by Jami Alden
“And then I licked you and sucked you and fucked you with my fingers until you came, just like I'm going to do tonight.” He felt the muscles of her thighs clench against his shoulders and knew she was close.
He pushed his fingers deeper, pressing against the bundle of nerves hidden inside. She let out a harsh cry as her body convulsed, the tight muscles of her pussy contracting and pulling at his fingers as though trying to suck him even deeper.
She collapsed back onto the couch as Sam rose to his feet. He ignored her murmur of protest as he scooped her up in his arms. The wind howled and moaned outside, and he could hear the violent drumming of the raindrops against the roof tiles as he carried her back to the villa's bedroom.
He laid her across the king size, four poster bed, and followed her down. He loved how she looked after she came, all flushed and sloe-eyed, a lazy smile of satisfaction pulling at her swollen lips. He'd done that to her, he thought with a pinch of pride and something else he wasn't sure he wanted to examine too closely.
He hissed as the over-sensitized tip of his dick brushed against the skin of her stomach. Christ, if he wasn't careful he was going to come all over her before he even got an inside her.
No way could he fuck this up, not when he'd been dreaming for eleven years of everything he'd missed. He kissed her, slow and deep, slid his hand up and down her side as he coaxed her body out of its post orgasmic languor. He bent his head to her tits, sucked and pulled on her nipples until she was moaning and arching against him while he ground his dick into the mattress and strained to hold himself together.
Finally, when she was clawing at his back, whispering, “please, please,” as she ground her sex against him Sam forced himself away long enough to reach into the bed stand to retrieve a condom from the intimacy kids provided in each of Holley Cay's rooms.
He tore it open, giving a brief thanks to his good friend Chris who'd had the foresight, when he'd started the resort, to anticipate all of his guests' needs.
He knelt between Carla's thighs, his mouth going temporarily dry as he saw the way she was looking at him, her dark eyes hot with need, her tongue flicking out to wet her plump bottom lip as she stared at his cock straining and throbbing between his legs. With her knees drawn up and her thighs parted, she offered him a delicious view of her pussy, wet and swollen with need. Waiting for him to come inside.
Sam had been with a lot of women in his thirty two years, but no one had ever made him feel like Carla. Like he was going to die if he didn't get as deep inside her as he possibly could. Making him so hot and hard he was sure he could come just looking at her.
Several seconds passed. “Are you going to put that on and do me or do you need a hand?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked knowingly.
A chuckle ripped from his chest at the question, so direct, so sassy, so Carla. “As much as I love the idea I'm afraid if you so much as breathe on it this will all end a lot quicker than either of us want it to.”
He rolled the condom on with hands that shook, clenching his jaw at the feel of his own hand. He fit himself against the entrance of her sex, echoing her gasp as he circled her clit and slid himself against her folds, bathing in her until his cock was slick and shiny with her juice. “Do you know how long I've dreamed of this?”
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he pushed inside, felt the tight grip of her body taking him in. “Do you know how many nights I woke up, dreaming I was finally fucking you for real, only to wake up sad and alone with my own hand wrapped around my dick?”
He hooked his elbow under her knee, opening her up as he withdrew almost all of the way and then thrust back inside, a little deeper this time.
###
“You're so tight, so fucking perfect,” Sam groaned.
Carla shivered and moaned, as much at Sam's words as at the feel of his cock sliding inside of her, stretching her tight as he drove deeper with every strong thrust of his hips.
“That's it, take me, take me all the way in,” Sam rumbled. Carla gasped as he pressed deep, deeper than any man had ever gone before. Gasped again as he withdrew, the head of his cock dragging against her sex, already swollen and sensitive from her first explosive orgasm. She'd come down from that feeling like she'd been blown into a million pieces, content to lie back and let him do what he needed to do.
But Sam brought her back to the edge with sure strokes of his hands and slow, deep thrusts of his hips. He bent his head, took her nipple into his mouth, ripping a cry from her throat as her body clenched around the thick club buried inside of her. She felt herself stiffen, every sinew drawn tight as a violin string as a second orgasm built.
“Oh, God, I think I'm going to come again,” she said breathlessly. She slid her hands down his back, dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his ass. She hitched her knees up higher, urging him harder, faster, as she strove for the release hovering just beyond her reach.
Sam shifted over her, moving higher on her body until the base of his cock rubbed against her clit with every thrust. Two slick thrusts and Carla felt herself fly over the edge, crying out as her body milked him hard.
Sam bent his head, caught her cries in his mouth as he rode her through it, the thick slide and drag of him kept the pleasure going on and on until she wasn't sure if she was having multiple orgasms or one seemingly endless one.
She didn't care, not as long as Sam kept up his relentless thrusts, faster, harder, until she became oblivious to anything but the feel of him, hot and hard and huge inside of her.
He reared up on his knees, his face tight with strain as he pounded into her. Suddenly he stiffened, his fingers gripped her hips as he held himself buried deep inside. “Carla,” he called her name harshly and she felt his cock jerk and pulse inside her, felt her body clench in response.
Then he collapsed on the mattress next to her and rolled to his back. He pulled her across his chest and wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders like he was afraid she was going to make a run for it.
Carla nuzzled into his chest, unable to even muster up the energy to tell him he had nothing to worry about. With little aftershocks of pleasure tingling through her limbs, her body replete with not one but two (or possibly infinite) orgasms, she was pretty sure she wouldn't make it more than halfway across the room before collapsing.
He let out a satisfied sigh and his hand stroked lazily down her back and hip, paused to give her butt a squeeze before trailing back up her to her shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Carla closed her eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing the scents of him, of her, of sex swimming around them in a delicious, musky cloud.
Tried not to think about how good it felt―not the sex―lying here in Sam's arms, the way she had that summer under the stars. He'd spend hours pleasuring her, then cuddle her close. He'd made her feel so warm, so safe. So cared for.
Right. Try to remember how well he cared for you before you get all mooney again.
Yet she couldn't make herself pull away from the strong, muscular arms, the huge hands that stroked her so tenderly for of their strength and size. You can handle this. You aren't a naïve teenager anymore whose out of control hormones fooled her into thinking she was in love. You can enjoy this for what it is, an orgy of pleasure that you'll both forget about when the craziness ends and things go back to normal.
“Do you have any idea how long I've waited for that?” Sam muttered against the top of her head.
Carla propped her arms on his chest so she could look at him. “Let me guess,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “About a week?”
She didn't realize her mistake in looking at him until it was too late. With his thick hair rumpled and mouth quirked in a sexy half smile, he was every inch the naughty bad boy who knew how to do things to her she'd never even dreamed of.
But it was the look in his electric blue eyes that made her feel like a fist was squeezing her chest. Glowing with the warmth of banked lust, but there was something else there too. Adoration. At le
ast, that's what she'd mistaken it for all those years ago before she'd realized that someone who adored her would never have treated her the way he had.
Yet she couldn't make herself pull away as he reached his hand out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder. Mesmerized by the way he was looking at her, with what she could only call reverence in his eyes, like he was the luckiest man in the world to be with her right now. “Try about eleven years. I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped wanting you.”
Her stomach flipped at the thought of Sam spending the past eleven years thinking about her, kicking himself, as he'd said before, for how he'd pushed her away.
Oh, Sam, you're good. I thought you were a master before, but now you've moved into champion player territory. She pushed herself off his chest and reached for her robe. “If that's the case it's only because I was the only girl who ever refused to actually fuck you.”
He caught her hand and tumbled her back onto the bed before she could pull the robe around herself. “That's not it. Besides,” he said, his eyes crinkling wickedly, “you got me off enough times it didn't matter if you fucked me or not.”
“Yeah, you were pretty clear about how satisfied you were with that,” Carla said tightly, her whole body going cold at the memory of his cruel assessment. She wanted to kick herself for being so weak, for letting the memory cut so deep after so long.
“Carla.” His voice was tight and when she looked at his face she saw that it had gone pale. Almost as though his pain mirrored hers.
No sympathy for the devil, she scolded herself and tried to jerk out of his hold but Sam was having none of it. He grabbed her shoulders and rolled her to her back, pinning her to the mattress as he settled his weight over her.
A gust of wind shook the villa. Carla heard a shattering sound as tiles from the roof were ripped off and shattered on the ground. The lamp burning on the bedside flickered and went out as the storm took out the electricity.
Sam continued like nothing had happened. “We need to get something straight,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I said horrible things to you, hurt you in ways that I will regret for the rest of my life. I would never ask you to forgive me because I sure as hell don't deserve it, but you need to understand the truth. There was nothing―and I mean nothing―I didn't love about being with you.”
Chapter 8
Carla's breath caught at his words, the look on his face. Though the light was out, she could make out his face in the gray light leaking in through the shutters, his gaze steady, unwavering as though willing her to believe in him. Oh, God, it would be so easy to fall for him again, even knowing he didn't mean a word of it.
“It doesn't matter,” she whispered. “That was a long time ago and has nothing to do with what's happening now.”
Sam settled his weight more firmly against her until his chest brushed hers and she could feel the heavy weight of his cock hardening against her inner thigh. “What is happening, exactly?”
Carla was saved from having to answer when her stomach gave a rumble, startling a laugh out of them both at its sheer volume.
“Damn, woman, when's the last time you ate?”
Carla played back last several hours and realized that she'd been so caught up in preparing for the storm and evacuating the guests that she hadn't had anything to eat today except for her preworkout coffee and some bottled water. “Dinner last night?”
“Let's get you fed.” Sam rolled off her and reached for his own robe and made a pit stop in the attached bathroom. Carla waited for him to come out and used the bathroom herself, pausing to grab a hurricane lamp and box of matches on the way.
She gave herself a quick washing, wincing as the wet washcloth brushed against the tender folds of her sex. In the mirror, her candlelit face looked different. Softer. Younger. The hard edges buffed away by the sheer force of her orgasms.
Almost like the naïve eighteen-year-old who had fallen for Sam's schtick the first time around, she thought. She clung to that thought and went to join Sam in the main room.
He was standing next to the dining table beside the villa's kitchenette, the contents of two emergency kits neatly laid out before him. He'd lit several lamps as well, the golden light playing over the sculpted lines of his face, which she realized on closer inspection was pulled into an irritated frown.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“You can't eat any of these,” he said, gesturing to the stack of energy bars. “They're all peanut butter flavored.”
“Crap,” Carla muttered as her stomach rumbled forlornly. “They must have mixed up the order. I specifically requested peanut free. She gave herself a mental kick in the ass for not double checking. Too late now.
“I don't suppose you have an epi-pen with you?” she joked. Unless she wanted her throat to close up and to die from anaphylactic shock, she wasn't eating any time soon.
“I'm sorry,” he said as he packed the bars away along with the first aid equipment they thankfully hadn't needed. “In the rush, I didn't think to check for any that had nut free emergency rations.”
“It's okay,” she said, telling herself it didn't mean anything that he remembered she had a potentially lethal peanut allergy. “Not like I can't stand to miss a few meals.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow and reached for his shorts which were draped over the back of a chair. “You're perfect, and you need to eat,” he said as he dropped his robe and pulled on his damp shorts. “I remember what you're like when you don't eat.” He moved to the door.
“What are you doing?” Her voice raised in alarm as he reached for the doorknob. “You can't go out in that.”
Sam looked at his watch. “Based on how fast the storm is moving, the eye should be over us right about now.” He opened the door, and sure enough, the rain had eased to a soft sprinkle. “I should be able to raid the kitchen and get back here before the other side hits us.”
“Are you insane?” Carla asked as he stepped out the door. “That's how people get hurt―they go out in the eye thinking the storm is over and then get caught.”
Sam bent and gave her a quick hard kiss. “It's sweet of you to worry about me, but I'll be back in ten minutes, tops. You sit tight.” He flashed her a cocky grin, reminiscent of the wild teenager he'd once been, flouting the rules at every turn. Despite what he claimed, he hadn't changed, except now he was facing down natural disasters instead of school principals and the local cops.
He took off at a fast jog before she could say another word. Though the air was hot and oppressive with humidity, she kept her robe clutched tightly around her as she waited anxiously on the villa's front steps for Sam to return. From her position, she got her first glimpse of the havoc the hurricane had wreaked. Everywhere, palm fronds that lined the resort's perfectly landscaped grounds littered the pathways connecting the guest rooms. Clay shards lay scattered across the grounds, remnants of roof tiles that had been ripped off by the wind and hurled to the ground.
She could only imagine how much worse it would be on the side of the island that was more exposed to the storm.
Where was Sam? He’d said ten minutes, tops, but it felt like a lot longer.
Her stomach knotted as the wind started to kick up again, a signal that the other side of the eye was fast approaching, bringing with it the most violent winds they'd have to endure.
What if he didn't make it back in time? What if she had to wait out the storm alone?
Worse, what if he got hurt? Or killed? The thought of him surviving being burned and shot at, only to die because he'd gone off in a storm to get her a snack made the knot of fear in her belly double in size.
A crunch of footsteps sent a wave of relieve through her. Sam appeared around the bend, each arm laden with a white plastic trash bag heavy enough to make the muscles in his bulge under his skin.
Carla motioned him inside and he dropped the bags on the floor. Without thinking, Carla flung herself against him and buried her face in the bare,
damp skin of his chest.
He gave a startled laugh and hugged her back, and bent to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Now that's a greeting I could get used to.”
Embarrassed at how happy she was to see him, Carla pushed free of his arms and stepped farther into the villa's great room. “That was completely stupid of you to go out there.”
Sam picked up the plastic bags and brought them into the kitchenette. He opened one and started placing the contents on the counters. “Based on how fast the storm was traveling, I knew I had at least a twenty-five minute window before the other side of the storm hit.” He looked down at the large complicated-looking watch strapped to his wrist. “I could have taken another ten minutes and been in the clear.”
Carla started to unpack the other bag. “The last data we got was hours old,” she said as she thumped a jar onto the table. “The storm could have easily picked up speed as the eye passed over.” She grabbed blindly at a smaller bag tucked inside and would have tossed it onto the table had Sam not stopped her with his hand on her wrist.
“Careful. You don't want to squash the raspberries.” He set the bag carefully down.
Carla snatched her arm from his grasp. “You had no way of knowing for sure how much time you had.” She continued emptying the bags, unearthing what looked like a week's supply of food.
Sam finished unpacking the other bag. “I kind of like having you worry about me,” he said, and there was no mistaking the smug undertone in his voice.
If only he'd known how many years, how many sleepless nights she'd spent worrying about him, wondering every time she heard about a soldier being killed somewhere if she would get a call from Chris that Sam O'Connell had been killed in battle or a training exercise. Not that she would ever in a million years admit it to his face.
