Natural Passion (Au Naturel Trilogy Book 1)

by Anna Durand

  She watched me, her head tilted to the side, her lips curved in a slight smile.

  Only a few of us had attempted the headstand pose since it was an advanced move. Maybe I wanted to show off for Eve, because I found myself lifting one hand to wave at her. Held up by one arm, I began to teeter just a little.

  Eve's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open.

  I dropped my hand back onto the mat before I tumbled over, an outcome that wouldn't impress Eve and certainly wouldn't make her want to crawl into bed with me. Still, I was never above showing off to impress a woman.

  "Okay," Ollie said, his voice a bit strained from holding his headstand, "time to ease out of it."

  Moving slowly, I bent my knees and pulled them down toward my chest, then lowered my toes to the mat and rolled into a kneeling position.

  Eve clapped and grinned.

  She definitely looked impressed.

  I waved to her again and probably smirked, though I resisted the urge to run over there, throw her over my shoulder, and cart her off to the nearest private spot, indoors or out.

  The second Ollie announced the session was over and thanked us for attending, I sauntered across the grass to Eve.

  "Wow," she said, "you've got the strength of a superhero."

  Her compliment made me smirk again. "I appreciate the comparison, but I can't lift a building with my bare hands."

  "I'm thinking you could if you really wanted to." She stretched out a hand to fondle my biceps. "You've got some powerful muscles."

  Her voice had turned huskier, infused with sensuality.

  Mission accomplished. I'd impressed Eve.

  "Hey, Val!" Ollie called out.

  Eve's hand lingered on my arm, but I tore my gaze away from her to glance back at Ollie.

  "Forgot your mat," he shouted, pointing at the one I'd abandoned.

  "Sorry, I'll get it." I asked Eve, "When will I see you again?"

  "Dinner, probably. I've got work to do, and I need to get back to the drowned guest room. Had to get a tape measure from the house for Quentin."

  That's when I noticed the tape measure she held cupped in one hand, almost hidden inside her curled fingers.

  "Do you practice yoga?" I asked.

  "Yes, but not in public." She gave my biceps a squeeze, her gaze trained on my arm. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips. "And not in the nude."

  "We should have a private session, just the two of us. I can help you master the one-handed headstand."

  She pulled her hand away from my arm and met my gaze. "I'll see you later, Val. Have fun with the other guests."

  I enjoyed the view from behind as she sashayed toward the guest house door.

  After rolling up my yoga mat, I headed into Eve's house and down the hall to my room. I checked my phone for messages, discovering I had one voicemail from Wendy Yu. I groaned. The last thing I wanted to do on my vacation was talk to my agent, but I never ignored phone calls, emails, or texts.

  I dialed Wendy's number.

  "Val," she said in her usual cheerful tone, "so glad you called me back. We've got an offer for a magazine spread."

  "Not interested."

  "The shoot isn't for six weeks. Plenty of time for you to finish your secret sabbatical and come home."

  Was LA home? It had been for years, but lately, I'd started to wonder.

  "Still not interested," I said. "Turn down all offers until I tell you otherwise."

  "At least tell me where you are."

  If I did that, Wendy would make sure a gang of paparazzi descended on the resort within twenty-four hours. My agent had done wonders for my career when I'd switched from football to modeling, but I wasn't sure I wanted that life anymore. When I'd mentioned my doubts to Wendy, she had told me to "have a vacay, bang someone, and get over it."

  "Please respect my privacy," I told her. "And give me time."

  "Just tell me it's not someplace trendy like Ibiza. You have an image to uphold."

  "No jobs, Wendy. Understand?"

  She sighed loudly. "Fine. But if your sabbatical takes too long, your career might dry up."

  I wasn't sure I cared if it did. "Goodbye, Wendy."

  Before she could complain, I disconnected the call.

  How had I gone from Olympic glory to preening for the camera? I used to enjoy modeling, but these days, I wanted…something else. Something more. What that meant, I still hadn't figured out.

  For now, I'd settle for getting Eve Holt in my bed. Or in the grass. Or in the hot spring. Anywhere and everywhere I could have her, I would have her.

  The rest I'd think about later.

  Chapter Seven

  Eve

  After discussing the necessary repairs with Quentin and authorizing him to proceed, I returned to my office to finish my boring business tasks. That's what I intended to do. But my mind kept flashing back to that kiss, to the feel of Val's lips on mine and his tongue tormenting me. I couldn't deny he'd been right when he said I would've let him do anything to me if Quentin hadn't interrupted us. I thanked heaven he had, but I also cursed the fates for getting in the way.

  It was for the best. I should not sleep with Val. He'd admitted he was infamous, though I had no idea why. He had all but told me to look him up online.

  No, I would not do that. His past didn't matter since he was nothing more than a guest.

  I returned my attention to the computer screen. The numbers in my accounting software blurred. My mind reeled me back to the moment when Val's lips had touched mine. He smelled so good. He looked so good. Damn, he was sex on a stick slathered with warm caramel sauce and whipped cream. Watching him do yoga in the nude, that had transformed my desire into a living, breathing creature scrabbling to get out and have its way. I would never forget the sight of Val in a headstand pose with one hand raised to wave at me, a sexy smirk on his lips.

  How could he hold that pose? The man must have supernatural powers.

  My mind conjured images of all the positions he might pull off in bed and how deliciously naughty it would feel to let him fuck me. Get a grip, Evie.

  For ten more minutes, I tried to do that. Really, I tried. My fingernails tapped on the desk instead of the keyboard, and I couldn't focus on the screen for more than two seconds.

  Oh, screw it. I could check him out. He'd clearly wanted me to, and Googling him did not mean I would crawl into his bed in the middle of the night.

  I opened my web browser and searched for Val Silva. A bunch of results popped up, including several women with the same name, but the top five results were all about my Val Silva.

  Not mine. My guest.

  The titles of the web pages listed in the results solved the mystery of his infamy. "International soccer star shucks his clothes to celebrate winning game," said an American newspaper. A sports website stated, "Former Olympic football champ Val Silva bares all on the field to celebrate World Cup win." Browsing the articles, I learned Val hadn't received any severe punishment for his antics, since both times he'd stripped after the final whistle and not during the game. The first time, he'd received a warning. The second time, he'd been fined and suspended for one game as well getting arrested, though his influential father got him out of jail with no charges filed.

  It was the fifth search result that stopped me.

  The article came from a gossip website. The headline read, "Silva-Taylor sex tape: Football champion Val Silva and Hollywood star Marina Taylor caught with their pants down, again."

  My mouse pointer hovered over the link to the full story. I shouldn't click the link. No, I really, really, really shouldn't.

  I clicked the link, wincing at my inappropriate curiosity. Was it inappropriate? He'd sort of suggested I look up his infamous behavior. He must want me to see the tape.

  The article talked about Val's history of stripping down during football matches, usually after he'd scored the winning goal. I skimmed through the description of hi
s athletic achievements, including the fact he'd led the Brazilian Olympic team to a gold medal and had been the star player of his professional football club. Later, he'd been instrumental in his national team claiming three World Cup wins. Every time, Val had scored the pivotal goals.

  Then I got to the part about the video.

  All I saw was a still image from the video with all the sensitive bits blurred out. Val sat in a chair with a woman straddling him. Her head was thrown back, and his eyes were closed. According to the text, the sex tape went on for fifteen minutes, with Val enjoying his lady friend in various positions and giving her several "happy endings." His video sex partner was the movie star Marina Taylor, according to the article, though I'd never heard of her, since I paid little attention to celebrities. The story went on to explain Marina had become as infamous as Val was for her scandalously risqué behavior in public, and the two of them had even received their own celebrity couple nickname, Valarina. The couple had also sprinted across the stage—naked, of course—at the Oscars, but nobody bothered to press charges for the incident. It was Hollywood, after all, the land of outrageous behavior. Marina was quoted as saying, of their sex tape, "Val and I have nothing to be ashamed of. He's a god in bed, and I'm blessed to have enjoyed the pleasure of his company."

  His company? She'd been lost in ecstasy in the image from the video.

  Val had given no comment on the tape.

  The fact I'd never heard of any of their escapades was hardly surprising. I avoided social media, tabloids, and gossip shows.

  I browsed a bit more of the search results and glanced at magazine spreads he'd posed for since retiring from football. Damn, but he was photogenic. Not that the fact surprised me. In person, he was drop-dead hot and sex incarnate. In photos, he made every other male model look like an amateur. I searched for his sex tape too but couldn't find it.

  Okay, enough snooping. I closed my web browser. Now I knew why Val had said he was infamous. He had flaunted his nudism in public and starred in a sex tape with a famous actress. Mystery solved.

  Again, I tried to get back to work.

  My mind wouldn't let me. I fantasized about being the woman in that video, about all the things he might do to give me multiple happy endings.

  I gave up and went outside to check on my guests.

  Ollie and Sylvester were playing checkers, their board lying on the grass though they sat on towels, while behind them, other guests played volleyball. Ruth sat beside Sylvester, observing the checkers game.

  When Ollie spotted me, he patted the grass beside him. "Sit down, Evie. Take a load off."

  I accepted his invitation. For the better part of an hour, I watched Ollie and Sly shifting the red and black disks around the playing board, each of them winning several games. We all joked and laughed and talked about what to do tomorrow. The Pioneer Days festival was up and running, so we decided that might be a nice change of pace. Yes, the nudists would need to wear clothes, but they were cool with that. The rest of the gang agreed it sounded like a fun outing.

  Eventually, Val came up the path from the woods, alone. He smiled at me, then joined the volleyball game.

  I tried soooo hard not to stare at his penis, the way it bounced whenever he jumped up to hit the ball. Really, I tried. But every girl has her limits, and eventually, I allowed myself to grab the occasional glance. That man had the best ass I'd ever seen, not to mention the best dick.

  After the checkers marathon ended, Ruth and Sylvester retreated into the guest house, taking the checkers board with them. Val had disappeared into the guest house with his fellow nudists.

  I got up and stretched.

  Ollie stood too. He twisted his lips this way and that, scratching his nose. "Do you know where Val's from?"

  "He lives in Los Angeles, but he's originally from Brazil. Didn't he tell you?"

  "I didn't think to ask." Ollie folded his arms over his chest. "I know I've seen him somewhere before."

  "Well, he used to play professional football. His teams won the Olympics and the World Cup."

  Ollie's brows cinched together, wrinkling the skin above his nose. "Football. Val Silva." His eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers. "That's it. He's the soccer player who kept ditching his clothes during games."

  "That's right. I'm not sure if he wants to talk about it, though."

  Ollie gave me an oh-please look. "I'm a naturist. I know how to be discreet. But nobody should ever be ashamed of taking their clothes off."

  "I think it's a crime to do it in public, at least in the US."

  He flapped a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Only because the authorities have sticks up their butts."

  A crunching sound drew our attention to the gravel driveway. A car emblazoned with the logo of the pizza restaurant parked alongside the guest house.

  "Dinner's here," I said, and Ollie and I headed for the guest house.

  I tried to grab a few slices of pizza and duck out to go eat in my own home, but Val insisted I sit beside him throughout dinner. He didn't touch me and never reached for anything. That a shameless exhibitionist like him followed the house rules surprised me, but the way he included me in every conversation made me feel oddly happy. One discussion involved everyone gushing about how amazing I was for running the resort all by myself. I smiled tightly and thanked them for their kind words. I wanted to bow my head and pull my hair over my face to hide. Their effusive praise made me uncomfortable.

  During the entire meal, I resisted the frequent urge to slide my hand up Val's muscular thigh under the table. It would've been a violation of the rules, but I had a feeling he wouldn't have minded. Still, I stuck to my decorum.

  By the time the pizza party ended, it was nearly ten o'clock.

  When I told Val I planned to get some work done in the living room before going to bed, he shook his head and retreated into his room.

  Half an hour later, I'd had enough work. My eyes were tired and gritty, so I shambled barefoot through the living room doorway into the kitchen. There, I paused to shut off the light and then made my way down the darkened hallway toward my room.

  A wedge of light shined through the partly opened door to Val's room, spraying its glow across the wood floor in the hall. I did not peek through the opening when I walked past his room.

  Hooray for my self-control. I almost pumped my fists in the air.

  I had just pushed the door to my room open and was reaching for the light switch inside when a noise from across the hall caught my attention. A thump, that's what it had sounded like.

  A long, low groan originated from Val's room.

  Staring across the hall, I considered what to do. Should I go check on him? What if he'd fallen and hit his head? I couldn't have a guest dying of a cracked skull. I needed to check.

  Decision made, I approached the door.

  It hung open about six inches, enough to let the wedge of illumination spill out—and enough to grant me a view of him. My belly quivered, and my skin came alive with a tingling excitement that raised every hair on my arms and my nape.

  Val reclined in the wooden chair by the desk completely naked, as usual, his feet on the floor and his big body slouched. He had his head thrown back, resting on the chair. His full lips were parted, his eyes closed. With one hand, he gripped the chair's arm. With his other hand…

  Heat ripped through me.

  With his other hand, he pumped his rigid cock in a leisurely, decadent rhythm. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. Little grunts and groans escaped his lips. Every so often, he would lift his hips into the thrusts of his hand, and the chair would tip back a smidgen only to smack down again when his ass slapped onto the chair.

  That explained the thump I'd heard. And the groan.

  He raised his head, eyes still closed, his face tight with need.

  I sidled up to the wall, hidden in the shadows but with a clear view of him. I should've walked away. Should've gone to m
y room and…masturbated while imagining what he was doing in his room. Shit. A good host would leave right now. Then again, he had left the door open. He must've known I would hear him. Maybe he wanted me to watch.

  Or march in there and mount him.

  God, I wanted to climb astride him and drive us both to screaming orgasms.

  My sex had grown so wet I felt the slickness every time my legs shifted the tiniest bit. I could smell the scent of my arousal, and my clit throbbed. Oh, did it throb. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this turned on. Maybe I never had been before.

  He threw his head back once more, his mouth wide open, and hissed in a breath. He groaned it out, the sound resonating deep in his throat and chest. That hand stroked his length faster while the fingers of his other hand clenched the chair's arm harder.

  I unhooked the button of my jeans and slid the zipper down inch by inch, so the sound was almost inaudible. Powerless to resist the urge, I slipped my hand inside my damp panties and stroked my mound.

  His hand pumping, pumping. His rock-hard cock glistening. His palm and fingers encircling his shaft. The tip so red, begging to be sucked.

  My mouth watered. I plunged a finger between my folds, rubbing my nub.

  His back arched. He rocked his hips up, thrusting into his own hand, his breaths harsh and fast. The need to come wrenched his features, and as he pumped wildly, he sucked in a breath and held it.

  Hunger pulsated through my clit, and holy fuck, I was on the verge of coming already. I rubbed faster, rougher, desperate to hit my release with him, but I couldn't stop it. The orgasm seized my body. I mashed my face into the wall to muffle my strangled whimpers. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing until I'd milked every last spasm of pleasure from my body.

  I opened my eyes, still stroking myself lightly, and looked at Val.

  A milky jet erupted from his cock.

  He let out a hoarse cry, pumped twice more, and slumped in the chair. Sweat sheathed his tattooed arm and chest and dampened his hair. He grabbed a towel from the desk and began to wipe down his shaft.

  Watching Val clean himself up after beating off, it got me all hot again. I couldn't stop myself. I ground my finger into my clit until another orgasm barreled through me, hard and fast. Flattening my back against the wall, I gritted my teeth and swallowed my own cries. Once the climax subsided, I could breathe again.