by Lily Harlem
“And he will, we will.” He lowered his head and I could make out each individual eyelash and several tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose.
“Jose,” I said, flattening my hands on his chest. If I didn’t know better I would say the man was just about to kiss me.
Did I want him to?
Hell yes.
My life was so crazy anyway, what did a little more madness matter?
“I don’t want to see fear in your eyes when you’re with us,” he whispered. “You’re safe now, we won’t let anything happen to you.” He rested his palm over my cheek, brushing his thumb over the skin just beneath my eye, the bit that had been damp with a tear a few moments ago. “So no crying, okay? I don’t want to see you cry or get upset or look sad. Everything will be just fine.”
I was losing myself in him. In his words, his resolution, his strength. For the first time in what felt like months I did feel safe, I did feel protected. “Jose,” I whispered.
“Mmm?” He poked out his tongue and swept it over his bottom lip.
“I, I just…” I tensed my fingers against the hard planes of his pectoral muscles, absorbed the power beneath. “Are you sure it will all be fine?”
“I promise.” He swallowed, as if making the promise had dragged his soul to the surface, laid him open and vulnerable.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He dropped his head and brushed his lips to mine. Softly, hesitantly and oh, so sweetly.
Parting my mouth, I savored his flavor. It was fresh and masculine and exactly what had been missing from my life for too damn long. I sighed and opened up for him. Allowed my body to fall onto his.
He scooped me close, deepening the kiss as he wound his arms around my body and lifted me to him.
I shut my eyes and became lost in the beautiful game of hide and seek our tongues were playing. Jose was a kisser of the most talented variety; he knew exactly what pressure and depth to give and his lips were firm yet pliant.
“You taste of heaven,” he whispered, pulling back slightly. “And you feel like paradise.”
He’d lost that distant expression he’d had earlier. Now he was a man full of passion and desire. Looking into his eyes, I realized what I saw there was how I, too, felt. I wanted to hold him, wrap my arms around his solid body and press into him until we merged. The lust in his gaze was only a reflection of my own.
I raised my cuffed wrists and slotted my hands over his head, molded my chest to his and reached for another kiss.
He responded eagerly and I moaned into his mouth as my pebbled nipples scraped through my dress and onto his body. Lower down his erection prodded my stomach, long and thick and bigger than I remembered cocks to be.
“Jose,” I breathed.
“I just want to make you feel better,” he said breathlessly and cupped my butt cheeks, drawing me harder onto his cock. “I can’t bear to see you sad.”
A shot of heat burst across my clit and up my pussy. I was more turned on than I thought possible, and all from a kiss. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on me, in me, was all I could focus on. “Yes,” I gasped. “Make me feel better, please.”
He was kissing me again, more determinedly this time, as though on a mission that he wouldn’t be distracted from. He trailed his palms over my butt, waist and the fronts of my thighs, my dress slipping and sliding beneath his explorations and my tingling body delighting in his caresses.
Knotting my fingers in his hair, I drew him closer still, encouraging him on.
“Wider,” he whispered at the same time as he nudged my feet apart with his.
I did as I was told and was rewarded with pressure over the gusset of my panties. Instantly I squirmed, seeking out his fingertips so I could direct them to my clit.
But I needn’t have worried. Jose knew what I wanted and with a deft move eased my panties down.
“Forget about everything but me and how I can make you feel,” he said in a low, husky voice. “There’s only me and you and this next few minutes of extreme pleasure.”
He sought my entrance and slipped in through my wetness. As he tickled up against my hotspot the heel of his hand caught on my clit.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” I groaned, fluttering my eyes shut and dropping my head back.
That is it!
My own hand had been all that had given me pleasure for so long, and a man’s touch, a big, hard, expert touch, was almost too much for my senses to cope with.
“Come for me,” he said, nibbling the skin on my neck. “Let yourself go.”
He was already building me up, rubbing wickedly over my clit and thrusting in and out. Small wet noises filtered up to my ears, and the scent of my arousal combined with his raw, just-showered scent created an erotic perfume that was surrounding us and growing heavier by the second.
“Jose,” I panted, breaking our kiss and resting my forehead on his right collarbone. “It’s so good.”
“You’re like warm butter,” he said onto my temple. “Soft and silky and Jesus, you’re squeezing me so tight. I don’t know if you’d ever be able to take…God, you feel good.”
I rocked onto him, swallowed him higher, sensations ricocheting through me, my pussy a juicy mass of need gripping his fingers.
Jose’s breaths were hard on my head, ruffling my hair. “I’ve got you, let it take you away from everything.”
What the hell was I doing?
I didn’t care. I had to have satisfaction, now. And if Jose could give me that with his clever fingers then that was what I would take.
I allowed the building pressure to carry me, lift me onto another plane where, as he’d said, only we existed, along with beautiful sensations and a growing pressure that was getting ready to detonate—spectacularly.
Lifting my right left leg, I wrapped it around the back of his knee, wanting to tangle with him as I climbed the last steps to the pinnacle of my need. I tried to smooth my hands down his back, grab his shoulders to hold him in place, but the cuffs prevented me. I grunted in frustration and attempted to snap my wrists apart.
“Easy now,” he said, increasing the pressure on my clit. “Just let it take you.”
I did. In a glorious series of spasms I clenched around his pounding fingers and ground my clit onto his calloused hand. “Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped, squeezing my forearms around his neck and hanging onto him. My knees had given way. Jose was holding me up entirely, partly with his hand in my cunt.
“Ah, fuck, you sound awesome when you come,” he murmured, holding me tighter and forging higher into my quivering channel.
Lights flashed in front of my eyes. My ears rang from the pounding pulse racing through my veins. I stuck out my tongue and licked his tattoo. From the base right to the top, using the flat, wide part of my tongue to ensure I captured his flavor—salty and spiced, soap, sun and sea breeze.
He stilled, so did I. Our chests rose and fell, bashing into each other as we struggled to catch our breaths.
As I landed back down from my high, I became aware of his cock straining into my stomach. “Jose,” I said, raising my head.
His dark eyes glistened down at me and he curled his lips into a self-assured smile that practically burst with male satisfaction. “What?”
“I’m sorry, I…I got carried away. It felt so good and you…” I paused to gulp in air.
“And I?”
“And you touched me just right. It’s been a while and that was—” I shifted my gaze from his, unsure of whether or not to tell him just how long I’d relied on myself for satisfaction. The great singing beauty, India Moore, had only a box of toys to keep her company on lonely nights.
“And that was exactly what you needed?” he asked, kissing the tip of my nose.
My breaths were still fast and shaky. “Yes, just what I needed, but I’m sorry. You haven’t…”
He crooked his index finger and rested it beneath my chin, encouraged me to look up at him again. “Feeling you come on my hand is as much as I need. For
now.” He moved his fingers within me, fluttering over my swollen, puffy G-spot.
“Oh, God,” I groaned. “We probably shouldn’t have done this.”
“Too damn right you shouldn’t have.” Dillon’s deep voice echoed around the cabin like a rumble of thunder.
I snapped my attention from Jose to stare at the entrance.
Dillon stood there, one hand on his hip, the other bunched into a ball at his side. The sunlight sharded down behind him in long, sharp splinters, rendering him a silhouette.
I wriggled in Jose’s arms, tried to unwind myself from him.
But he was un-moveable, and simply applied pressure to my chin and forced me to look at him again.
“Jose,” I hissed, absolutely mortified at being caught in this compromising position. “Please, let me go.”
“No, what we just did felt right, and damn it felt good, really fucking good. So no regrets, Miss Moore, no damn regrets, ever.”
Chapter Eight
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Dillon asked, his heart rate speeding.
He stared at Jose and India, trying not to focus on how close they were, or the stink coming off them. He hadn’t expected to come back down here and find them like this, and now he had it was just another damn mess he had to sort out. They’d agreed no emotional ties to women on this trip, just the two of them kicking back and having one-night stands if the opportunity arose. Women meant complications, added stress, and considering they’d taken this vacation to de-stress…
Jesus fucking Christ!
“None of your damn business, man,” Jose said, eyeing him with that expression he got when he knew he was in the wrong but wasn’t willing to admit it.
Yeah, Dillon had caught Jose saying to India it hadn’t felt like a mistake and maybe him getting her off wasn’t per se, but it was wrong in that Jose had succumbed so easily, had gone back on their promise. It shouldn’t bother Dillon so much, but fucking hell, if this got out… Two cops in charge of escorting a famous star to safety, one of them touching her up. That sounded just damn great.
“It is my business if this leaks,” Dillon said. “Do you realize how much damage this can do to her?” He nodded at India. “How much damage it can do to us, our department? The last thing we need is bad publicity. You think you getting hands-on with her is going to be seen as some wonderful love story? Hell no, it reeks of you taking advantage of not only a star but a vulnerable woman. Think about what happened before, will you?” He couldn’t stop now he’d started. “We’re supposed to remain aloof, to be on guard, and make sure she’s all right while she’s in our care, not make her mental state worse! You really think our captain will be able to dig us out of this one?”
Jose’s cheeks flared red.
“I’m fine mentally, thank you very much!” India snapped. “I am here, you know. This isn’t just some pissing contest between you two. I had a say in what just happened. He didn’t take advantage. I wanted it!”
“Fucking hell,” Dillon muttered. By the looks on both their faces he had a mutiny on his hands. If this was just a one-off, they’d maybe get away with it, could keep it quiet, but if Jose insisted on continuing this with her… “How do things stand?” he asked, walking further into the room. “Do either of you know what you want from this or was it just a release of tension for the pair of you?”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business,” Jose said.
Dillon slammed his fist against the wall. “And like I said, it damn well is my business. And you know why! So, what’s going on?”
Jose didn’t answer.
Dillon stared at the woman in Jose’s arms. “And what have you got to say about it? Surely you can see what a mess this could become for us?”
“I-I don’t know. We just… It was just…”
“Ah, fuck this!” Dillon stormed past them and into the bathroom.
He’d worked himself up into a sweat and needed a shower not only to cool down but to freeze his ardor before it really got going. His cock had twitched when he’d seen them, and his anger was just making it worse, pressure building, scenarios flying inside his head—none of the outcomes good. He locked the door and leaned against it, the wood blessedly cold on his skin, and closed his eyes. The image of them remained in his mind, locked together, the cuffs on her wrists adding an extra sparkle to the erotic visual. His cock spasmed again and he pressed it with his hand. No, he wasn’t going there. Couldn’t go there. Couldn’t do what they’d done in the past and share a woman. Not this time. Not after he’d just read them the riot act. He didn’t do being a hypocrite.
Did he?
Ah, fuck, maybe he did.
He stepped forward and set the shower running on tepid. The water heater burbled, and the pump made its usual grinding sounds—noises that would hide anything he was doing in here. He knew, even though he tried to deny it, what he was about to do. He’d deal with any guilt later.
He stripped off his shorts, his cock going from semi to hard within seconds. Under the spray, he tried to talk himself out of touching his dick, but he’d grown too hard to ignore it now. His balls tightened and his asshole pulsed—yeah, it was definitely too late to go back now.
“Fuck it!”
He took hold of his shaft, curling his fingers around it tightly, pressing just below the tip with one finger and thumb. Lifting his free hand he braced himself on the tiled wall, head bent, gaze trained on his straining erection. The head bulged, lilac-hued where he squeezed so hard—and no amount of squeezing was going to make it deflate. He dragged his hand down so the top half of his cock stuck out from his grip then gave in and drew his hand upward. Pleasure, hard and hot and demanding, surged through him, and he admitted for the last time he was going to jerk off and be done with it.
He closed his eyes and found a raw-and-fast rhythm, almost punishing himself with his violent tugs. They only served to fuel his lust, though, and he thrust in and out of the channel his hand had become, wishing it was a cunt he speared. It wasn’t as soft as he’d have liked, wasn’t as warm, but it was certainly dripping wet.
The image of India came to mind, and damn it, he hadn’t wanted to think of her. Anyone but her. She was dangerous, used to getting her own way, and for all he knew she could have a hidden agenda, enticing Jose like that.
Enticing him.
Yeah, he knew he appeared as though she didn’t affect him, but he’d found it a huge struggle to remain professional with her. Fuck, she was beautiful, and any red-blooded man would find it difficult to resist her.
“Damn it!” he snapped, shoving harder into his hand.
Despite how he held himself, it didn’t seem enough—not enough friction, not enough tightness. Just not enough. He wanted hands on his body, her hands—shit! He ground his teeth in anger that this was just a solitary experience. He took his hand off the wall and roved it over his skin, imagining a softer, more feminine touch glided over him. His rough palm dashed that away, though, and he reached around, massaging his ass cheeks. Probed his cleft. Circled his asshole.
Would she do that, investigate his ass? Was she that kind of girl? Someone who’d try anything once and more if she liked it?
He slipped a finger inside, and although his position was awkward, he’d have to manage the best he could. He pushed in a little further, and his cock throbbed against his palm as he succeeded in reaching up enough to brush over the nub inside his ass.
“Ah, ah, ah, fuck!”
He pumped on, rocking his hips back and forth, the motion shoving his cock into his hand on the upward thrust and his finger higher into his ass on the backward. He moved faster, concentrating on the feel of how his finger jabbed, how his rim burned, how his dick pulsed and his balls ached. He saw India and Jose in his mind, fused together in that passionate clinch, and put himself behind her, completing the tableau. That’s how it should have been from the start, all of them together, and despite his railing at them, by God he wanted two to become three.
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“I won’t fucking let that happen,” he ground out, gyrating with force, jabbing back on his finger and ramming hard into his fist.
It came then, a freight train full of diamond-hard lust, careening through his body, the hub his cock and balls. He spasmed, losing rhythm for a few seconds as he fought to control himself, to prolong this thing. Finding it again, he fucked himself, violent, short yanks on his cock and rigid, unforgiving pokes up his ass. His balls tautened further, and he knew he’d reached the point of no return. He gave in to it, pushing into his hand then back onto his finger, his wrist aching, and let the first surge of cum barrel out of him. He gritted his teeth, and felt the tendons in his neck strain. Opened his eyes to watch that jet shoot out in a straight creamy line and slap against the tiles. Another quickly followed, the force of it stretching his slit, and he thrust forward so abruptly his finger slipped out of his ass. He pumped on until he was spent, his breathing ragged, his heart beating so fast he went giddy.
Cock tender, he released it and stared at his cum dripping down the tile. He cupped his hands and sluiced it away, then pressed them to the wall and bent his head to watch water swirling into the drain hole. His pulse thudded hard and loud in his ears, and he shook his head to rid it of the fog that had fast descended.
“Shit!” He lifted one hand and slapped it back on the tile. “Fucking shit!”
He was on the verge of going back on their promise himself of only casual fucks. Yeah, he’d been prepared to keep his thoughts to himself and get her to land then sail on, continue with their vacation in peace and find a lay who was a damn sight less addictive. But now he’d jerked off over seeing her with Jose…it had changed things. How could it not?
“I’ll just have to try harder,” he muttered, grabbing the soap and washing himself. “No fucking way can we both have someone like her.” He shook his head. “Focus on what you need to do, turn a blind eye to them fucking. Just…just do your job and nothing else.”
A visual of him cutting her dress came to mind then, the length of her silky-smooth legs, and how he’d wondered, if only for a brief moment, what was further up underneath the fabric. The juncture of her thighs. The curls covering her slit. The shadow of her ass cleft.
