Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I trusted him. Cared for him. Loved him. I wanted him and only him. He was everything I’d always dreamed of, plus a million things I never even knew I wanted.

  “Kiss me, baby,” he whispered against my lips.

  “I am kissing you,” I retorted, my mouth still pressed against his.

  “No. Fucking kiss me,” he growled, his tongue slipping past my lips and making me moan. “I’ll never get tired of this. I’ll never not want this. With you. Only you.”

  “I’m going to miss my flight and it’ll be all your fault,” I whimpered.

  “Fuck the flight. Fuck the meeting. Stay here and fuck my brains out.” That devilish mouth moved to my neck and then my collarbone, sucking softly while his tongue licked along the sensitive skin.

  My hands found his ass, tugging him toward me. “You don’t play fair.” My hips arched up into his, my body begging for him to connect us.

  “With you, I’ll never play fair.” He pressed against me, the tip of his cock moving through my wetness. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to keep doing this with me. For-fucking-ever.”

  “We’re gonna fuck forever?” I teased.

  His laugh vibrated my skin. “Yes. Me and you. Fucking, kissing, groping, making love, coming. All the goddamn time. Forever.”

  “I want this in writing.”

  He moved away from me, rustling inside the nightstand and finding a complimentary pen clipped to a notepad with the hotel’s logo written along the top. He tossed the pad across the room and put the pen in his mouth, removing the cap.

  “Pretty sure contracts need paper…”

  “Not this contract.” He settled between my thighs again, eyes locked on my belly. The tip of the pen touched my skin and I shivered. “This is a different kind of contract, baby.” Blue eyes peeked up at me, smirking.

  The pen moved across my skin, but I couldn’t see what he was writing, his messy hair blocking my view.

  “Excuse me, sir, but what are you doing? Are you branding me?”

  “Stop calling me sir. I’m trying to focus here and you’re making me hard.”

  “You’ve been hard for the past eight hours. What’s new?”

  “You’d think you would have tried to help me with this difficult situation. Honestly, Georgia, I’m disappointed. You really need to work a little harder at this whole girlfriend thing.”

  I fought my grin. It was stupid that I still felt giddy over hearing him say girlfriend. I had officially reverted back to high school. But I didn’t care. I loved that he made me giddy and girly and head-over-heels in love.

  “Oh, so when I did that thing where I put my mouth on your dick and then didn’t remove it until you came, that wasn’t what a good girlfriend would do? I’m sorry I did that. I’ll make a note to never do that again. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll learn from my mistakes.”

  “Now, wait a minute. Let’s not get too hasty here,” he backtracked, still focused on tattooing something on my skin. “I think you need to do that thing a few more times. Like every day, for the next five years or so, before I can really decide if I like it.”

  I grabbed his hair, pulling his head up so he looked at me. “You didn’t like it?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.

  “I can’t really remember.” He shrugged, fighting a smile. “Why don’t you do it again and then it might help me give you a proper answer?”

  “Oh.” I feigned innocent understanding. “So, I should just put my mouth on your cock again? You know, slide it in real deep until it taps the back of my throat, and then suck hard, while I run my tongue all over you. Would that help? Or should I do something else?”

  “No,” he said, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob. “You should do those things.” He cleared his throat, his body’s answer growing hard and straining against my thigh.

  “All of those things you just said—yeah, do those.”

  My face cracked into a smile, amused by the strain in his voice and his, um, yeah. That too. I was definitely enjoying that reaction.

  “Okay, all set. Per your request, the contract is in writing.” He tossed the pen back onto the nightstand. He gripped my thighs as he kneeled on the bed between my legs.

  “Now, let’s get back to what you were saying before. I believe you said something about putting your mouth on me?” He smirked, waggling his brows playfully. “Or do you want me to just slide inside of you? Because I’m a big fan of this perfect pussy.” He ground against me.

  “The biggest fan, actually. No one loves this pussy as much as I do. Which is why no one else will ever see it, touch it, taste it. Consider me your orgasm donor for life. Any time, hour, second of any day, you need to come, I’m your guy.”

  I giggled. “Like my orgasm soul mate?”

  I was rewarded with a smile. “Exactly like that.”

  He brushed his fingers across my belly and hip bone, where the pen’s previous ministrations still had my nerve endings tingling. “This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “What did you write?” My eyes followed his, to the place where his hand rested on my skin. “Move your hand,” I urged. “I swear to God, if you drew a penis or—” I stopped mid-sentence, my gaze locking onto the straight and narrow lines of his masculine script.

  My heart in your hands and you in my arms, that’s all I’ll ever need.

  “I mean it,” he whispered. “I mean every word, Georgia.”

  I looked at him, really looked at him, hovering above me, his hands now resting beside my head. His heart was in his eyes—tender, loving, perfect.

  What simple words for such a profound declaration.

  Kline had just laid it all out there. He’d just told me I had him. He was mine. His heart was in my hands. And all he wanted was me. And that would be enough for him.

  “I love you,” I said, my voice choking on emotion. “I love you so much, Kline.”

  “I love you, too.” He kissed me hard, deep, and desperate. His lips, his touch, the way he made love to me, it told me everything I needed to know.

  This was real, him and me. This was it. And the best part of that revelation was that we were both certain. Neither of us was in limbo, waiting for the other to catch up or decide if this was right. We were all in, both of us, in love.

  Intense, life changing, forever a part of one another kind of love.

  * * *

  I handed my boarding pass off and walked onto the plane. I was beyond exhausted, my arms damn near giving out as I lifted my carry-on up and stowed it away. Kline had switched my seat without my knowing. Yesterday, he had seen my boarding pass on the nightstand and asked if I was in coach because the flight was overbooked. When I responded that I didn’t want to take advantage of the company’s budget, he told me to never book a seat in coach again.

  I’d acquiesced with a sassy, “Yes, sir.”

  Apparently, he’d appreciated that answer because I had been generously rewarded with his talented mouth between my legs.

  The second I arrived at the airport and got through security in record time—thank God, considering I was running thirty minutes behind schedule—I was called over to the gate, where an attendant instructed that I had been upgraded to a first class window seat.

  He sure was one sneaky, adorable, demanding man when he wanted to be.

  I clicked my seatbelt into place and grabbed my phone from my purse as passengers continued to board the plane and find their seats. Even though he was probably sound asleep, I decided to send him a quick text.

  Me: Someone changed my seat. I’m currently relaxing in first class, enjoying the view from the window.

  Kline: I think you should thank whoever did it with that really awesome thing you do with your mouth.

  And I thought I had sex on the brain all the time. Pervert.

  Me: When I figure it out, I’ll keep that idea in mind.

  Kline: If I told you it was me, would you make that idea a reality?

  Me: I don’t know…I’m an
in-the-moment kind of gal. I’m not very good with hypotheticals.

  Kline: It was me. I’ll fit time into my schedule tomorrow night so you can properly thank me.

  Me: Now that I’m in the moment, I’m not feeling all that into your idea…

  Kline: Did I mention there would be an exchange? You thanking me, me thanking you kind of thing.

  Me: Slot me in for tomorrow night at seven.

  Kline: Sudden change in feelings?

  Me: You presented a very attractive offer, Mr. Brooks.

  Kline: Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Cummings.

  Me: Likewise…I miss you.

  God, I really was a goner. It had only been an hour since I’d kissed him goodbye while he was all sleepy and adorable and begging me to stay, and already, my chest ached over the idea that I wouldn’t get to see him again until tomorrow night.

  Kline: I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left. I think you should quit your job. You should still be in this bed beside me and not on a goddamn flight back home.

  Me: I’ll let my boss know ASAP.

  Kline: Good idea.

  The third round of passengers started to filter down the aisle, heading through the curtains and into coach. I tapped the email icon, drafting a quick message to my “boss.”

  From: Georgia Cummings

  To: Kline Brooks

  Subject: My Boyfriend’s Requests

  Mr. Brooks,

  My boyfriend isn’t too happy I’m on a flight instead of in his hotel room fucking his brains out. I’m requesting that this doesn’t happen again. He’s very upset.

  Sincerely,

  Georgia Cummings

  Director of Marketing, TapNext

  Brooks Media

  From: Kline Brooks

  To: Georgia Cummings

  Re: My Boyfriend’s Requests

  Ms. Cummings,

  I am taking this concern very seriously. From now on, I guarantee any business trips you are scheduled to attend, you will be booked in the same room as your boyfriend. I will also make sure there is plenty of time scheduled in throughout your day to allow you to fuck his brains out. And just because I feel terrible about this, I’m requesting you leave work early tomorrow and go to his apartment (his front desk probably knows you need a spare key) so you’re there when he gets home. (I bet he’d prefer you to be naked and lying in his bed, too.)

  Sincerely,

  Kline Brooks

  President and CEO Brooks Media

  From: Georgia Cummings

  To: Kline Brooks

  Subject: I think my boyfriend will be very happy…

  Mr. Brooks,

  Thank you for your utmost concern. I will be sure to leave work early tomorrow and wait for my boyfriend at his apartment. I will also use your suggestion about my attire. Although, I think my boyfriend would prefer me to be wearing the sexiest pair of heels I own while I wait.

  Sincerely,

  Georgia Cummings

  Director of Marketing, TapNext

  Brooks Media

  P.S. I’m crazy in love with my boyfriend.

  From: Kline Brooks

  To: Georgia Cummings

  Re: I think my boyfriend will be happy…(YES, he will)

  Ms. Cummings,

  I think your boyfriend would love that. Actually, I bet he’d insist on that.

  Sincerely,

  Kline Brooks

  President and CEO Brooks Media

  P.S. He’s crazy in love with you too. For the sake of everything that’s right in the world, don’t forget the fucking heels tomorrow.

  Eyes tired, I set my phone in my lap and rested my head on the seat. My mind replayed last night, highlighting everything from Kline stealing kisses between asking me my favorite bands, movies, and vacation spots, to him making love to me, over and over again.

  My fingers touched my lips, hiding my ridiculous smile.

  “I know that look,” a woman softly whispered beside me.

  My eyes blinked open, finding an older lady with salt and pepper hair and a rounded, smiling face in the seat next to mine. “You’re thinking about someone special, aren’t you?”

  “Am I that obvious?” I laughed, my cheeks flushing.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. Love is a beautiful thing when you find it. It’s something to be happy about, something to cherish, something to wear on your face every single day,” she said, genuine happiness in her voice. “Is he a good man?”

  I nodded. Kline’s handsome face flashed in my mind. In that moment, I could picture every one of his smiles—happy, teasing, playful, loving. It was an endless list and one that I wanted to memorize and keep with me forever. “Yeah, he is. He’s definitely one of the good ones.”

  “Is he your husband?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  She grinned, her cheeks puffing out in soft delight. “By the looks of your glow, I’d say you’re headed in that direction.”

  Were we? My rational head wanted me to slow the hell down, but my heart was already picking out invitations and flowers. Even though we had just started exchanging I love yous, there was no denying I’d fallen hard for Kline. I was in so deep I honestly couldn’t picture myself without him. Ever.

  Before I could respond to her statement or ask her something about herself, she was adjusting in her seat, placing a pillow around her neck. “I wish you the best of luck, dear. I hope you and your wonderful man get a very happy ever after. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rest my eyes. I can feel my Xanax kicking in.” She flashed an apologetic smile. “It’s for the best, though,” she added. “I’m a very nervous flyer.”

  She closed her eyes, and within seconds, soft snores fell from her lips.

  I made a note to tell my doctor I was a nervous flyer too. The long flights I often took for business trips would have been much more tolerable with the magic that was Xanax. I’d much rather have slept through a four-hour flight than toss and turn without getting any rest.

  “Sorry for the delay,” a woman’s voice filtered through the speakers. “We will be taking off shortly.”

  My phone buzzed in my lap, catching my attention.

  It was a picture message from Cassie, with the words, “I’m so sorry, Georgia.”

  Huh?

  I tapped the photo and it filled the screen, zooming in so I could figure out what she was talking about.

  It was a screenshot of a TapNext conversation.

  TAPRoseNEXT (7:00PM): You’re a very nice guy, but I can’t continue talking with you anymore. I’ve gotten more serious with the man I’m seeing and this just doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry. Good luck with everything, Ruck.

  BAD_Ruck (6:45AM): I get it. I do. But I think we should meet in person, just the two of us. Please, Rose.

  I white-knuckled my phone as I stared down at the screen in disbelief.

  I don’t think I breathed for an entire minute. I felt like someone had reached down my throat and pulled my heart straight out of my body.

  My eyes closed of their own accord, my mind in self-preservation mode. My heart roaring in my ears, I took a cavernous breath and found the strength to open my eyes again, hoping—no, praying—I had missed something along the line.

  But I hadn’t. I fucking hadn’t. The screenshot, Kline’s response, it was real. One-hundred percent real.

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, pressing into my lids to stop the tears wanting to spill down my cheeks. A shaky sigh escaped my lips as I tried to focus through the blurry mess of emotions.

  His message was timestamped from this morning at 3:45 a.m. Pacific.

  My throat constricted, cheeks straining in agony to stop myself from losing it.

  I won’t cry. I will not sob in front of a plane full of strangers.

  This morning. He sent that message in between playfully asking me questions and making love to me. Or was it faking love to me? Because that was what it felt like now. I’d never felt so b
etrayed, so utterly devastated in my entire life.

  The pain built in my chest, burning like I had swallowed hot coals. I was hanging by a thread, my free hand gripping the armrest in a pathetic attempt to hold myself together.

  “Miss, we’re about to take off. You need to turn your phone off now.”

  I pulled my eyes from the screen, finding a flight attendant with long blonde hair and a pink smile standing above me.

  All I could do was stare at her. Honestly, I didn’t even know what she was saying to me.

  “Your phone?” She nodded to my hands.

  I followed her eyes and realized what she was asking. “Oh, sorry,” I mumbled, and with shaky hands, turned it off.

  I felt like I was a passenger in a crash-and-burn landing, going from the highest high, only to be catapulted into the lowest of lows.

  Memories flooded my mind.

  The night at the Hamptons, when I had given myself to him.

  I choked on a sob as a few tears slipped down my cheeks. I swiped at the liquid emotion, telling myself I could do this. I could get through this flight.

  A man across the aisle glanced in my direction, his head tilted to the side in concern.

  Oh, God, don’t look at me like that! I wanted to scream at him. I did not want pity. I couldn’t handle someone recognizing that I was falling to pieces. That would for sure make it impossible to hold this in until I was somewhere private.

  Long, slow breaths were inhaled through my nose and exhaled from my lungs. I stared down at a nonexistent piece of lint on my pants, plucking at the material just because it was something to do, something else to focus on besides my heart falling out of my chest.