A Wicked, Wild Three Day Affair

by Nadia Aidan

  He'd told her the truth last night—in shockingly vivid detail. Did she even dare?

  "You want to know why I keep avoiding you?"

  "I asked, didn't I?” he said with a grin, repeating her words from the night before.

  She wasn't as bold as he was, but the way he looked at her, touched her, gave her a courage she'd never had before. In his arms, she was wanton, and daring—a confident woman, completely comfortable with her body and her sexuality. He made her feel sexy, cherished, worshipped.

  She clutched the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, and a wicked grin curled her lips at the look of surprise on his face.

  "I was avoiding you because, every time I looked at you, I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to drag you to the floor, in the very spot where you stood, strip you out of this designer suit and ride you until we both came so hard we could barely breathe."

  His eyes darkened, as a teasing grin spread across his face, and he stepped forward, trapping her body between his and the hard wall at her back. Twisting her arms behind his neck, she groaned low in her throat as his fingers crept up her bare thighs, searching out her wet core that pulsed with liquid heat.

  His mouth came down hard, his tongue sweeping between her lips, invading her mouth as it duelled with her own for dominance. She didn't put up much resistance as she surrendered to his kiss, her body melting into his

  "Open your legs,” he commanded against her lips, before reclaiming her mouth.

  She moaned into him, her arms tightening behind his neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  He abruptly tore his lips from hers, and she let out a soft mewl of protest, her lips eagerly searching for his.

  "You're insatiable, you know that?” he murmured on a low chuckle between the tiny kisses he planted along her cheek, down the long column of her throat. She gasped when he stroked his wet tongue against that sensitive spot at the base of her neck, her nipples tingling as they pebbled against his chest, a fresh wave of cream flooding her pussy.

  With a quick flick of the wrist, he ripped her tiny lace thong from her body, casting it aside as he held her imprisoned against the wall, one hand bracing their weight against it while the other gripped the curve of her hip. She shivered, her body vibrating with anticipation at the hiss of his zipper.

  Their eyes met, and just like the night before, and even that morning, something passed between them, an intimate exchange that simmered with a depth of emotion buried just beneath the surface. But neither of them acknowledged it, instead pushing it aside, as the demands of their bodies raged at them.

  He crushed his lips against hers at the same time his hips jerked forward, his hard cock ploughing through the folds of her slick pussy. In one fluid thrust, he drove into her moist heat, burying his length to the hilt.

  She hissed, her back arching off the wall, as she stretched around him, her channel flooding with juice.

  She wriggled against the wall, causing her dress to bunch up at her hips, and the muggy air from the desert rose up around her, heating her flesh until she dripped with sweat.

  Their sweat-drenched bodies rocked together. She tightened her thighs around Grant's waist, throwing her hips into each thrust as he surged into her with deep, stabbing strokes.

  His hips bucked furiously as he plunged in and out of her. The heavy sacs between his legs slapping against her flesh, echoing all round her.

  Beads of perspiration slid down Grant's face as he rode her hard, his hands tightening around her hips, to still her frenzied movements as he pinned her against the wall, drilling her tight pussy hard.

  "Monica,” he groaned against her neck, his warm breath feathering across her dewy skin, as he slammed into her again and again, her pussy making tiny suctioning noises, struggling to hold on to his retreating cock.

  The wave of pleasure crested inside her, as the walls of her cunt began to shudder around him. She clutched her arms tightly around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck in an effort to muffle her cries against his wet skin.

  Her clit jumped as the first wave hit, her pulsing sheath caving in, as it bore down on his thrusting length, her climax roaring through her body.

  "Grant,” she cried out, clinging desperately to him, her body shuddering with her orgasm as her cream poured from her hot core, coating his dick.

  Grant took her harder, faster, deeper, his hips surging forward wildly, riding her body through the violent storm of her orgasm. Over and over, he pounded his cock deep and hard into her pussy until he was powerless against his building climax.

  "I'm coming,” he rasped out, his body jerking, as he sank his cock inside her, his dick hammering against the mouth of her womb. His thrusts were out of control, and he pressed her harder against the wall, his hips bucking furiously as he strained towards his climax.

  "Monica,” he roared against her neck, as he came, a gush of hot semen flooding her cunt.

  He continued to pump his hips slowly, setting a lazy rhythm as her pussy quivered around his cock, milking him of every last drop of his cum.

  Breathless, they clung to each other, the sweltering heat inflaming their skin until they were completely soaked with sweat. But neither of them cared as they held each other until their breathing grew even and their heart beats settled back into a steady rhythm.

  She slowly untangled her legs from around Grant, who gingerly stepped back, pulling his weight off her, and they both struggled to right their wrinkled and sweat-stained clothing.

  "Have lunch with me,” he said as soon as they were passably presentable, his hand gently caressing her cheek.

  She smiled up at him, wondering again if this was the same man from yesterday at the airport. He touched her so tenderly, in such a familiar way as if he did it every day, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  "We just ate,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the dining room where the rehearsal luncheon for Drake and Soledad had just ended.

  "Then dinner."

  "Okay, what time?"

  "Now.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling with laughter.

  Shaking her head, she grinned up at him, and again she felt a tiny bolt of heat pass through her heart at the intimate familiarity they already shared. It had never been this easy with a man, so effortless. It was as if they'd known each other for years, and not just hours. She wondered if that's how Soledad and Drake felt, if that's why they hadn't hesitated to commit themselves to each other so soon.

  She stilled at that thought. Whoa. What was she thinking? For all his gentleness and tender ways, Grant still knew little about her, and she about him, and that was for a very good reason. They were having an affair—a wicked, wild, three-day vacation affair, nothing more. He didn't want to get to know her because he didn't think there was any more he needed to know.

  She drew away from his touch, reminding herself that she would be a fool to let herself grow attached to Grant. He hadn't made any empty promises or mentioned more than what they had now. He was only with her for one thing, and she would do well to remember that.

  "Why don't we meet at the pool in an hour?"

  She knew he was taken aback by her suggestion given the puzzled expression on his face. “The pool?"

  "Yes. It's hot so let's go swimming."

  "Okay,” he said slowly, still seemingly puzzled and clearly not happy with the location she'd chosen.

  But she'd chosen it for a reason. She didn't need intimate dinners and hushed conversation. She needed a noisy public space where there was no chance she could fall under Grant's spell like she'd done just moments ago. Yes, the pool was a perfect choice.

  * * * *

  A swimming pool? That was the absolute last place he wanted to be with Monica right now, he thought as he strolled outside, his eyes searching for the mocha-hued beauty on the crowded deck. He knew what she was doing, but it wouldn't work. The pool was the last place they could have privacy, she might as well have suggested the casino.

  Sh
e was determined to keep him at arm's length, and he couldn't say he blamed her. He hadn't given her a very good reason to want to get to know him, but that didn't mean he didn't want to get to know her. Maybe at first, he hadn't been all that interested, at least not beyond knowing each other in the biblical sense. But she intrigued him.

  She was such a study of contrasts. From her lush figure to her tempting mouth, she'd been made for sex, made to pleasure a man, and when he was with her, inside her, there was a passionate wildness about her that was so raw, so instinctive. He'd slept with women who looked like her, using sex as a weapon, a tool of manipulation, but she wasn't one of them. She wasn't a practised seductress. When they were together she was simply herself, and he knew that without even knowing much about her. A woman's body held a wealth of secrets, and hers had told him that it had been a long time since she'd felt the weight of a man against her, pressing his cock deep within her.

  With his first thrust inside her, he'd known from the tight fist of her pussy gripping him, that it had been a while since her last lover. But even if it hadn't, even if her body had welcomed him eagerly, there was something that lurked in her eyes that told him, there were many layers to her. He hadn't even scratched the surface.

  He'd misjudged her. From the moment he'd met her, he'd made a sweeping generalisation about her, but he'd been wrong. Still she wasn't about to forgive and forget as quickly as he wanted her to. That's why she didn't want to be alone with him, at least not outside of bed. She didn't want to get to know him because, if she did, she would have to face the reality that when they were together there was an explosiveness about their passions that defied all reason. He knew as well as she did that they shared something very special, very unique. Although he wasn't quite ready to voice it, he could at least admit that there was an intimacy between them he'd never experienced before, and he knew it was the same for her. Just as he knew she was determined not to acknowledge that what they shared went far beyond heated attraction and instant chemistry.

  "Damn! You see that chick over there?"

  Grant stopped in his tracks, every muscle in his body tensing as he listened to two teenage boys leaning against the bar, with their mouths hanging open, as they stared across the pool.

  "Where man?"

  "The hot one. In the tiny bikini."

  Grant knew before he even turned his head who he would find at the other end of the pool.

  He groaned low in his throat, his body and mind waging a vicious war within him. Monica strolled casually towards him, her dark skin glistening against the tiny white bikini that moulded to her lush curves. He wanted to scoop her up, drag her away and hide her from the lascivious gazes of the horny men who openly stared at her, including himself, since he was certainly one of them.

  The low whistle from over his shoulder propelled him forward. It was either go after her or turn around and teach those boys some manners, but he settled on the former, which would keep him out of a Vegas jail.

  "Hey, Grant—"

  He didn't say a word as he seized her arm, ushering her off the deck into the private area that housed the bathrooms where they could talk alone.

  She stared up at him, but if she was angry or puzzled she didn't voice it as she tripped along beside him, her high heels clicking noisily against the marbled floor.

  As soon as they were inside, he released her, pinning her with a hard glare.

  "Couldn't you have covered up just a bit?"

  She glanced down at herself, before dragging her gaze back to his face, her lips pursed into a tight frown. “It's a bikini, and we're at a pool. I think this is quite appropriate."

  "Appropriate? Two strips of fabric? That's appropriate?"

  She folded her arms across her breasts, her stance defiant. “Of course. It's a swimming pool, Grant. What else should I wear?"

  He raked his gaze over her curvaceous figure, thinking a potato sack would be his choice, and despite his best effort not to react, his body leapt to life, his cock tenting his white linen pants.

  "Anything besides that. Your entire body is on display in that poor excuse of a swimsuit, and every man in there noticed."

  "So what? Who cares if they're looking when that's all they're doing?"

  Who cared? He cared. Anger whipped through his body at her flippant response. Didn't she understand what men thought? What they said when they looked at her?

  "You like the attention, don't you? You purposely put yourself on display to draw men's attention."

  She drew back, her brown eyes wide, as fury simmered in their depths. “I appreciate the attention, but I don't wear anything for a man. I wear my clothes for me."

  "Bullshit.” He knew the moment the words fell from his lips they were in for a fight. He shouldn't have said it, but he couldn't take it back now.

  "You know what, Grant? Just because you're a shallow, narrow-minded chauvinist doesn't mean everyone else is. I imagine every man doesn't live in the gutter like you."

  "The gutter?” Oh, that was harsh. “I can tell you, Monica, my thoughts are no different from those of most men, which is why, if you were my woman, I would never let you come out looking like that."

  She snorted rudely. “Well, let's be glad I'm not. For the record, I don't date twelfth-generation Puritans. Where did they land again? Massachusetts? Isn't that where you're from?"

  "Actually, I'm from Maine. I live in—"

  "Right."

  He frowned as she rolled her eyes, hating the turn their conversation had taken. He didn't want to fight with her, but no matter what they did, they always wound up arguing. Come to think of it, the only time they didn't fight was when they were fucking each other's brains out.

  He opened his mouth to apologise, realising he needed to if they were ever going to talk without exchanging angry words, but never got the chance when she shook her head, her hand lifting to gesture for him to stop.

  "Grant, any man in my life has to be secure enough to know he has me, that I'm not going anywhere and that what I wear is an extension of who I am, but doesn't make me who I am. I think you believe the clothes make the woman whereas I know if I strip you of your designer suits you're still just a man underneath, just like any other man.” Her eyes were sad as she backed away from him, and he knew he'd blown it, but he still wasn't quite ready to give up.

  "I know I'm old fashioned in many ways, but I can't help it. I was raised with certain beliefs and values, and while some may be wrong, it's hard to change them overnight. I never even thought I needed to, until I met you."

  She smiled weakly, but she didn't move to close the distance between them. Even if she had, the emotional wall she'd erected between them was so tangible he swore he could touch it. She'd closed herself off from him, her eyes as empty as a blank canvas.

  "I know you're old fashioned, Grant, and I don't fault you for that. You are who you are, just as I am who I am. We're just two very different people, but that doesn't make either of us wrong."

  "And?"

  "There is no and. That's pretty much all I have to say." She sighed as she held his steady gaze, her stare unflinching. “I think it would be best if for the rest of the weekend, we remain platonic acquaintances and try to get through this wedding for the sake of Soledad and Drake. Agreed?"

  No. It wasn't agreed, but he understood where she was coming from. He'd behaved like a judgmental asshole, and she was simply tired of dealing with him. He couldn't blame her. He hated it, but still he respected her decision. “If that's what you want."

  "It is,” she said quietly, stepping around him towards the door. “I'll see you tomorrow morning."

  He nodded curtly, a strained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't say a word as she quietly slipped from the room, leaving him standing there alone cursing himself for being such a fool.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  * * * *

  He rarely drank hard liquor, but right now, he wanted to hit the
bottle. He glared at Monica from across the crowded dining room, his gaze never once leaving her as she stood near the open bar, chatting with the bridesmaids.

  Although they all wore nearly the exact same red satin dress, she stood out among the other women, her dress wearing the invisible stamp of her daring nature, because hers just had to be a little shorter, a little tighter, and unlike the rest, it was strapless, just barely covering the swell of her full breasts. She was lovely, simply exquisite, and the fact that he'd noticed angered him even more.

  He hadn't slept all night, and it was all her fault. Images of her had floated behind his closed eyes, taunting him, mocking him, daring him to succumb to sleep where she would only find him in his dreams. He'd just met her, damn it. She shouldn't have had the power to consume his thoughts the way she had. Every waking moment, he thought of her, until he was sure he'd go insane.

  She laughed then, her husky voice floating around him, as she threw back her head, her silky hair brushing against the small of her back. It wasn't fair that she could so easily ignore him, as she openly enjoyed herself, while he was miserable.

  "Hey, best man. You still owe me a dance."

  He wiped his face of his dark scowl just as he turned to face Soledad. She was a vision of loveliness before him, her smooth skin glowing with happiness as her eyes twinkled. She was a radiant, beautiful bride who sparkled like a rare gem.

  He couldn't help but be infected by her joy, and he smiled down at her as he held out his arm.

  "You're right. I do, and I would never think of denying a blushing bride on her wedding day."

  She chuckled softly as she took his arm, and he led them out on the dance floor. Taking her in his arms, he held her firmly as the band began a slow waltz. They twirled around the dance floor in silence, simply enjoying the buzz of excitement that drifted around the room.

  He glanced down at Soledad, drinking in her glowing cheeks and bright eyes. She was in love. Everything about her screamed of it, and he knew if he glanced over at Drake he would find the same expression on his face.

  He thought back to the day Drake had made his announcement, and the dismay he'd felt upon hearing it, but all of that seemed a distant memory now. It was obvious these two had been made for each other.