by Kira Blakely
She bows her head and focuses on drinking the water instead. The sun is hot to me, but the cool breeze is enough to offset it, and Danielle is in shock. She won’t stop shaking, and I hate it. I hate every second of this.
“Come,” I say and open my hand. “You need rest.”
“I don’t.”
“Come!”
“No!”
This damn woman doesn’t know what’s good for her. She’s endangered her life and is refusing sense all in one.
I bend and tuck one arm under the backs of her knees, run the other under her back, then lift her from the bench and cradle her against my chest.
She stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“What’s best for you,” I reply and march her toward the stairs that lead below deck.
“Are you crazy?”
Only for you, dumbass.
I take her under, to the single bed with its salt-kissed sheets, and lay her down on it, carefully. She doesn’t argue or flail around at least, just lies back on the sheets. The towel falls open and exposes her breasts and, again, I’m fucking hard for her in an instant.
What is it about this woman?
She’s my addiction, and I don’t even have an addictive personality, for Christ’s sake.
“Sleep. I’ll drift a while longer then take us back to shore. Sleep, relax. Warm up. When you’re ready, there’s a candy bar waking for you on deck.” I turn to go, but she lets out a little noise that stops me mid-stride.
“Wait,” she whispers.
There’s an iron rod between my shoulders. The temptation is too much. Her chocolate brown gaze bores into my back and I picture her, lips parted and quivering ever so slightly—the way they trembled in the throes of her orgasm at the banquet.
“Please, Holden,” she says. “Stay with me.”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck.
Now, I can’t leave. Not even if I want to. Which I don’t.
“Stay with me.”
I turn slowly, rocking along with the lap of waves against the sides of my boat. We’re anchored, we’re not going to get lost at sea, and I’m an experienced sailor. I can afford to stay here for a while, just until she falls asleep.
“Please,” she repeats.
I face her and take in the sight of this woman, this tan goddess lying tangled in the sheets. Not a goddess, no, she’s a mermaid I’ve caught off the side of my boat. My personal siren, her ankles crossed, her dainty toes pointed toward the end of the bed.
Her caramel hair is spread across the pillow, like slow-drying seaweed, and her pink-brown nipples are puckered still. She opens her arms and beckons.
I walk to her side then lower myself next to her. I kiss her forehead because I can’t stop myself from doing it. If touching her is my sin, take me straight to hell.
Danielle sighs and snuggles closer to me, runs her fingers down the side of my face, then cups my chin. “This is good,” she whispers. “I like lying with you.”
I lift myself onto one elbow and trail my fingers down her body, over one breast and then the other.
She arches her back toward my touch, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. “Holden,” she whispers.
This can’t go further. I did mean what I said yesterday, though I wish things could be different.
“More,” she pleads.
Fuck, I’m lost all over again. I bend and kiss her nipple, suck it between my lips, nibble gently.
“Oh god.”
She tastes of salt and the sea, my mermaid, and I lap it up, work my way from one breast to the other, gentle sucks, nips, and kisses, claiming her skin again. I’ve yet to fuck this woman, because doing that would mean losing myself completely.
But she needs me now. She needs pleasure. She’s scared. Her adrenaline is high.
Eat her out.
That I can do.
I kiss a trail down the flat plane of her stomach, dip my tongue into her belly button and bring another gasp from her lips. I could subsist on them. Christ, she’s delicious. She’s everything.
I make my way lower and lower, to the line of golden bikini bottom. I tug it down, just enough to allow me access, then feast on her clit.
She cries out and shudders, tangles her fingers in my hair and tugs me into her body.
Her pussy is cold, still moist from the ocean, but each lick warms it up, and the moisture becomes dripping, smooth wetness. Her cum is like honey to me, and I lick a line from her hole to her clit, relishing that flavor.
I insert two fingers inside her and go slow, hooking them and brushing her clit.
She moans and rolls her hips, accepts what I have to give, pulls my hair again.
“That’s right,” I say, against her clit. “That’s my girl. Come for me, Danielle. Come for me.”
“Anything for you,” she whispers, and her tone warbles it’s so full of emotion. It’s not only pleasure—it’s danger.
All of this is dangerous. I’m already in love with her. I haven’t even been inside her yet, and I’m in love with her.
Nothing scares me except this.
I’ve conquered the world. I’ve created my own space transport company. I’m on the verge of the next frontier. But Danielle, this sweet, precious nanny, brings me to my fucking knees.
I pound my fingers inside her, dive in and out, suck on her clit, tap it with my tongue then sweep it across. I even out my motion, creating a steady rhythm that will surely break her.
Danielle cries out. “Holden, I’m coming. I’m coming for you.”
She clenches around my fingers, pulses and moans, kicks her legs out.
I watch her, the mounds of her breasts thrust upward, her long slender neck exposed, head thrown back. My Danielle.
Except she’s not. She never can be.
Chapter 11
Danielle
I rock back and forth, back and forth, swaddled in warmth and comfort, apart from my throat. God, it burns. It’s so sore I wince with every inhale. The gentle sound of water against wood brings me right out of a dream—a good one.
Holden between my legs, eating me, his forever-ocean gaze fixed on me as I come.
But that wasn’t a dream, it truly happened.
My eyelids snap open and I groan, clutch my head.
It hurts. I feel as if I’ve been dragged backward through the waves.
Technically, that’s true.
“Holden?” I croak and struggle upward, palms flat to the mattress of the single bed in the cabin. There’s a porthole above my head, but other than that, there’s no light. Sunlight graces the wall opposite, illuminating a patch of empty white wall. “Holden?” I repeat.
No answer.
The last thing I recall is coming on his fingers, then flopping backward.
Shit, I fell asleep. I fell asleep right after he made me orgasm. I’m such a dick.
I didn’t return the favor for him, but then, he could’ve stuck around and cuddled me.
My head throbs, and I groan again and press my palm to my temple. There’s got to be an aspirin in this cabin, because if there isn’t, I might just pass the fuck out again.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and place them on the boards below. The boat rocks, but it’s not as bad as out at sea. I rise, unsteadily then make my way toward the door a few feet from the base of the bed.
I’m naked from the waist up—Holden must’ve pulled my bikini bottoms into place after—but I can’t care right now.
“Must have aspirin,” I grunt and immediately regret it.
I wrench the door open, stumble, and hold myself upright, then squint at the glare. It’s still daytime, but the sun is higher, at its zenith. It’s noon or slight past it. I make my way up the stairs, wobbling on fawn legs, then stand on the deck and look around.
We’re docked back on Mystique Island.
People laugh and joke around nearby, running around in the surf or fucking on the sands. The boardwalks between boats and yachts are largely empty apart fro
m a couple avid sailors or lovers.
No Holden in sight. What the hell? Did he leave me here?
I blink and try clearing my head, but it doesn’t work. I need that damn aspirin, like yesterday, and there’s definitely some back in my villa. I’ll have to hoof it.
If Holden couldn’t hang around and wait for me to wake up, I wouldn’t give him the same courtesy. Damn, I’m so done with his hot and cold behavior. It’s driving me crazy.
He saves me from the ocean, then screams at me. Makes me come, then leaves before I wake up.
Maybe the pain in my head isn’t from nearly drowning but from him whiplashing me the fuck around.
I get off the boat and stride down the boardwalk, the planks thundering beneath my bare feet, and I grimace with each step. It’s not just my head that aches, but my legs are weak and watery, as well.
What a perfect damn day. Half-drowned, eaten out, then abandoned.
“Get over it,” I mutter. I’m on the brink of accepting that this is simply the way it’s going to be. He’s going to want me but reject me constantly, and I’m going to… ugh, I have no idea what, yet.
I track across the sand, and a couple turns and watches me pass. The guy is balls deep in his lady, their masks still fixed to their faces. He thrusts real slow and she moans, cups her breast and grins at me. She’s got that come-hither look going on.
I quicken my pace and finally hit the shade of the palm trees. I walk between them, and the coolness soothes my headache a little. I’m still not clear to think about anything serious, though, so I avoid the mental topic of Holden all together.
Five minutes of walking, and I reach my villa. I let myself into the coolness, shut the door behind me then make a beeline for the bathroom and the little medicine cabinet affixed to its wall.
I rip a bottle of the good stuff down and fiddle with the kiddie-proof cap. “Fuck.” My fingers slip on it again and again. “Oh my god, I’m over twenty. I swear to god! Let me in.” Finally, I get it off and crunch two of the suckers between my teeth.
I relish the bitterness, then bend and drink water straight from the faucet. It gurgles down my throat and I sigh. “That’s the stuff.”
It’s as if I left the villa five days ago, not this morning. The entire event has traumatized me a little. My stomach grumbles.
So much for trauma, I’m starving.
I straighten and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is mussed by the salt and breeze, and it sticks up weird at the side from the way I slept on the boat. Shower first, food after.
I start up the shower and admire the open plan of it, the glass walls, and the space. There’s even a seat along the only tiled wall. I step inside, go over to it, sit down, and let the water wash over me. The heat is delicious. It soaks through my skin and bones, and I remove my golden bikini bottom and toss it aside.
I massage soap over my skin, work it into a lather and wash off, then do the same with shampoo in my hair.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom in a robe, on a cloud of steam.
I’m still not thinking about Holden Long or New York or my plans for the future.
I’m on autopilot. Food. Food. Food.
I hit the kitchen and open the fridge, grinning at the array of delicacies. It’s fully stacked with fruit, vegetables, cool drinks, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, caramel… Anything I could want.
I’m drooling already.
I take out strawberries, pineapple, raspberries, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream. The pineapple is already cut into bite-sized pieces. Gosh, I could get used to living here.
I load all of it onto a tray and grab a bottle of water, too, then walk it through to the open living area. I set it down on the coffee table then lower myself to the sofa.
“Where to start,” I mutter. I reach for a strawberry.
A knock bangs against the front door of the villa and I freeze, a frown wrinkling my brow. So far, I haven’t been disturbed here. It’s a long weekend, and the owners of this place seem set on keeping it as peaceful as possible.
I bite my lip, tummy still growling, then rise from my seat and trundle over to the door. I unlock it and open up.
Holden stands on the doorstep.
He’s changed out of his shorts and shirt and into a pair of slacks and a button down. The mask is back in place, and his turquoise eyes blaze behind the mask. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says. “Where did you disappear to?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply and narrow my eyes at his gruffness. Possessive then soft, hot for me then cold as a wet fish. I’m so over being jerked around, but it’s him. It’s Holden.
“May I come in?”
I hesitate. If I let him in… what? We’ll have sex, and I’ll be even more confused.
But how can I complain? I came here hoping he’d find me or vice versa. That we’d have some fantastic sex and then return to our normal lives. Now, it seems crazy. A terrible idea.
Regardless, I step back and let Holden inside.
He sweeps past me, his scent lemony and sharp, rather than the spice from the boat. He’s changeable in so many ways, and it’s alarming as hell.
“Eating?” he asks.
“Yeah, well, almost drowning took it out of me, you know? That and you making me come on your boat, then abandoning me there.” I can’t help the accusation in my tone.
Holden stiffens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He clenches his fists, then releases them again. “Let me make it up to you.”
Chapter 12
Joey
It was too much to hope that they wouldn’t fuck.
I knew that the minute I saw him leaving her villa last night. I should’ve let go of her then, but I can’t. I just fucking can’t.
I sit down on her sofa and adjust the legs of my chinos. She stands on the other side of the coffee table, glaring at me. “Make it up to me? How? By telling me that you can’t do this again?”
“No. Sit down.” I pat the sofa beside me. It’s past time I tell her the truth. Show her that I’m more than she’ll have with my brother. That I can give her more.
And I fucking want to. What the fuck’s gotten into me?
It must be the threat of competition that’s got me hooked on this chick.
Dani circles the coffee table, slowly, in nothing but that short cotton robe that cuts across her tan thighs.
My gaze wanders up and down her body, takes her in.
Where has he touched her? What has he done to her? Did she come as hard with him as she did with me?
Fuck, I hate this. I hate this and love it at the same time. I’ll make her mine again, just so she’s clear on that fact, but she has to know who I am first. She has to understand who’s claiming her.
Dani sits down beside me then reaches for a strawberry. She dips it into a bowl of whipped cream, lifts it to her lips, then hesitates. “I’m really hungry,” she says.
“Go ahead.” I’m ready. I open my mouth to tell her what she needs to hear.
Dani inserts the strawberry between her lush, full lips and sucks the cream off the end. Her tongue circles it, laps it up. She draws the fruit into her mouth, slowly, bites down, then moans. “So good.”
All the blood that previously inhabited my brain rushes right to my cock.
I spring to attention and graze the inside of my chinos. Fuck.
I have to tell her. This is no excuse.
She dips another strawberry in chocolate syrup and sucks on that, too. Another bite, another moan, and I lean in, look down the front of her robe.
It hangs open, welcoming me to the sight of her tits, perky, the nipples erect.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“What?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. She takes a raspberry this time, spears it with her pinkie, sweeps it through the whipped cream, and then sucks it off her finger with a light pop. “You OK?”
No, I’m not fucking OK, but
I’m gonna be.
I push her robe off her shoulders and expose her breasts. “Fuck,” I growl.
She gasps but doesn’t pull away.
“Look at you, fuck me. Look at you.” I pick up a strawberry, scoop up some whipped cream with it, then drag it across her right nipple. I force her back on the sofa, climb on top of her, and suck the cream from her flesh, suck and circle that pebble. Fuck yes. Fuck me.
I rip the robe’s belt free and toss it to the floor.
Dani’s lips part, and I claim them hot and fast, taste the sweet tang of fruit on her tongue, and the richness of chocolate and cream. “Yes,” I grunt and run my palms down her tight body. I kneel in front of her, pull her onto my lap, and grind her cunt against the front of my pants.
She leaves a trail there. She’s already wet for me.
“Oh, god,” she growls.
“Mr. Long,” I say, with a smirk.
A frown flickers across her brow, then disappears. “Mr. Long,” she repeats.
I unleash my dick from its fabric prison, grab its base, and run it between those ready lips, swollen for me, glistening, pink and precious. My pussy. “My pussy,” I say, out loud.
“Your pussy,” she replies.
“Say it again. Say it’s mine.” I prod her entrance with the tip of my cock, already seething with desire, leaking pre-cum for her. I toss the strawberry aside, dip my finger into the chocolate syrup in the bowl, and smear it across her lips.
Dani catches that finger and sucks on it.
I slide my dick into her a tiny bit, just enough to tease, to widen that hole I pounded yesterday. “Whose pussy is this?” I ask.
“It’s yours,” she says, around my finger, then sucks again, hard. The warmth of her mouth rivals that sweet cunt. She’s soft everywhere. Soft and supple and mine.
“Say it louder. Scream for me, baby.” I thrust into her, one long pump, and fill her completely.
“It’s yours, Mr. Long,” she shrieks, grasping for purchase on the sofa.
I lift her legs and hook them around my waist.
“My pussy is all yours. It belongs to you.”
“That’s right,” I reply. “It belongs to me and no one else. No one. Else.” I thrust into her, slam my foot onto the ground for leverage, and pound that hot, tight cunt again and again. I place my thumb on the pearl that is her clit and circle it with a steady pressure.
