Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  “You take it from here.” He fanned his thumb over her nipple, sending streaks of lightning directly to her core.

  Nobody had ever worked her into such an irresistible state of misery before. “Don’t stop.” She gripped the edges of the cushion, shifted her weight to her knees, and raised her hips as best she could to pursue his touch, but came up against the backstop of his thumb.

  “Get to work, princess.” He slid his thumb along the narrow barricade of her bikini bottoms in a type of caress she normally wouldn’t seek.

  Tonight she did. Not just permitting the exploration, but aching for it. Eyes closed, totally focused on sensations, she murmured, “Please.”

  He abandoned her breast and closed his fingers around her wrist. A little tug dislodged her white-knuckled grip on the cushion. He guided her hand between her legs. Pressed it there. “Please yourself.” He moved his hand away. “Show me.”

  She couldn’t even wait for him to finish speaking. Her hips had a mind of their own—rocking, grinding with abandon. Seeking a way out from under the crushing need.

  He kept touching her, too. His low words of encouragement formed an indistinct but incredibly erotic hum in her ears. The need itself built with every second, winding her body tighter and tighter. Everything inside her quivered with anticipation. It felt so amazing, so freeing, being out here with him, miles away from civilization. No demands. No judgments. No secondary agendas or suspect intentions. Not a single person questioning her decisions, or…

  Holy shit, Arden, are you thinking about this? Now?

  Absolutely not. She forced the clutter of thoughts out of her head and focused on the warm, solid weight of the man behind her. He’d wrapped one hand around her ankle. The other still kept her on task, giving her an indefinable thrill when her busy fingers brushed his steady ones. But try as she might, the moment continued to stretch out longer, and longer, and her reward for all struggling slipped further out of reach.

  Even in the middle of the ocean, with her troubles a continent away and a deviously inventive man determined to get her past her hang-ups, she couldn’t turn the stress off. When had her head become such a fucked-up mess? A new weight settled on her, competing with need. Exhaustion. Maybe if she rested for a moment—just a moment. But even that small respite cost her hard-won ground. The orgasm she’d been straining to capture drifted away like a rare butterfly. “Oh no.”

  “Uh-uh. No giving up. You’re going to get there.”

  Defeat turned her limbs to lead. She lowered her forehead to the bench because tears stung her eyes. Disappointment, humiliation. “I can’t.”

  “You can. I’m going to help you.” He tightened his grip on her ankle and moved it to the side. He also withdrew his hand from between her legs, but before she could process the loss, a hard palm slapped her ass.

  She gasped. Her eyes flew open, and then the lids grew heavy as the vibrations returned in full force, shimmering outward from the point of impact in devastating waves. “B-baby steps?” Without contemplating the consequences, she lifted her hips.

  “That’s for doubting me, Czarina. This one”—he smacked her again, concentrating on the other cheek this time—“is for the stunt last night.”

  The second impact was just as effective as the first. Her nerve endings sang. Little pinpricks of light danced across her vision. Sweat glued her cheek to the cushion. “Sorry. So sorry.”

  “Not yet.” He smoothed his palm over her ass. The move wasn’t punishing, but undeniably proprietary. A touch meant to subdue, yet reassure at the same time. “I’m going to clear that busy mind of yours, and you’re going to come, even if I have to drag you there, kicking and screaming. Do you trust me to do that for you, Czarina?”

  She wanted to. God, did she want to. “I—yes.”

  The weight of his hand disappeared. “Let’s have that apology now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another light blow sent sensations ricocheting through her. “Be specific.”

  Between her thighs, her fingers worked frantically. So did her voice. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

  “And?” Another quick, smarting swat followed.

  “And for faking it last night.” The words spilled out in a rush. She didn’t have time to talk. The butterfly was back, and it had brought friends. Lots of friends.

  “Apology accepted.” He circled his palm slowly over her backside, angling his fingers down the vee of her bikini to where it cupped her. He rubbed her there—an unmistakably claim-staking gesture. His new strike zone. “Now, for the most important part. Promise you’ll never fake it again.”

  “I swear. I promise.”

  “Good.” He sank his teeth into the arch of her foot and rained a stunning series of light blows directly on the target.

  The measure jostled every last doubt right out of her self-defeating mind. She kicked. She screamed. She came. So long and hard the relief raged through her system, draining away months of pent-up need and crippling frustration in a cleansing torrent. “Oh God. I promise. Never again. I…promise.”

  …

  He held fast as she bucked, and thrashed, and rode out the shock waves—in part because he wanted to make sure she enjoyed every last spasm, but also because he didn’t want to stop touching her. At some point soon he’d have to, because after the orgasm she’d be too sensitive for even the featherlight strokes he currently gave her warm, pleasure-swollen regions.

  Also, he was going to have to do something about his own agonized state of being. Something that didn’t involve flipping her over and plunging into the tight passage still rippling with the aftershocks of her hard-earned orgasm. No, this one was all hers. He’d committed himself to that, and he planned to honor the commitment. He’d also committed to giving her a soul-shattering climax with his cock, and withholding the actual intercourse until she couldn’t think past having him inside her increased his odds of success. He had to walk a fine line—reacquaint her with her orgasm, build her confidence in her ability to achieve it, but keep her needy. His situation, conversely, was nothing a dive overboard couldn’t cure. Eventually.

  Right now, her toes still curled. Her hands still clutched the sides of the cushion, and her breaths still ended in little whimpers. He wished he had a better view of her face. Wished he’d gotten to see her surprise when she’d realized she was going to get there, and her surrender as she’d tumbled over the edge. Wished he knew exactly what expression accompanied her long, throaty cry of triumph. Soon, he promised himself. This time was all about her. He’d wanted her completely focused on herself and her needs. He was merely a means to an end.

  “Whoa,” she murmured, and her body went slack. “Thank you.”

  The heartfelt appreciation in her voice and lethargy in her limbs testified to her satisfaction. “You’re welcome, but you did most of the work.” He unfolded her legs and lowered them to the bench.

  She shivered. “I’ve never, never—oh!”

  His fault. He hadn’t been able to resist giving that round, perfect ass a final slap. The payback was instant, because watching her flesh rebound drew his balls painfully tight. “Does that get me on a first-name basis, Czarina?”

  He knew he’d extinguished her afterglow as soon as the words left his mouth.

  The rules are simple. Five days. As many orgasms as she can handle. No names. Why the fuck can’t you leave it alone?

  Her shoulders stiffened for an instant, and then she levered herself up and crawled to the other end of the bench seat. When she turned around and stretched out with her back propped against the molded corner, her expression revealed nothing, but she draped her arm across her breasts. He recognized a protective gesture when he saw one—even an unconscious one. Lifting her chin, she stared him down from across the space she’d put between them. He knew an attempt at distancing, too. He’d mastered most of them in the name of accomplishing an easy exit. Right now, however, he didn’t much like being on the receiving end of the attempt.
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  “We have a deal. Name exchange occurs if, and only if, you satisfy the agreed-upon terms.” She lifted her arm and folded it behind her head in a move calculated to dispel any hint of self-consciousness. “If you’d like to give that a go right now…?”

  Oh, sure. The woman suffering from a stress-induced orgasmic disorder suddenly expected two back-to-back? Unlikely, and he refused to push things. The next time he was inside her, he wasn’t going to fail. “Can’t. Baby steps, remember?”

  Confusion clouded her gaze. It dropped to the front of his shorts. “How many more baby steps are there?” She lifted the arm she’d propped along the back of the booth and pointed in the general vicinity of his hard-on. “And what are you going to do about this situation?”

  He stood, peeled off his shirt, and walked toward her. “I had an idea about that.”

  Her gaze staggered over his chest and abs. She sat up and traced her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. “Did you?”

  The situation now bordered on painful, and the temptation to take her up on her offer strong. “Yeah.” He planted a foot on the bench by her hip. While she looked on, he levered himself up, stepped over her legs, and dived into the water.

  Tempting or not, tonight he needed to stay in control. Prove to her he could, so she’d feel secure relinquishing hers. The cool, all-encompassing embrace of the ocean helped. He lingered there, waiting until the ache migrated from his groin to his lungs, and then kicked to the surface.

  She stood at the stern, wearing late-afternoon sunlight, her tiny bikini bottoms, and an exasperated expression he found adorable and ego-boosting at the same time.

  “Are you playing hard to get, Captain?”

  “I’m right here. Come get me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A dip wasn’t what I had I mind.”

  “You’re missing out.” He drew in a lungful of air and lay back in the water with his eyes closed. The sun warmed his face. “You can’t do this in Siberia.”

  “Are you sure you want to play it this way? You only get four more shots at making good on your promise. Can you afford to waste one?”

  “I’m not wasting a thing. I’m relying on the scientifically proven principle of delayed gratification. Certain appetites intensify the longer they go unfulfilled, especially when you get enough of a taste to know what you’re missing. Over the next few days, things are going to get pretty damn intense. So intense that when I finally give your stubborn little pussy what it’s craving, you’re never going to be the same again.”

  An extended silence greeted his words, followed by a breathless, “Oh.”

  Jesus, she killed him. From beneath his lashes he watched her hover at the stern for a moment, before stepping onto the dive deck and bringing her palms together over her head. He had a second to appreciate the way the pose lifted her high, round tits even higher before she dived into the water.

  He kept an eye on her until she surfaced—sleek and glistening—and did a lazy breaststroke over to him. The backdrop of ocean and sky brought out the blue in her eyes. She looked like some kind of mysterious nymph. A sneaky grin ruined the illusion a moment before she aimed a playful splash at him. “You can’t seem to resist a body of water. I imagine you really miss this when you’re up in space.”

  Was this an attempt to reestablish their boundaries, or test them?

  He cupped his hand along the surface and sent a wave toward her. “I imagine I do.”

  “It must be hard to maintain a relationship from up there.”

  Definitely testing the boundaries. Unfortunately, she’d picked a test subject he’d fail. He tried to play it off with a shrug. “No harder than in Siberia.”

  “So, you do manage?”

  Lying seemed pointless. “Not so much. Relationships aren’t really my strong suit.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I was engaged once. It didn’t work out.” He meant to keep the explanation simple and brief, but apparently she caught something in his tone or expression, because her teasing expression turned sympathetic. She paddled closer.

  “What happened?”

  Why were they talking about this? Why was he treading water in the middle of the goddamn ocean, about to bare his scars to a woman who didn’t even want to tell him her name? There was no graceful way out of it, but the very anonymity of their situation made confiding the truth seem almost…okay.

  “I met her in my”—all right, truth in substance, not in detail—“astronaut training program. She was pretty, smart, funny, and very committed to her goals. We both were, and conveniently, there we were, pursuing one we shared. Falling for her was almost inevitable.”

  “Understandable.” Her quiet voice barely intruded into his memories of a blonde, blue-eyed bundle of vitality. Miss America, with a south Texas twang, a ready smile, and a shell of confidence.

  “Yeah. I thought so, too. But maybe I wasn’t looking very hard. Astronaut training takes a lot of time and focus. It’s pretty rigorous.”

  “I’m sure it is. I think sometimes, when two people are in a pressure cooker like that, it’s easy for someone to feel like they need to get out.”

  Sweet of her to offer understanding when, for all she knew, he was leading up to a “She cheated” or “I cheated” or something along those lines. But it was nothing along those lines, and for whatever reason, he wanted her to know. “I don’t know how she felt. All I know is she got out. She died.”

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. For your loss, and for prying. We don’t have to talk about this—”

  “No. It’s okay.” And it was. He reached out and took her hand, weaving her fingers through his and increasing the power of his kick to keep them both bobbing in the gentle waves. “It happened a while ago.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Can you tell me what happened?” Compassion made her voice soft, but those instincts of hers were razor sharp. She sensed a devil in the details.

  “Yes, and no. I can tell you cause of death. She fell from the balcony of her third-floor apartment. But the why? That’s impossible to answer. She was home alone. The door was locked. There were no drugs or alcohol in her system.” He didn’t really need to go any further. The czarina was smart. She understood all the implications. He took a deep breath and then surprised himself by adding, “No note.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her fingers tightened on his again and held. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

  The bottom edge of the sun touched the horizon. Another inevitability. The earth still rotated, no matter how fucked up or oblivious its inhabitants might be. “Some things came out after. She was struggling academically. Sleeping an average of four or five hours a night to maximize study time. Her roommate suspected she had an eating disorder. But me? I didn’t see any of those details.” He coughed out a humorless laugh. “Love is blind, apparently.”

  “It’s hard to see details someone’s taking pains to hide, don’t you think?”

  “I do. But I also think when it comes to certain things, I’m more of an overview, big-picture kind of guy.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile—a fleeting one because she drew close and brushed a kiss over his lips. “I bet you have an amazing overview from the space station.”

  “Exactly.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her into him for a harder kiss, and then eased back so only their linked hands tethered her to him, and resumed floating. “I’m not looking to go blind again.”

  He felt the water move, and then she floated beside him. “Hey, Rider?”

  The pulse beating in his ears sped up. Anticipation. And triumph. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he knew what was on hers at this moment. She was going to tell him her name, and he suddenly couldn’t wait to watch her lips form his. “Yes, Czarina?”

  “I’m not looking to go blind, either.”

  Chapter Six

  Best motherfucking sunrise of your life, man.

  Regardless of the enthusiastic endorsemen
t from a fellow resort guest Rider had been chatting with in the lobby this morning, she knew the fact that she was out of bed, dressed, and cruising along in an open-air Jeep at five in the morning had nothing to do with the quality of the sunrise. It spoke volumes about the quality of the orgasm someone had spanked out of her yesterday.

  She wanted more. Hell yes, she did. Not just to break the hold stress had on her and remind her body what pleasure felt like, but also because their anonymous, temporary arrangement afforded a level of freedom she’d never experienced before.

  Family, duty, and reputation ceased to exist during their time together. She could ask for anything. Allow anything. Trust him with her honest needs and know he’d do whatever it took to satisfy them. He refused to give up on her, and refused to let her give up on herself.

  She warmed her hands on the to-go cup of coffee he’d passed her as soon as she’d gotten in the car, and silently toasted his impressive persistence. True, he seemed determined to dole out satisfaction according to his own plan, but it turned out she had nothing against planning. At least not when it came to his version. She could relax and enjoy.

  Maybe she was tossing around words like “trust” and “honesty” awfully easily, considering she didn’t even know his real name, and she’d thrown honesty out the window the minute she’d opened her mouth. But despite all her fabrications, there was a level of honesty between them, and she did trust him.

  Enough to take a daybreak pilgrimage up the side of a mountain.

  In truth, she’d agreed to his invitation before she’d fully understood it. When he’d leaned across the front seat of the Jeep yesterday evening, kissed her senseless, and asked her to see the sunrise with him, she’d assumed he meant from the bedroom of her villa, or maybe the balcony of his room. A “yes” had rolled off her tongue without hesitation. She’d even basked in a moment of glory. So much for your delayed gratification, huh, Rider? Then he’d said, “Great. I’ll pick you up at five.” The next thing she knew, he’d driven off.