by Piper Lennox
“You know...don’t...don’t make me come a bunch of times, first.”
“What, do you not like that?”
My laugh sounds helpless. Maybe I am. “No, I love it, I just...I really want you to fuck me, right now. I definitely appreciate that slow build and all, but—”
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice.” He laughs and eases his fingers out. The emptiness gets to me more than I expected. While he undoes his pants, I catch my breath and study the view overhead. I didn’t notice, until now, how bright the sky is, but how shadowed and cool we are inside this tent of trees. They almost meet in the very center above me, when the wind moves them just right.
“You know,” he says, positioning himself overtop me, “I only do the slow build to get your easy ones out of the way.”
“My what?”
“The easy ones. You come so fast, like, the second you’re touched. It’s a good thing, I’m just saying—I like working you up to a really great one, once mine gets close.”
“First of all, I don’t come fast—”
“I said it’s a good thing.”
“—you just make me do it fast. Other guys don’t....” My face gets warmer, the thinner my trail becomes. I can’t remember how, exactly, I planned to turn this around on him.
He pauses, holding himself at my entrance and studying me from under his brow. “Huh. Good to know. Was there a second point?”
“Yes. Second, if I wanted to, I could make you finish just as fast.”
His smile makes my skin flush even more. “Is that a bet?”
“If it has to be.”
“All right.” He guides himself into me, barely an inch, before bracing his arms on either side of my shoulders. “You’re on. First one to finish has to buy the loser’s favorite alcohol. An entire bottle.”
“That’s not fair, you get it for free.”
“I’ll pay for it, I swear.” He sinks deeper, reveling in the fact I have to shut my eyes. “Well, I won’t have to, because I’ll win. But you get the idea.”
“Have you forgotten about that time in the shower?” I remind him, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “You could hardly stay standing.” I slip my feet out of my sandals and lift my legs, locking my ankles at the small of his back. When I pull him down against me, forcing every inch inside, I lift my hips against him.
“Shit,” he sputters. One of his elbows locks and buckles; he catches himself just before he can fall on top of me.
“Still think you can win?”
He gets his bearings back and rocks his hips against me, sinking deep. “You know what brand of gin I like, right?”
I’d talk more smack, if his pace and force weren’t already picking up. His kiss is rougher this time. It sends colors spinning into my vision when I close my eyes, losing myself in the feeling.
Fight it, I urge myself. It’s not about winning, so much as making sure Luka doesn’t. I’ll never hear the end of it if he does.
“Let me get on top. This isn’t fair—you’re in control.”
“Like you don’t love it,” he quips, but slips out and takes my place on the ground. I straddle him and lower myself back down, making sure to undo the top of my cover-up to give him a good view.
“I think you’re much closer than I am.” I brace my hands on his chest. The effect of my nails grazing his skin through the fabric of his shirt is lessened, but not altogether useless: I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. “You’re making that face.”
“Uh, I don’t make a face.”
“Uh, yeah, you do.” I pause, sinking all the way down, and laugh. “See? You just did it. Your jaw tenses up, your eyes look all serious…. And you make that little noise in your throat.”
“Okay, I might make a face, but I definitely don’t make any noise.”
“That’s what the noise is—you trying so hard not to make a noise.” I lean down and kiss him, working my muscles around him. On cue, something low in his throat, almost in his chest, clicks. “That. It’s like your breath is hitching.”
“You make faces and noises too, you know.”
“I know I do.” I kiss his jawline, that precise edge of his beard. When I draw his earlobe between my teeth, his abs tighten. And when I let out the smallest breath, almost a sigh, he grips my waist and thrusts.
I realize I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Sure, it’s all about control with Luka: an endless tug-of-war between us. It makes sense my first strategy would be to get my grip, lean back, and fight.
But maybe, instead of pulling, I should give the rope a little slack. Make him stumble.
“Oh, my God,” I whimper, as he thrusts again. I lick his ear and bounce my hips. His hands catch the rhythm and help me move. “Yes, Luka, God!”
“Stop—I know what you’re doing.” There’s that catch in his throat again. “You’re...you’re making noise on purpose...trying to get me—”
“No, I’m not,” I pant. “It feels amazing.” I sit up and undo my bikini top, then open the rest of my cover-up. When I lean forward again, he hesitates, then captures one of my nipples in his mouth. I’ve thrown off his suspicion: there’s no way I’d let him do something that drives me so crazy, if I was still trying to win.
Of course, the strategy has some backfire, just like in real tug-of-war: I’m moving closer to the trench between us, with every second I let him think he’s gained ground.
Soon the noises I’m making are anything but forced. I forget about the bet as Luka moves between my breasts, his hands moving from my waist to my hips. He presses his thumbs harder the faster we go. I can’t tell who’s in control anymore.
I put my mouth by his ear again. “Luka...I’m so close....”
“Me, too.” Weakly, he laughs as he feels me slip a hand between us. “You know you’ll lose…if you touch yourself. That’s, like...the point of no return.”
“I know. I don’t care.” I kiss him, moaning against his mouth as my hand makes contact. The electricity unfurls in my core like a plume of smoke.
This is it.
I’m definitely going to lose.
Luka’s grip tightens. He pulls me against him, hips rising from the ground with the force of an earthquake. Over my torn breath, I hear his catch as he releases, just seconds before I tumble headfirst over the peak. Like falling from a cliff into the ocean—or jumping—there’s nothing we can do but hold our breaths, close our eyes, and wait for the tide to finish its crash.
Sixteen
Luka
“So what are you going to do?” I clear my throat. “When you get home.”
She stretches out her arm and plucks the flower from the grass, the one I put in her hair. Its petals are creased and jagged at the edges. I’m surprised we didn’t pulverize it in the heat of our bet.
“Don’t know,” she says, and I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. Tanya hates not knowing her next move. Just like me. “But I’ve got an iron or two in the fire, I think. I mean...I hope.”
I pull her closer. “I have a good feeling about it. I think you’ll find something really soon.” Her thanks is softer than the breeze.
My phone vibrates on the grass. I think about ignoring it, but Tanya’s already lifting herself off me so I can answer. She knows my habits well.
“Just a sec,” I promise, stretching and knocking the phone closer. It’s Trixie.
“Hey.” I sit up. “What’s going on?” It’s rare for her to call me versus texting, email, or going through Parker. I know shit must’ve hit the fan.
“Kona Seg is out. For good this time.”
“Out?” I scramble to my feet and pace across the grass. “No, no—Wendy and Gregory agreed to give me a week to convince them. It’s been two days.”
“Which is why you always get shit in writing,” she snaps. I don’t hear Garner gloating in the background, but I know exactly what that bastard’s face looks like, right now. This is his Christmas.
“Okay, I’ll talk to them. Just give me
an hour—”
“Time’s up on talking, Luka. I’m giving the project to Garner.”
“Garner? No, Trix, you can’t do that. You and I both know he doesn’t care about public relations at all. If he gets his hands on this, all he’s going to do is buy a fleet of Segways and label it Paradise Port. It defeats the entire purpose of the affiliate program.”
“At least then we’d have some goddamn Segways to use. No more teasing guests with it, no more waiting. No more fucking negotiations with the most boring, wishy-washy people I’ve ever met in my life.” She slams something; probably a coffee tumbler, always affixed to her hand. “Good riddance.”
My stomach burns, but this time it’s pure anger.
“The Kalanis are friends of mine,” I remind her, and not kindly. “And I’m telling you, it’s a hard sell, but one worth chasing.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. They’re out.” Another slam. “You want to talk to them and waste even more of your time, be my guest. But Paradise Port isn’t putting any more time in with these people. Affiliates only work if companies want to be affiliates. If they don’t?” The bang I hear this time is softer, resolute. “They risk competing.”
“That’s exactly how you destroy rapports with locals.”
“No, Luka. That’s business.” Trixie’s voice dips, sounding drained. “And look, I’m telling you this for your own good: the sooner you learn how to separate personal and business, the better.”
The line’s silence swells in my ear. I shut my eyes, lower the phone, and curse.
“What’s up?” Tanya stands, working on her hair with the elastic between her lips. “More affiliate trouble?”
I check my watch. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll, uh...set you up in the new room, first.”
“Thanks.” She crosses her arms as we start back down the path. The wind picks up, skating across the tops of trees. She shivers; I drape my suit jacket across her shoulders. Blushing, she thanks me again.
At the front desk, I ask Ace for the cards to the room I blocked off. “And no commentary.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He smirks as he activates each card with the scanner, then slides them to me with painful slowness. I snatch them up like a hand of poker.
“Here you go.” I pass her one of the cards in the elevator and pocket mine. She flips hers back and forth between her fingers.
“Thank you again, for this.”
“I told you, don’t mention it. It’s not a big deal. And I do it every time you’re here.”
“Yeah, but...this time, I really need it.”
My laugh is quiet, but not enough. “Tan, we both know you wouldn’t come to Hawaii nearly as often if it weren’t for the free rooms. Journalists’ salaries don’t exactly gel with our price point.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her stiffen. You idiot.
I should’ve known better. I did know better. Tanya doesn’t like charity, pity, or anything in between, and the only thing she hates more is admitting she needs any of it.
“Seriously, though,” I add, as fast as my brain can work, “you know the...arrangement...it benefits me just as much.” I walk my fingers along her back, resting my hand on her hip and pulling her close. “I like knowing I can just open a door, and there you are.”
She stays tense as I lower my head, but by the time my mouth finds her neck, she gives in. “I like when I hear the door opening,” she adds, fingers working into my collar, “and know it can’t be anyone but you on the other side.”
“Except,” I whisper, “when it’s housekeeping. I think we learned our lesson about forgetting the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign after your last visit.”
Tanya laughs and pushes me away with one hand, then pulls me back in for a kiss with the other.
“You’re home early.”
I shut the fridge and press the sweating can of Red Bull to my neck. Just my luck: as soon as I got in my truck to head for the Kalanis’ house, still flying high from my afternoon with Tanya, the air conditioner quit on me.
“I’m not home—just stopped in for a drink,” I tell Mom, taking the overloaded shopping bag from her arms as she bustles through the side door. “Are there more?”
“No, that’s it. Thanks.” She kisses my cheek. “I picked up rotisserie chicken for dinner, if you’re going to stay a while.”
I think of the voicemail Wendy left while I was busy with Tanya, which I played twice on the ride here: “We’re really sorry, honey, but we’ve thought on it, you know, and we just can’t trust a company that uses that…that wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing approach. I hope you understand.”
I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. Less than forty-eight hours ago, we were clinking tequila and celebrating, and now the entire program’s in jeopardy.
“Can’t. The Kalanis.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Ah.”
While she stacks groceries on the table, I reach into the bag and pull out the thickest magazine I’ve ever seen. “Tulle and Lace?”
“It’s a bridal magazine,” she explains. As if I couldn’t tell by the woman obscured in white frills and makeup on the cover. “Did Kai tell you they’re doing a destination wedding here?”
She’s downright giddy, and doesn’t notice the lack of enthusiasm in my voice as I say, “Uh, yeah...think I heard something about that.”
“I just figured, you know, why not glance through it, maybe send Mollie some ideas....” Mom’s voice trails into a sigh, almost a hum, as she finishes up the groceries.
“Didn’t realize you were into all this wedding stuff,” I mutter. Then again, there are a lot of things my mom never showed interest in, simply because she never got the chance: a house full of boys limited her expertise and hobbies to baseball, football, surfing, refereeing fights, and the family business.
Of course she’s thrilled Kai’s getting married: she’s gaining a daughter.
“He asked me to be his best man,” I tell her. Technically, I tell it to her back, waiting until she’s danced her way to the cabinets with armloads of canned goods before I speak.
“I knew he would. And I’m guessing Mollie asked Tanya to be her maid of honor?”
“Yep.”
“You two will look awfully cute, walking down the aisle together,” she teases. Mom has made her stance on my “just friends” arrangement with Tanya nauseatingly clear. Any girl I like enough to see more than once, she reasons, is worth keeping around. Never mind the one flaw in that theory: repeat guest or not, Tanya is still, at the end of the day, a tourist. She doesn’t want to stick around.
I push the thought away, unsettled by how much it suddenly bothers me. I always get sad when Tanya leaves, or when I think about her leaving, but I deal. This time, something about it digs at me more than usual.
Of course, once I push one thought away, another lands squarely in its place.
“Hey, Mom?”
She crumples up the grocery bag and shoves it into a cabinet. “Hmm?”
“Do you think....” My fingers trace the grain of the wood in the table. I notice dirt under my nails and know it must have come from walking the path with Tanya, but I can’t remember when. “Do you think, if Noe were still alive…Kai would have asked him to be his best man, instead?”
I look at her feet instead of her face. Talking about Noe is easier for all of us now than it was a few years ago, but it’s still no one’s topic of choice.
“Maybe.” The chair scrapes the floor as she sits next to me. “But that doesn’t mean he loves you any less, or that you two aren’t just as close as he and Noe were.”
“Yeah.” I try to ball the worry back up. Shove it away like a grocery bag I tell myself I’ll revisit, but never will.
“Just tired of being second-best,” I add, trying so hard to joke that it hurts.
“You’re not.” Her vehemence surprises me. Mom is the definition of soft-spoken. “And don’t think you’ve got to prove that to anyone. Least of all your family.”
&nb
sp; A piece of grass falls from my hair as I push it back, giving a nod I don’t really mean.
Of course she won’t admit Kai would have chosen Noe in a heartbeat if he could. Of course she thinks I don’t have to prove myself. She seems to have forgotten that, once upon a time, I was Dad’s absolute last choice to run his business. That, when Noe was alive, he was everyone’s first pick for everything. Kai was always the close second.
We hear Dad’s truck rattle into the driveway. “Oh, good, he’s home! Stay a while, eat with us.”
“No, Mom, I really do have to get over to the Kalanis’ house—”
“They’re probably eating dinner, too. Come on.” She gives me a look, that strange combination of commanding and begging only mastered by mothers.
I sigh and crack open my Red Bull. “Fine. Twenty minutes. But that’s seriously all I can do.”
“Good enough.”
“Home already?” Dad asks when he sees me. It says a lot that, when I’m home before 7:00 pm, my family considers me “early.”
“For now,” I answer curtly. Our fight from this morning feels like years ago, but I’m not quite ready to let it go.
“I ran into Jake at the gas station earlier—he said you guys had a guest throwing stuff from a balcony?” His whistle transforms into a laugh. “I figured you’d still be putting out fires.”
“It was an easy fix.” Tanya’s things were, as promised, clean and organized in her new room when we arrived. Where the ex-fiancé was in all that, I still don’t know. And I don’t really care. “I’m just here for a little while.”
“The Kalanis again,” Mom adds, already tearing into the chicken.
Dad looks surprised. “Huh,” he says after a beat, crossing to the sink to wash his hands. He speaks to the faucet. “Maybe you ought to cut your losses with that one. I mean, it’s pretty clear by now they aren’t interested.”
“I can’t cut losses, Dad. If the Kalanis don’t agree, Port is ready to set up their own Segway tours, like, tomorrow. And I know this can be so, so good for their business. I don’t know why they can’t see that.”
