All I Do: Paradise Beach #3

by Lush, Tamara

  Oh God, my clit’s between his lips. I’d been on the edge before when he was touching me. Or so I thought. Now, between the light sucking and the flick of his tongue, I’m going out of my mind. There are no words. None.

  I grab fistfuls of the duvet. And when he sucks a little harder on my swollen nub, I let out a sharp cry.

  Because I’m about to come from oral sex for the very first time in my life.

  He lets out a growl, as if he’s the one having an orgasm, and slides his finger inside of me while still flicking his tongue against me. That he can growl, lick, and finger at the same time is nothing short of a miracle, but I’m shuddering and gasping too hard now to think of anything.

  “Remy, yes,” I sob. “Yes.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and allow the sensation to wash through me. There are tingles and spasms and holy wow. I don’t realize that he’s stopped and moved up my body until he’s claiming my mouth, thrusting his hand in my hair and pulling.

  “So fucking beautiful. So beautiful, Leilani. Your pussy tastes so good. Can you taste yourself on my tongue? Have I changed your mind? Is it one of your favorite things now?”

  I make an unintelligible noise that’s something between a dolphin squeak and a snort. Sexy. And then I’m pressing my body into his and forcing him to roll over onto his back.

  “Wish we had a condom,” he mumbles as he gathers my hair in his hands.

  “Me too,” I whisper. I’m certain he’d be incredible.

  When I’d been with Brent, he’d demanded oral often. So often it became a chore, like cleaning the toilet.

  But being with Remy is totally different. He’s reverent. He seems happy and excited just to have me here. Now I’m kissing down his body and he’s so responsive, with that half-cocked grin and his sexy groans. I brush my breasts against his erection and he blows out a breath.

  “Don’t tease me too much. Please. Going to explode over here, beautiful.”

  I also love that he’s calling me beautiful. That he’s making me feel beautiful. Because even though I’d been the subject of many compliments as a mermaid, they had always been generic. I’d been an interchangeable woman who looked pretty underwater.

  By the time I take his hard length into my mouth, it’s as if his body is my playground and I’m happily romping my way across the landscape. He’s quite the specimen of masculinity, from his musky taste, to his clenching thighs, to the way he’s fisting my hair in his big hands.

  And his erection. It’s solid. Long, but not freakishly so. Still, the girth stretches my mouth and I slide down it, eager to take it all in.

  “Oh, Leilani, like that. Wow.” His voice is hoarse. Desperate.

  I’d never dreamed I could make a man feel sexually desperate.

  I grasp him in one hand and move my mouth up and down his shaft. His grip tightens on my hair, but it doesn’t set off any alarm bells of pain. It feels like pure pleasure.

  “Not gonna last long. Sorry. Fuck.”

  I slow my rhythm and lick the tip while looking up at his face. His lids are half-closed, eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Can I come in your mouth?” he whispers.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I hum while I take him in.

  He moans, loudly, and I feel a pulsing at the base. Then his hot liquid coats the inside of my mouth. I take it all in while he gently holds my head.

  It’s the gentle touch that gets me, as if he wants to give me the opportunity to move if I’m uncomfortable. As if his pleasure isn’t the only thing that matters.

  When he’s finished, I move up his body and lie on top of him. Remy wraps his strong arms around me and I press my ear to his chest, listening to the wild cadence of his heart.

  I shut my eyes, ignoring my racing mind. Between the kayaking, the sun, the swimming, and the orgasm, I’m suddenly bone-tired.

  Remy breathes deeply and I settle in, enjoying his nearness. I drift off reveling in the warmth of his body and the strength in his arms.

  Before I fall asleep, two words come to mind: So. Good.

  So good.

  * * *

  I wake some time later, confused about where I am. And why the bed is moving slightly.

  There’s a muscular arm around me, and a man spooning me. I frown. That’s not Brent. He never wanted to sleep this close. I haven’t slept next to him in months, though, thank God.

  Then it hits me.

  Remy.

  I’m on a boat docked at a marina, which is why everything is moving a little.

  His body is pleasantly warm. We’re not under the covers, but the heat from his skin is keeping me at the perfect temperature.

  A surge of desire shoots through my body. His skin is flush against mine, and we’re spooning like we’ve been intimate for years. Our legs are tangled together, even. I blink in the semi-darkness. His hand cups my breast possessively.

  I look up. The moonlight is shining through the skylight, sending a silvery glow into the boat bedroom.

  I am on a sailboat. With a naked man. Who I’ve had approximately three seconds of conversation with — most of it in the water before I decided to swim away.

  Remy stirs behind me and nestles his nose in my hair as he sends a soft snore into my neck. Pleasurable tingles ensue.

  And then, my stomach clenches from a sharp, sudden feeling of shame.

  I am naked in a strange man’s bed. What was I thinking? I can’t even blame this on drinking. It was bad judgment, pure and simple.

  I begged him to touch me. Demanded he bring me to orgasm. Then I gave him head like his shaft was one of the oxygen tubes that I had used in the mermaid shows. I’d sucked as if it were my lifeline.

  Good lord. What has happened to my dignity? My independence? My plan to stay man-free?

  Who the hell is Remy? What is his last name? Hastings? Yeah, that’s it.

  What do I know about him? Uh…

  I blink, my eyes adjusting to the low light. He’s a fisherman. He lives on Paradise Beach. He does laundry somewhere… oh right, at his parents’ house. Great. He’s probably a momma’s boy. Maybe he doesn’t even live on this boat. Maybe this is just his floating pussy pad.

  I have never before even used the word pussy in my thoughts, and here I am, naked and on a boat, wondering if I am aboard a floating pussy pad. If this isn’t an absurd moment, I’m not sure what would be.

  Remy Hastings loves fishing, fucking, and eating pussy.

  Okay, those are all positives. Well, I assume they are, if he screws as well as he kisses. He’s beautiful, too. And those abs…

  What the hell? What am I doing here? Am I waiting for round two? Not a bad idea, but…

  What did I tell him about me? He knows my name. And that I was a mermaid up north. And… nothing else, right?

  It’s as if I’m trying to remember a night of drinking, except I didn’t have a drop.

  I’d been intoxicated by him. Drugged, even, by his charms. Eek. Danger, danger!

  Oh, hell no. This needs to stop, now. I could see myself getting quite enamored with this fishing-fucking-pussy eating dudebro.

  With the stealth of a ninja, I pick his muscular arm up by the wrist and move it off my body. Immediately, I feel the absence of his big palm on my breast, but I ignore that.

  Inch by inch, I slide off the bed, envisioning that time I saw a moray eel slide into a rock.

  That’s a-moray, I repeat a play on that old song lyric in my mind as I reach for my shorts and T-shirt. They’re within arm’s reach, and I clutch them to my chest. The bikini and my flip-flops are somewhere else in the room, and I don’t want to wake him by rooting around.

  They’re not my favorite flip-flops. I do love the bikini, though, and make sure to locate that near the door. However, sacrifices must be made in the name of retaining some dignity, and so the flip-flops will be offered to the hookup goddess and left behind.

  In the silvery moonlight, I tiptoe out into the boat’s living area. I try to be as quiet as possible as I slip on
my T-shirt and shorts. I’d flung my purse on the floor when we’d started kissing, and I scoop that up. Since we’re on a boat docked at a marina, there’s a bit of motion as I creep toward the exit.

  I step up and outside, onto the deck, the humid night air hitting my face. What time is it? I don’t dare look at my phone right now. There’s a hush in the air, with the only noise being the steel sail lines softly clanging against the mast.

  Within a few seconds, I cross the back of the boat and climb overboard, onto the wooden dock.

  Barefoot, I run down the wooden planks and across the parking lot to my truck, trying to forget the delicious memory of how Remy Hastings gave me more physical pleasure in one day than anyone has given me in my entire life.

  Chapter Seven

  REMY

  “Dude, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Tate says to me, then turns to our other brother, Max. “Check this out. Our normally upbeat little bro here is Mr. Crankypants.”

  Trying to ignore them, I stuff the rest of my mahi sandwich in my mouth. It’s Wednesday afternoon, which means the three of us are sitting at our favorite table on the deck of the Square Grouper. Usually, our sister Natalia joins us, but she’s in Orlando for some big jewelry show and is buying beads or stones or some shit for her business. I can’t keep track of her because she’s like a tornado.

  Max smirks. “Yeah, Remy’s been uncharacteristically silent today. And I noticed he didn’t flirt with the new waitress. Are you feeling okay?”

  He reaches to feel my forehead and I lean away from him, grimacing.

  “Screw you,” I mutter.

  “Is it Damien? You worried about him?” Tate asks, a line of concern creasing his forehead. Like the rest of my family, they know about my tight bond with my twin. Even though we’re nothing alike, we’re inexplicably, even psychically, linked.

  Tate shows his concern for me because he’s always been the kindest of us five Hastings kids. Max and Natalia are both snarky. Damien’s brooding. I’m the joker.

  Tate’s a straight-up Cinnabon roll. Gooey and sweet. Even sweeter now that he’s with Isabella.

  “Nah, I just Skyped with him this morning. He’s doing great, has his week of R and R soon, and can’t wait to see Kate in Rome.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t all meet him there; that would be a killer vacation,” Max muses.

  “I don’t think he wants us all there,” I say, raising one eyebrow. “And frankly, I don’t think I could handle being around all of you, so happily coupled up. Christ almighty. It’s me and Nat left standing.”

  “Oh, so that’s what you’re grumpy about,” Tate says in a cheerful voice.

  “Kinda.” I sip my iced tea.

  My brothers stare at me. They’re not used to me being miserable.

  “I had a weird encounter with a woman.” I rattle the ice in my glass, recalling how I’d woken up in the middle of the night, hoping for round two with Leilani, and instead found an empty spot next to me on the bed.

  “Jesus, dude, I was just with you seventy-two hours ago on the boat. You hooked up with someone since then?” Tate points to me and looks to Max. “The Playboy of Paradise Beach strikes again.”

  “It was the mermaid,” I say.

  “Mermaid?” Max asks. “Can’t wait to hear about this. Or is that some euphemism for an exotic dancer that I’m not familiar with? I never know with you.”

  Tate chuckles. “We were on the boat and this woman with a mermaid tail fin swims up to us. The strangest damned thing I’ve ever seen. Of course, Remy was instantly in love, and then he fell overboard. Literally and metaphorically.”

  Max chuckles.

  “I meant to fall overboard,” I grin.

  “Bullshit,” Tate retorts. “And then she swam away from him. But apparently that wasn’t the end of their story.”

  Max signals the waitress for the check, and I reach for my wallet because it’s my week to pay.

  “We ran into each other in the parking lot.”

  “And?” Tate asks.

  “And she came onto the boat for a drink. Except we didn’t drink.”

  “Uh-huh,” Max grunts.

  “And?” Tate prods.

  “And she left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I mean, it’s fine, she said she didn’t want anything serious.”

  “Isn’t that your line?” Tate smirks.

  “Yeah, right? But I’d at least hoped for an entire night. She just ghosted me. I didn’t get her number or anything.”

  The waitress comes over, and Max points to me. “He’s paying.”

  She takes my cash and walks away. Max is right — normally I’d be checking her out, flirting, trying to get her number. Today, I feel zero attraction.

  “Damn, that’s cold, Remy. Maybe you met your match.” Max yawns and stretches. “I’ve gotta get going to the Chamber meeting. You two clowns going? The business part of the meeting starts soon.”

  Max reminds me of Dad when he talks like that.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I mumble, throwing some cash on the table. “We can walk over.”

  “In this heat?” Max scoffs.

  Tate and I both ignore his question and start down the street. Max’s blood has thinned or something since he returned from New York, because unlike me and Tate, he can no longer handle being in the sun much.

  My two brothers talk about resort business as we walk the four blocks on Main Street from the Square Grouper to the Chamber office, but I lag behind, still thinking about my hot encounter with and subsequent abandonment by Leilani.

  It’s not like I was looking to marry her or anything. But damn, our sexual connection was out of this universe. And I’d hoped to continue exploring that… for more than a few hours.

  Since that completely random and scorching afternoon, she’s all I’ve thought about. How beautiful she looked, lying there naked. How she came so hard against my tongue. Those incredible, breathy moans of hers. Jesus Christ.

  Every time I catch a whiff of her suntan lotion lingering on my pillow, my dick gets hard. Which means I’ve been jacking off a lot.

  And couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  I’m not normally that kind of guy. Maybe my brothers are, but I’m not. I’m a lone wolf, a confirmed bachelor. And I’m always up front with the women I hook up with. The conversation Leilani and I had before we got naked is the rule, not the exception.

  I heave a sigh as we walk into the Chamber building. This shit’s gotta stop, because I have fishing charters booked and things to do. Leilani’s probably already off island. She was likely a tourist wanting some vacation hookup and is back by now in Hernando County at her mermaid job.

  Okay, so I did look her up online. There were a surprising number of videos of her as a mermaid, which made me even hornier.

  My brothers and I make our way to the check-in table. I’m not the kind of guy who would join an organization, but Max and Tate convinced me that it was something I needed to do for my fishing charter business. And it does help me network, so that’s why I come.

  Dr. Andrew Green, the Chamber president, is at the table. He owns a walk-in medical clinic here on the island and is also president of the regional NAACP. And he’s a damned good fisherman with a hella expensive boat. Dude practically beat me at the last Paradise Beach fishing rodeo.

  “The Hastings brothers!” Andrew calls out, shaking Max’s hand. They went to high school together and have been friends since they were kids. He extends his hand to Tate, then to me.

  “Y’all going to sign up for the mentor contest?” he asks. “Ten grand on the line. We’re pairing mentors and mentees today. Perfect timing for your arrival.”

  I groan silently. The annual mentor program pairs new business owners with existing businesspeople, and the teams compete for the cash prize. For a new, small business owner, ten grand is a welcome chunk of cash.

  But I’m not a team kinda guy, and have always successfully avoided this particular event. Had I known th
is was on the agenda, I’d have gone back to the marina. My fishing boat engine is getting an oil change, and I could’ve hung around, shooting the shit with the guys there.

  “Naw, I just don’t have time,” Max says, clapping Andrew on the shoulder. “Running the resort is taking the piss outta me. Sorry.”

  Of course he doesn’t have time. Resort my ass. He’s too busy with Lauren, getting pedicures or massages or whatever. Taking photos at sunset for her Instagram. I grab my membership badge, wondering if I can duck out early.

  “I’ll do it,” Tate pipes up, and Andrew hands him a red ticket. “It’s why I came. I believe in giving back, unlike my brothers here.”

  I roll my eyes. Tate is such a do-gooder. Civic pride and all that jazz.

  “Remy, you in?” Andrew asks.

  “Nah, sitting this year out. Thanks, though.”

  The three of us wander toward the crowded meeting room. “Jesus, when did it get so crowded at these meetings? There must be a couple hundred people here.”

  “You haven’t been in a while, have you?” Tate quips.

  “Guess not. Hey, I’m going to grab a cup of coffee.”

  I break away from my brothers and fill a paper cup with brown liquid. Andrew’s now at the front of the room, welcoming everyone and talking about routine Chamber stuff. I stand near the doorway, eyeing the table where my brothers are sitting. They’ve left an empty chair for me, right next to Kate, Damien’s wife.

  Andrew starts talking about the mentor program — I have to hand it to him, he doesn’t screw around with jokes or filler — and I’m thinking about slipping out when I spot a familiar-looking head of golden hair.

  No. That can’t be Leilani. Can it? Why would she be here?

  The woman’s wavy hair looks exactly like hers, but since her back is to me, I’m not a hundred percent certain it is her. If I go sit with my brothers, I might get a better look from that angle.

  I weave my way through the tables and sit. First, I grin at Kate, and then twist in my seat so I can pretend to listen to Andrew.

  “And our first mentee is the owner of a brand new bar here on Paradise Beach. It’s called Mermosa, and it’s a mermaid-themed bar. Isn’t that a great name? Mermosa? It’s like mermaid and mimosa — two of my favorite things. Let’s give a big hand for Leilani Kostas, and she can talk about her new establishment!” Andrew extends his arm in her direction, and she stands.