rhythmically around him, and my hips threatened to cramp up from the strain. A surprised cry escaped my lungs as I came hard and fast. My head was thrown back into the pillow, and I gripped his ass, pulling him forward while he rocked into me.

  His eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as he chased his own release. His hair was mussed up, sweat wetting his brow. And God, his eyes, they were fierce and hooded with his impending climax.

  “I want to feel you come.” I gasped, dragging my nails down his back. I needed to see him lose control, needed to feel his body when he came.

  He stared down at my breasts that were moving with the force of his thrusts. His skin was sweaty and perfect, and I wanted to lick it off with my tongue. And when he looked up and met my eyes, I watched him lose control.

  The moment felt like a dream—everything slowing down so I could imprint every second on my brain. His mouth moved in slow motion with each soft grunt, each guttural moan. And his movements echoed that I was seeing the real thing.

  This was real. We were real. My feelings, his feelings, even though they hadn’t been said out loud, they were real. Deep down, I knew—he was it. My person. My soul’s infinitely interesting counterpart.

  “Let’s stay here, wrapped up in one another until the sun burns out,” I whispered into his ear, once his body had stilled and my burning lungs had cooled enough to fill with breath.

  He lifted my chin, staring into my eyes. My heart latched on to billowing blue and refused to let go. “I know you’re not ready to hear what I’m feeling, but just know, for me, tonight was more. It was everything.”

  I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me.

  This moment would last forever. No matter what happened, I’d never forget the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, and the feel of him claiming every part of me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kline

  I woke with a start, the brief confusion of my surroundings passing quickly enough that my hands slid across the sheets in search of Georgia’s warm, sweet skin within seconds. The hunt for heated skin turned up nothing but cold cotton.

  I lifted my head and opened my eyes to continue the search, and the mid-morning sun filtering in through the glass windows highlighted her clothes from last night, strewn across the bench beneath the bay window. Sitting up to get a better visual perspective, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and scanned the room thoroughly, but still came up empty.

  With my sense of sight foiled, the others engaged, and the sound of her voice echoing from down the hall turned my short bout of panic into pride. Beautiful and brilliant, the unpredictably vivacious woman down the hall had chosen me to share last night with.

  Her voice wasn’t as pretty as the rest of her, though, the familiar, high-pitched, nails-on-a-chalkboard tune of her unrecognized song bringing a smile to my face. And it was loud. So loud—and unexpectedly inviting—that I got out of bed and threw on a pair of boxers to find out what she was up to.

  Striding down the hall, I found her in one of the bathrooms. The door open and her body in motion, her back was to me as she slid a paint-covered roller across the wall and danced at the same time. Her voice boomed inside the small, confined room, and a Mary Poppins-like accent emphasized her tone. I’d never heard the song before, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I didn’t know the band or that she was only singing every third word.

  In disbelief that I’d found her making her own episode of something on HGTV so early in the morning and without cause, I leaned against the doorframe and just watched her, drinking her in. Blonde hair sat on top of her head, curls cascading from a messy bun. She was a mess, earbuds in with her phone tucked into the side of my boxer briefs, and her black lace bra was the only other article of clothing covering her petite and curvy frame.

  Her perfect little ass shook back and forth as she danced in place, painting the wall to the rhythm of whatever offbeat music filled her ears.

  I crossed my arms across my chest, smiling at her obliviousness to my presence. She was painting the room the wrong color, smearing the light shade of blue I had decided I hated weeks ago all over the unfinished walls, but I didn’t care. She could paint the entire house this godawful blue—as long as she did it in her current uniform, and I got to watch. Bob and Maureen would have to learn to love it, because every time I saw it, I’d think of this—of her, of last night, and of this perfect, simple moment.

  I couldn’t help but think, if I only made bad decisions for the rest of my life, at least I had made one really good decision with her.

  Asking Georgia out was the smartest thing I had ever done. Period.

  She turned to soak more paint onto the roller, and her hands flew to her chest, droplets of blue streaming across the room and staining everything in their path.

  “Christ, Kline! You scared the bejeezus out of me!” she shouted, the accent of the band still hijacking the normal lilt of her voice. She removed her earbuds, letting the cords fall past her hips.

  “My apologies, love,” I said, mimicking her English brogue.

  Her cheeks turned pink, an embarrassed smile cresting her full lips. “Sorry, I’ve been listening to English rock bands all morning.”

  I grinned. “You sound like a young Julie Andrews. It’s pretty fucking adorable.”

  Georgia giggled, setting the roller down. She bounced around the room like a pinball, pouring more paint into the tray. Her excessive energy level piqued my interest.

  “Did I wake you? God, I really hope I didn’t wake you up. I was up by five, and I couldn’t fall back asleep so I put on a pot of coffee. I watched Home Shopping Network for about twenty minutes and walked through the house, and then I saw the room and I figured why not make myself useful, right? So, yeah, I saw you had already painted one of the walls this color blue, so I decided to finish the job. Are you still tired? Hungry? I can make some more coffee if you want some?” Her words were strewn together in one giant, fast-paced, run-on sentence.

  I tried to recall the last time I’d seen her take a breath.

  She fiddled with bright blue painter’s tape while tapping a persistent foot against the squeaky hardwood floor.

  I cocked my head to the side. “How much coffee have you had, sweetheart?”

  She shrugged. “A few cups. I guess I lost count after three…or maybe it was four?”

  My eyebrows popped in understanding.

  “Anyway, what do you think? Are you happy with the color? I think I like it. It’s cheerful. Serene. Hopefully, your mom will like it. I guess her opinion would be the most important one, huh?”

  I nodded. “I think she’ll love it,” I lied. “Have—”

  “Fantastic!” she exclaimed, before I could ask her if she’d eaten anything. Her mind was like a damn hummingbird’s wing, flitting around from one thought to the next faster than the naked eye, or in this case, ear, could process.

  She grabbed the roller again, sliding it into the tray, and resumed her painting with more-than-necessary focus.

  “So, last night…it was…did you…” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes uncertain, and before I could offer a reassuring smile, her gaze was back on the wall, her arm sweeping up and down in quick succession. Her feet fidgeted a few times until she just blurted out, “I had a really good time last night!”

  And the light bulb went on.

  Normally, I could get a pretty quick read on someone’s headspace, more quickly than this, but after waking up to find her painting my house, her beautiful mouth moving a mile a minute, I was a little off my game.

  Georgia was nervous. And about a pot of coffee deep into the caffeine jitters.

  She seemed uncertain if I’d enjoyed last night, which was insane. First time or not, Georgia Cummings knew just how to sexually woo a man.

  A tight, hot pussy was just the beginning because the rest of it was what I would remember. The shake of her body, the gravel in her voice. The way her words turned into moans, and tho
se, in the fiery inferno of her orgasm, gave way to nothing but enraptured silence. Her eyes held mine, and her heartbeat was my second favorite part of her chest.

  Nirvana was the only way to describe it.

  I knew she felt it along with me then, and I knew, deep down, she knew it now, too. I just needed to remind her.

  I moved to the shower, turning the nozzle and letting the water warm up.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the squeal of the pipes. “What are you doing?”

  “Just want to make sure the plumbing is still good in here,” I lied. The only plumbing I cared about was hers.

  I smiled in reassurance. She kept the suspicious face but turned back to her task.

  Once the water hit a good temperature, I moved toward her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and whispered into her ear, kissing the soft skin of her neck.

  “Hey, guess what?”

  “What?” She shivered but didn’t stop painting.

  I kissed her jaw and stepped back, holding my hand out. “Let me borrow that roller for a second. I have a little trick that makes it easier,” I lied again.

  She shrugged, handing it to me. I set it down in the tray, glancing at the shower and noting the steam rising from the floor.

  Perfect.

  It was time to take this situation into my own hands. I grabbed her hips and tossed her over my shoulder before she could stop me.

  “Kline!” she squeaked as I strode toward the shower, the top fragments of her bun tickling the skin of my thighs. She smacked my ass and back as I stepped under the showerhead, water drenching us both.

  “Holy shit!” she shrieked as the water soaked into her skin and very few clothes. “What the hell!”

  Chuckling, I set Georgia on her feet and ignored her glare. I reached around her back with a flourish, popping the clasp on her bra and dragging it off her arms and down until it landed at our feet. She was a vision, wet, waiting, and wearing nothing but my briefs.

  “I enjoyed last night.” Her uncertain eyes warmed just slightly. “So much that I feel compelled to thank you—” I paused and licked my lips with a wink. “And this perfect fucking pussy.” Her eyes widened, but I didn’t wait, sliding down her body, kissing between her swinging breasts, her belly, until I reached the waistband of my underwear.

  “Kline?”

  “Shh,” I said into her skin, pulling a tiny section between my teeth. “I’m a little busy right now.”

  She shook as I slipped the briefs down her legs and pressed my mouth against her pubic bone, licking the water from her skin. “God, Benny girl, last night, you blew my fucking mind. It’s safe to say I want to do that with you for the next one hundred years. It was the best goddamn sex of my entire life.”

  “Really?” she whimpered.

  “You. Were. Perfect.” My lips trailed down her inner thigh.

  Her legs were trembling, her hands sliding into my hair and tugging desperately.

  “Did you enjoy last night?” I prompted, putting the ball back in her court. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  “God, yes. Last night was perfect,” she moaned, her head falling back thanks to my suction on her pussy.

  Sweet like candy, I feasted on the taste of her until her inner muscles tried to take possession of my tongue.

  Goddamn, I wanted that pussy to milk another part of me.

  “How sore are you, sweetheart?”

  She shook her head ‘no,’ but her eyes said ‘God, yes.’

  “I need to feel what it’s like to be inside you again. I want to feel that pretty pussy squeeze the cum out of my cock.”

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Please. Now.”

  I picked her up and wrapped her legs around me tight, moving us down the hall and into my bedroom before tossing her wet body onto the mattress. My sheets would be soaked, but fuck if I cared. I grabbed a condom out of my bag, tearing the package with my teeth as she watched from the bed.

  “So, I guess this means there really weren’t any painting tips?” she teased, biting her bottom lip.

  “It’s all about the strokes, baby,” I said, flashing a devilish grin as I slid the condom on, stroking up and down my length to punctuate that statement.

  I crawled onto the bed, moving between her legs. She gripped my ass as I held her thighs, my fingertips branding her skin, and spreading them wider until the tip of my cock nestled against the one place I needed to be.

  “Now, Kline. God, I can’t wait any longer,” she begged. Her hips pushed up, urging me closer.

  The second I pushed inside of her, we both cried out, losing ourselves in each other and chasing each other’s pleasure.

  I spent the next two hours using my cock and mouth and hands to reassure Georgia that sex with her was the single best thing I’d ever experienced, and she gave every second of that time to confirming it.

  Hands down, motherfucking nirvana.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Georgia

  “Windows up or down?” he asked, cranking the engine and putting the gearshift into drive.

  Reality started to set in. We were headed back to the city, and I knew I’d miss being wrapped up in my perfect Kline bubble. No responsibilities, no plans, just us, lazily enjoying the entire weekend together.

  “Down, please.” I wanted to smell the ocean one last time. The day was beautiful, sun shining brightly and only filtered by the occasional fluffy white cloud strolling past its glow.

  He rolled down the windows then leaned over the console, grabbing two pairs of aviators from his glove box and handing one to me.

  “Such a gentleman.” I smiled, slipping them on and tossing my hair into a messy bun.

  “For you—” he rested his hand on my thigh, squeezing gently “—always, baby.”

  As we drove onto the main road, the Hamptons house slowly diminished in the passenger mirror and an unexpected surge of melancholy consumed me. I was going to miss that beautiful, rustic house. If I could’ve made a Pinterest board of my perfect home, that place would be pretty damn close. Once finished, I bet it would exceed my wildest dreams.

  I was still in awe that Kline had bought a home for his mom and dad. And it wasn’t a brand new house, which he could obviously afford. It was a home he was filling with love and care and thoughtfulness by fixing it up himself.

  Everything I had assumed about him had been dead wrong.

  He’d rented a Ford Edge, for goodness’ sake. Nothing against that vehicle—I’d have been more than happy to drive one around—but it wasn’t the type of car you’d see a man with his kind of money drive.

  A Range Rover? Definitely.

  But an economy, mid-size SUV that he’d rented? Hell no.

  He was so damn humble and endearing and practical. Every new facet of his personality I discovered, I adored. Kline was one of the most intriguing people I’d ever met.

  “I’ll drive. You handle the music. Sound good?” He handed me his phone, iTunes already pulled up.

  I nodded, scrolling through his playlists and choosing Young the Giant’s “12 Fingers.” It was the perfect song for this kind of day. I hung my hand out the window and savored the unseasonably warm wind that caressed my skin. After slipping off my flats, I moved my feet up to the seat, knees finding their way under my chin. Catching sight of each mile marker we passed, I felt a twinge of sadness as the distance grew between us and that gorgeous beach view.

  I glanced at Kline out of the corner of my eye. He was softly singing the words, tapping out a beat on the steering wheel. He looked delicious—aviators, two days’ worth of scruff, handsome mouth set in a soft grin. I wanted to eat him with a spoon.

  A swell of emotions tightened my chest as our weekend replayed in my mind.

  It had been perfect. He had been perfect. Kline hadn’t rushed. He’d been attentive and careful and made sure my first time was good for me. And it had been. That night had been more than good. It had been amazing.

  He made me feel crazy,
in the greatest, most overwhelming way. It was hard to describe. Hell, it was hard to even put it into words without saying things I wasn’t quite ready to say.

  Just… God, this man… He was everything.

  I felt like I was on the best roller coaster ride of my life. In the beginning, when everything started with us, I had hesitantly hopped in, mind racing: What the hell am I thinking? Is this a good idea?

  The guy I’d known at work was a fair, honest, friendly guy but not one I’d ever considered. But then, it had been too late to back out because I’d been moving—we’d been moving.

  We’d been climbing and whirling and twisting all crazy, and my thoughts had immediately shifted. I’m pretty sure I’ll survive, because how many people fall out of roller coasters, right?

  But I didn’t really know because I’d never really paid attention to theme park statistics.

  Shit, I had never really been into riding roller coasters.

  Until Kline.

  Every corkscrew and curve was exciting. I was enjoying every nerve-wracking minute, and I started to just let go and trust. I started to truly believe that as scary as it was, I was right where I needed to be.

  Then, there was that “holy shit” turn when the bottom would drop out and my stomach would fall to my feet, but I was soaring again and screaming and laughing because I had made it. I was alive, and this—Kline and me together—was the most real, amazing thing in my life. And the ride slowed just a little bit, and the turns and twists were more like reverberations of the really crazy ones from before, but I was fine with that.

  I was happy with everything.

  And when I pulled into the place where I had started, I felt changed—overjoyed, enlightened, and knowing, without a doubt, I was right where I’d always wanted and needed to be.

  In the craziest explanation, that was what he made me feel.

  Complete. Alive. Amazing. The same but somehow very, very different.

  The song switched to The Used’s “Smother Me.” The lyrics and the slow, silky beat had me looking at Kline again, drinking him in.