The cabana is right where I remember it, a small, vine-and-moonflower covered structure tucked away in the shadows. If I get bonus points for romance, I’d like to cash them in for a blow job because Peony on her knees...
While I punch the passcode into the number pad on the door, Peony watches me. Part of me is afraid that if I take too long, she’ll change her mind about playing a game with me.
“Do you know the owner?”
I don’t want to tell her the truth—that Liam is my best friend—because money changes things. Founder hounders chasing start-up entrepreneurs, gold diggers, desperate people, people who just want to dream a little on someone else’s dime—everyone wants money from me.
“I know his passcode.” It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “He gave it to me.”
I open the door, but there’s something she needs to understand before we do this. “If you want to stop at any point, say stop.”
She brushes past me. “No safe word?”
I follow her inside. “I don’t play that kind of game. You say stop, I stop. You’re always safe with me.”
She nods. “Okay, and ditto.”
It’s cute that she wants to protect me. “Firefly, you can’t do something I won’t enjoy.”
She is a little firefly, all unexpected sparkle in the night. If I take my eyes off her, it feels as if she’ll flash away into the dark, and I don’t want that.
Her mouth twists but then relaxes into a smile. “Promise?”
I flick the lock shut. I don’t want anyone interrupting us, so I also leave the lights off. God bless French doors because I can see fine. “I promise.”
The pool cabana is much more predictable than the rest of Liam’s estate. White and beachy, there’s a small, open kitchen for drinks and snacks on our left and a bathroom to our right. The rest is open space occupied by two large couches, an army of decorative pillows and those round ottoman things that I never know if they’re for my feet, my ass, or my drink. Knowing Liam, the stuff hanging on the walls is either priceless French crap or crayon scribbles from one of his employees’ kids that he’ll pretend is sourced from a hoity-toity San Francisco gallery just to make fun of his own pretensions.
“Wow.” Peony turns in a circle. “Being a billionaire has its perks. Have you seen the guy who owns this place tonight? Do you think he looks like a normal person or is he polished up pretty like his art?” She giggles. “It’s like trying to spot an octopus in the wild. He’s probably camouflaged and lurking in plain sight, but I’ll never spot him.”
This is not the time to confess that I’m also a member of that club. “So you think he’s camouflaged?”
She twinkles at me. “If he’s smart, he is. He’s a hot topic in the ladies’ room.”
“Billionaires don’t do it for me.” I pull her to me. Slowly, so she can let me know if I don’t get it right. It’s like easing into the pool one inch at a time when you’re hot, teasing your skin with all that water.
“What’s your favorite game?” She whispers the words against my mouth. Her lips part on a smile.
“Ladies first.”
“No.” She swallows, the sound loud in our quiet hiding place. The fingers she runs down my throat tremble slightly. I don’t think she’s scared, though. I’m a lucky bastard because I think she’s just as turned on as I am. “Let’s do yours first.”
My mouth goes dry. I really hope I didn’t misunderstand her before. “I could be here because I’m a cop. A bodyguard. Maybe you’re not supposed to be here.”
She nods. “Good cop, bad girl. The cop and the criminal.”
She talks too much, putting labels on everything. It’s so freaking cute.
“The bodyguard and the trespasser. Do you want to play?”
Her breath catches audibly. “Yes.”
“I think you like breaking the rules.”
She grins, the smile breaking across her face. “You’re an excellent guesser, Mr. Valentine.”
Her eyes are darker than I realized, a gray-blue, the color of the Pacific Ocean when it’s stormy. A color I could fall into. It’s easy to imagine her as an ocean girl, a surfer, someone who lives and plays by a wilder, freer set of rules. Someone who’s willing to play my favorite game.
I toss the excess pillows to the floor, then gently push her down onto the closest sofa. I keep one hand pressed lightly against her shoulder. We’re just playing, but my heartbeat picks up like I’ve just run a marathon after a month of couch time.
I frown down at her. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
She bites her lip as she looks up at me with wide eyes. “Was I going too fast, sir? On your private property? I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I just wanted a little peek.”
Fuck me, she’s amazing.
“Step out of the car.”
She pouts, her lips drawing up deliciously. “I can be good. Can’t you just check my license? Let me off with a warning? I could—”
She trails her fingers down her throat to the sweet hollow beneath her breasts.
“Out.”
She shivers visibly at the hard note in my voice, her nipples puckering beneath the sequined fabric.
Wrapping a hand around her wrist, I pull her to her feet and point toward the wall. The skin I touch is soft, her pulse beating an urgent rhythm beneath my fingertips. I let go.
“Up against the wall. You’ve earned yourself a search.”
When she hesitates, I give her a stern look.
“Now.”
She meets my eyes then makes her way over to the wall, dragging her feet. Her face is adorably pouty. The urge to kiss her and move straight to the sex is almost unbearable, but I restrain myself.
Once she’s facing the wall, I move up behind her. “Naughty girls get put in the corner, don’t they?”
She snaps something uncomplimentary and I grin.
“Left hand here.” I tap the wall.
She slaps her left hand against the spot I’ve indicated. “I don’t think this is necessary.”
“Sir.” I trail a finger down her spine. “You call me sir.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” she grumbles.
But she moves her right hand into position without my telling her to. Her legs are squeezed together.
I insert my leg between hers. “Legs apart.”
Her defiant “Make me” has my dick hard.
“Let’s strip you down.” I pull her dress up and over her head. She helps me slide it free of her arms. I press her palms back against the wall and toss the dress away. We don’t need clothes between us.
“Let’s see what you’re hiding from me.” I run my hands down her arms and she gasps and jumps. “Hold still or I’ll use the handcuffs. Tie you up so you have to take whatever I do.”
She shudders, muttering something. Such a bad girl.
“It’s not nice to accuse someone of being a tease.”
I drop down into a crouch and run my hands up her legs. She’s toed her cute little sneakers off at some point, which leaves her with just a thong. It’s a cheerful little scrap of yellow nylon that hides nothing. I have a thing for panties. They’re like a bow on a present someone’s picked out just for me.
I make a stern sound. “Wider.”
I help her ease her legs wider, angling my shoulders between them. My fingers stroke over the fabric covering her pussy.
“Sir—” Her breath catches. “Is this necessary?”
“Shh,” I tell her. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
I run my hand down the outside of her thong, firm enough that she can’t mistake what I’m doing. She’s holding her breath now, focused completely on what I’m doing to her or on our game. Probably both. She’s hot and damp, pushing herself into my hand. I caress her with my fingers, then push d
eeper into the slick folds. I can feel the little heartbeat starting in her clit.
She rises up onto tiptoe. “Are you done? Can I go now?”
“Stand still.” I rise with her, dragging my hands over her ribs to cup her breasts. “You could be hiding something from me.”
“I wouldn’t,” she whispers.
“You can’t,” I correct her. “But I’m going to push your panties down and find out. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
She shakes her head. “Do it, sir.”
I drag her thong down to her thighs and then I push two fingers into her, finding her clit with my thumb. She groans and I listen, but it’s not stop that she’s saying. We’re good. She drops her head against the wall as I work her with my fingers. I can feel her trying not to come, but she’s not the one in charge of her body right now. She’s let me borrow control and I plan to make the most of it.
“I need to see for myself,” I growl against her ear.
She nods frantically as I drop to my knees and bury my face in her pussy. I suck on her clit, still working her with the fingers of one hand. I use the other to hold her up so she can let go and just feel. Peony isn’t a screamer, but she whisper moans, little half-formed words falling from her mouth because, apparently, she can’t not give feedback. Yes...wow...do that again... you’re so—
I drink it up. She feels amazing and tastes even better. I love hearing how I make her feel.
Even when she comes, she’s quiet. She stiffens and then jerks a couple of times, her body bucking against my mouth, not sure if it wants to press closer or to get away. She can choose whatever makes her happiest. I kiss her down, pressing my tongue against her carefully, holding her close. I’ve got her. It’s safe to let go.
Even if I don’t want to let her go. I freeze. I’m so screwed. This is a sex party hookup. It’s not like we’re on a date.
Or a couple.
Or two people with a future longer than a handful of hours.
Unless...
CHAPTER FOUR
Peony
“WHAT DO I WANT?”
At least that’s what I think I say. It might come out more guh and whaIwan. My voice sounds dazed, probably because my new friend Jax has just made me come hard enough to see stars. The happy supernova exploding in my vagina is not helping my speaking abilities any.
Not only is the man supremely talented in the dirty role play and sexy orgasm-giving department, but he’s good at logistics, too. Somehow between when I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying the amazing personal fireworks show, and now, he’s scooped me up and carried me over to one of the couches. I’m draped over the top of him and he’s staring up at me as if my answer is the most important thing in the world. His undivided attention is almost as sexy as his mouth.
“No judging.” He nods, holding up his pinky finger. As if it’s that simple—tell him who to be and he’ll do it. And maybe he would. Maybe I could ask my sexy good cop stranger for my strangest, most personal fantasies. The thing is, he’s already done my favorite: strangers in the night. When I tell him this, though, he gives me a slow, wicked smile.
“Did we pick each other up at the bar? Or did we hook up online?”
I make a face. “Don’t be predictable. Maybe it was on the beach, so I’ve already seen you mostly naked and wet. I know exactly what I’m getting. Maybe we’re in Thailand on this gorgeous stretch of beach and there are palm trees and water so clear we can see the fish.” I wave a hand, trying to paint the picture I see in my head for him. “We’re not there for a hookup but there’s sexual tension we both feel, we’re looking at each other, imagining things—”
He mock frowns. “You do a lot of thinking, Firefly.”
I grin at him and give a little wiggle. Geez. His dick is rock-hard beneath me. “It’s one of those skills required for gainful employment. Don’t tell me you’re actually a trust fund baby or a boy toy.”
He rests his arms on the edge of the couch. “Rich asshole isn’t one of your secret fantasies?”
“Not really, although I’m not averse to playing English duke.” I slide my hand down his chest, exploring his delicious muscles. Unfortunately, good cops leave their clothes on, so my mission of discovery isn’t as detailed as I would like. “And I’m quite sure I couldn’t afford to keep you.”
This earns me another half smile. “Do I look expensive?”
“It’s more I’m that broke,” I confide, tracing the upturned corner of his mouth with my finger. Ugh. Overshare. His fake frowny face draws into more genuine lines, so it’s time for a topic change. “But it’s still my turn to pick.”
“I’m happy to pick for you.” He’s teasing, but I think he’d be more than happy to revert to his caveman persona and make the choice for us. It would probably be a good one, too, but...
“Shh.” I tap my fingers against his beautiful mouth. “Don’t rush me. This is the golden ticket of sexual fantasies, so I need to ask for the best scene. I don’t want to rub the magic lamp and then waste a wish asking the genie for a pizza.”
He slants me a look. “Do we each get three turns?”
God. “That would be a lot of sex to fit in one night.”
A wicked smirk lights up his face, warning me that epic bad pun-ness is headed my way. “I’m up for it if you are.”
Right. This is a one-night deal. It has to be because tomorrow—no, later today—I become Peony 2.0, the new, responsible, career-mind, settled-down best version of me. He’s my Fat Tuesday before a lifetime of Lent, so I need to make him count.
His monster size raises the possibility of Viking raider, but I’m not in the mood for quick, hard sex. Making my past-due bill up to my landlord, stern boss and the screwed-up employee—too close to home—bad boy rebel and the country club sweetheart, or...
“Virgin bride.” The words pop out of my mouth.
Wow. I’m not totally sure where that came from. It’s not like I’ve fantasized much about finding The One. Weddings mean settling down and writing The End and They lived happily ever after to the story and I’m more of a Choose Your Own Adventure gal. But...
Right now, that’s what I want.
He runs his hands down my arms, his fingers tangling with mine. “Okay. Tell me the rules. Tell me what makes you hot about a wedding night. What do you like? Am I a virgin, too, or do I take charge? Do we know what we’re doing or is one of us surprised?”
It’s like ordering from the menu at the fast-food drive-through. So many choices that you’ll regret later but that you’re greedy for now.
“Peony?”
“You talk too much, Jax.”
His big fingers caress my jaw, skin callused and a little rough. Maybe he’s a lumberjack or a firefighter on the weekdays?
He snorts. “First time I’ve been accused of that. Tell me how you want to play the next scene.”
“We’re high school sweethearts.” I place a kiss on his jaw. “And we’ve both been waiting for the main event. Lots of petting, lots of kissing.”
He smirks. “Have we had anal?”
“No.” I mock frown, poking him in the chest.
If I’m totally honest, what I really want is the illusion of feeling cherished, loved, having someone who will take care of me no matter how much work I am, because he loves me. That’s way too much to ask from a scene, however.
He thinks for a moment and then stands. I’d sort of forgotten temporarily just how bear-size he is. He’s a big, protective, mountain of a man and I’m staking a temporary claim to him for tonight only.
He holds his hand out to me, regarding me with a strong, warm gaze. “Come on. Let’s find your clothes.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “Where are we going?”
“We’re eloping, Firefly. We’re gonna go to the chapel and get married so I can have my wicked way with you.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we’re fully clothed and standing in front of a guy dressed up like a ringmaster. Someone’s pinned a length of white tulle into my hair in keeping with the spirit of things. My “veil” has sequins that catch the lights of the big top and I keep turning my head to see the sparkle. I’ve even got a bouquet, stolen from the grapevines that surround the tent. Even if I never get married for real, at least I have this memory.
Jax takes my hands, turning me to face him as he repeats the vows the ringmaster dude rattles off. His dark eyes watch my face so carefully that it’s hard to remember that this is pretend. The man deserves the biggest acting prize of them all.
My insides twist, my voice coming out in a nervous squeak when I parrot my I dos. Jax’s thumb rubs the back of my hand and I focus on that small, delicious motion. It feels almost too real.
When the ringmaster announces that Jax may kiss the bride, Jax’s face lights up as if he really has been waiting months for this moment. He cups my face with his hands, tilting my mouth up.
“My Firefly,” he whispers. “Here you are.”
His lips touch mine and I forget about our audience. There’s just me and him and a magical, electric heat that starts where we touch and fills me up.
His mouth is curious, and warm.
So confident.
And yet somehow it asks questions. May I? Do you like this? Do I? What do you taste like? His lips brush mine, retreat, come back and press a little deeper, his tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. Knock, knock. Let me in.
We’ve never kissed, not mouth on mouth. For a second, I panic because it’s too intimate, but Jax strokes the sides of my face with his big, warm hands, keeping me safe and grounded. His eyes drift closed as he kisses me deeper and I moan softly into his mouth. There you are. Hi. I like watching him kiss me, long lashes brushing sun-tanned skin, the hard lines of his face relaxing. He likes this, too.
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 18
