by Meghan March
Three years ago, I dreamed of being able to steal her away for some extravagant vacation to impress her, and now we’ve been handed this golden opportunity. Greer once told me she wanted to be wooed, and now I’ve got a secluded tropical paradise and no paparazzi.
Game on.
A man in a golf cart waits just beyond the runway and waves us over. He smiles and holds up a handwritten sign that reads GREER.
“Bags?” he asks, looking somewhat confused at our empty hands.
“Not this time,” I reply.
“Okay then. Let’s get you to the house.”
I wrap an arm around Greer as we climb onto the backseat of the golf cart. The headlights cut through the pitch-black darkness ahead of us as he drives us along a rutted and bumpy road that appears to be packed sand. Dozens of blue crabs skitter to the sides of the street as the light touches them.
Where the hell are we?
Less than five minutes later, he slows at a black metal gate connecting two white concrete walls. There’s a keypad, and he inputs a long combination before the gate slides to one side.
“I’m Juan, the caretaker here.” He gestures to a small cottage that sits close to the cement wall and gate. “I’ll be available if you need me. My wife, Rea, cooks and cleans. So if you have any special requests, just let her know.” He pats his belly. “She’s one of the best cooks on the island, so you’re in for a treat.”
“Island? I thought we were in Belize?” Greer asks.
Juan’s hearty laugh shakes his belly, and he’s probably putting us in the category of stupid American tourists. “You are in Belize. Welcome to Caye Caulker. We’re the second largest island in the country, but don’t be fooled, there’s not far to go. You’re at the south end now; the village is at the north end of this section, before the Split.”
“The Split?” I ask, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“A channel where Hurricane Hattie ripped the island in half back in ’61. You’ll see it. There are more houses on the other side, but you need a boat to get there. We have one, and I can take you wherever you want to go. I don’t recommend taking it yourself because navigating the reef is tricky unless you’ve been doing it for years. But anything you want—snorkel, scuba, fishing, exploring the cays, I’ll take you.”
Greer and I both thank him as he leads us toward the large white concrete house on concrete pilings. Ornate yellow tiled stairs lead us to a wide porch that looks like it wraps around the place. Juan removes keys from his pocket, unlocks the door, and hands them to me.
“I’ll leave you to explore. You’ll see Rea in the morning. What time would you like breakfast?”
I glance at Greer and raise an eyebrow, indicating it’s her call.
“Eight o’clock would be fine. Thank you, Juan. Have a good night.”
I shut and lock the white wood door behind us and watch Greer as she spins in a circle in the large entryway. High ceilings are lined in dark wood with exposed beams, and the walls are painted a vivid yellow that matches the blue, green, red, and yellow mosaic tiles patterned across the floor.
It’s everything you’d expect from a tropical beach house. A round wood table sits in the middle of the entryway with a huge vase of vibrant, fresh flowers. From this vantage, I can see a large sectional in the living room, a matching wood coffee table, and a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Bright canvases line the walls, adding color beyond the yellow. Thin white curtains blow in the breeze along the entire wall of windows facing the ocean. Waves crash just outside in the darkness.
Greer completes her circle, and I wait for her reaction. She’s probably been on countless luxury vacations, making this place nothing special. Hell, maybe even quaint. By my standards, and from what I’ve seen so far, it’s a pretty sweet pad, one I’d be happy to call my own.
“I love it,” Greer says, her voice quiet. “It’s so perfect.”
“Let’s check it out.”
With a grin, I follow her from the entryway into the living room, and then the dining room and kitchen. The kitchen has dark wood cabinets, black-and-gray granite countertops, and stainless appliances. It’s just as nice as the setup at my place in LA, but the vibrant colors of the walls, art, and backsplash give it a strong island vibe.
We venture back through the living room and find three bedrooms, the largest of which is clearly the master. A large wood four-poster sits at one end, facing a wall of windows with billowing curtains. The east side of the room is also lined with windows, leading me to believe we’re going to see a hell of a sunrise.
I gotta hand it to Creighton Karas, this place is perfect. Fuck, it feels like a place you’d carry a bride across a threshold on a honeymoon.
I shut that thought down. Greer isn’t ready, and I’m not going to freak her out by talking about serious shit. In fact, my mission with this trip? Get her so fucking addicted to my body and my cock that she never wants another man again. Once I’ve accomplished that goal, I’ll move on to the next phase of my plan.
I stop at the doorway of the bathroom as Greer steps inside. “Damn, this place is perfect.” I take in the giant tiled shower and mammoth tub. They’re going to get plenty of use.
“Totally perfect.”
As Greer turns back to me, I take in her appearance. She’s as beautiful as ever, but dark circles are making an appearance under her eyes. She’s dead on her feet. Neither of us slept on the six-hour flight; instead, we checked out most of the gossip sites that had posted our pictures. We left each other to our thoughts after that.
Right now, all I want is a shower and then to curl up in that huge bed with Greer in my arms. Simple man, simple needs.
“Shower and sleep?”
She covers her yawn with a hand and nods. “Yes, please. As long as I don’t fall asleep standing right here.”
“You go first. I’m going to check out the rest of the house and make sure it’s locked up.”
By the time I return to the bedroom, Greer is already out of the shower and sound asleep in bed. Naked.
My shower’s going to take a little longer . . . because now I’ve got a raging hard-on to take care of.
Waking up with a man wrapped around me and the sound of waves crashing against the shore is decadent. I blink my eyes open to be almost blinded by the bright light streaming in through the windows, sparkling off the surface of the water outside.
Heaven. I’ve died and woken up in heaven.
I squint against the brightness and arch into the hard, muscled body behind me. Holy shit, his morning wood is more like a morning tree trunk. I lick my lips, intrigued at the thought of waking him up with his cock in my mouth.
Paradise, I love you.
I’ve wondered for years what it would be like to fall asleep with Cav and wake up next to him, and while I don’t remember what it was like to fall asleep next to him, I can certainly make waking up a memorable experience for both of us.
Very carefully, I lift his arm from where it’s curled under my boobs and slide out from beneath it. I wait silently, hoping he stays asleep. Soundlessly, he rolls to his back and throws an arm up over his head.
Perfect.
Carefully, I slide the sheet down his torso, revealing the ridges of his abs and the dark trail of hair leading to my prize. I’ve never wanted a dick in my mouth this badly before. It’s an odd compulsion, but I can’t ignore the power I feel at the thought of having this powerful man at my mercy.
One more tug of the sheet reveals his thick, hard cock. Perfection. Squeezing my thighs together to stem the growing ache, I lower my mouth to trail my lips from the head and down the vein that runs along the shaft. Cav’s hips shift when I reach his balls, which are already drawing tighter from the single caress.
I did mention my mad dick-sucking skills, right? Because that’s one talent I mastered in my I’m a virgin, but we can still get each other off days.
Thank God for misguided teenage ideals.
I glance up at C
av and find his hooded hazel eyes on me. A flash of insecurity hits me. What if my skills are only impressive to guys with a million times less experience than Cav? I wasn’t the only girl to lust after him while I was in law school, and I’ve seen plenty of pictures on gossip sites and magazines with gorgeous actresses that I can in no way compare to.
Cav reaches down and slides his hand into the hair that’s falling over my shoulder. “Waking up with you makes it a hell of a good morning, baby girl. But waking up with your lips on my cock? Fucking incredible.”
My momentary hesitation evaporates with his husky words, and I wrap my hand around his shaft and angle it toward my mouth. “Then you’re going to love this, Hollywood.”
I take him as deep as I can on the first pass and don’t stop trying until he’s touching the back of my throat. Cav’s groans urge me on as I work him deeper and faster. Heat builds between my legs as his fingers tangle in my hair on both sides and his hips lift toward my face. Pulling back for a breath, I cup his balls with one hand and jack the shaft with the other. I’m pretty sure this is the universal girl move for blowjob break.
“Fuck, baby. You’re gonna take it from me, aren’t you?” Cav growls, his stare boring into me.
I bite my lip and nod, still jacking his cock with one hand. With each movement, his thick thighs flex and tighten.
“I’m going to swallow every drop,” I tell him slowly.
“Fuck yes, you are. Every drop is going down that pretty throat of yours. You’re going to have my cum in your mouth, your pussy, and your ass before we leave this place.”
Heat floods my center. Who knew dirty talk flipped the switch so damn quickly? And him talking about filling my ass . . . it scares me, but intrigues me just as much.
Pushing that thought away for another time, I lower my head to finish the job I started and blow Cav’s mind.
Minutes later, his groans are growing louder and his hips are bucking faster into my mouth. I’m letting him fuck my face while I suck and stroke and lick. And it’s phenomenal. A complete power trip.
“Baby,” he says, low and urgent, and I know he’s about to come.
His hand grips my hair and holds my head in place as he fucks my mouth and explodes.
Just like he ordered, I swallow every drop.
I’m so fucked. She’s it. The one. And I have no right to keep her until I tell her the truth.
Greer wipes a hand delicately across her face like she didn’t just give me the blow job to end all blow jobs and swallowed every drop of my cum. What’s the saying? A lady in the streets and a whore between the sheets? Greer’s no one’s whore, but fuck if she isn’t a dirty girl. And I love it. Every single fucking bit of it.
After we find the walk-in closet stocked with clothes that surprisingly fit us both, we venture into the dining room to see platters of French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar, as well as eggs, bacon, beans, tortillas, and a spread of fresh-cut fruit. A darker-skinned woman who I assume is Rea sets out syrup.
“This looks amazing.” Greer’s words are followed by the growl of her stomach.
I pull her against my side. “We need to get some food into you, baby.”
When she smiles up at me, I lean down and press a kiss to her lips.
Rea watches this exchange and waits until we’re seated to introduce herself formally.
Greer chats with her as we serve ourselves breakfast. Rea leaves us with fresh, rich coffee and we dive into the food.
Rolling waves crash against the small beach out front, and the infinity pool pours over the side of the tiled deck. This place is epic, and I want to keep Greer locked away here forever. Away from the bullshit waiting for me on both coasts.
I load scrambled eggs, bacon, and beans into a fresh tortilla as Greer sips orange juice and piles French toast, bacon, eggs, and pineapple on her plate.
“I always imagined my honeymoon would be like this.” Her words are quiet, but when they land between us like a bomb in the silence of the room, Greer’s expression shutters immediately. “I mean, you know, when I was thinking about those things. A million years ago. Never mind. Please rewind the last fifteen seconds and let’s start over.”
I remember the thoughts I had last night. I was right about where she stands.
Trying to lighten the mood, I say, “I would expect you to have good taste. This place is pretty fucking awesome.”
“I’m surprised you’re impressed by it,” she says, crunching on a piece of crispy bacon.
Her comment catches me off guard. “You’re surprised I’m impressed? I’m surprised you are. I was thinking this probably isn’t up to your normal Karas luxury standards.”
Greer drops the bacon on her plate and wipes her fingertips on the napkin in her lap. “Because you think I’m a spoiled brat? I’m not. At least, not like you think. The trips I took out of New York were few and far between. My uncle didn’t like to travel and never took us with him when he did, and when Creighton started traveling a lot, he didn’t exactly want his little sister tagging along. I’ve done Christmas in the Virgin Islands once or twice, and taken spring break trips with friends in college to a couple of resorts Creighton’s companies own, but not much more than that. You’ve probably seen more fancy stuff living in LA than I have.”
Her answer surprises me, and she must read it in my expression. “What? You think just because I am who I am that my life has been one jet-setting experience after another? The list of places I want to visit is long. Really long. And you know what? Maybe I don’t even want to live in New York forever. Maybe I want to see what it’s like to live somewhere other than the East Coast.”
I lower my breakfast burrito to my plate and reach for the fresh-squeezed orange juice before me and take a drink.
“Then why don’t you?” My question is simple, but the answer matters. “You’ve got the means to live any kind of life you want, so what’s stopping you?”
Greer reaches for her bacon and shoves the remaining piece in her mouth. “It’s not that easy. I can’t just pick up and go wherever I want, whenever I want. I need to earn the right to do that, and I’m not anywhere close.”
And that right there is one of the reasons I’m so drawn to Greer. She’s not a flighty heiress content to live on her trust fund. She’s driven, and may be the one person who can relate to my need to prove myself.
“I understand that. Then, I guess, cheers to earning the right to do whatever the fuck you want.” I lift my glass and wait for her to pick hers up before I clink the rims together.
Midway through her French toast, Greer tosses an unexpected question at me. “Do you feel like you’re tied down in Hollywood now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, do they own your life and your future?”
I take a bite of my breakfast burrito and consider her question as I chew. “No one owns me or my future. It’s what I make of it, and I refuse to let anyone dictate to me. I’ve gotten myself to this level, and I’m just stashing cash so I can walk away whenever I want.”
Greer forks up another chunk of French toast as she watches me. “Fair enough. I can respect that. That’s a lot of the reason I wanted to earn my own salary rather than live off interest and dividends from my trust fund and the Karas companies. There’s always strings attached to everything.”
She lowers her fork and spins it between her thumb and finger. “But then again, I guess it doesn’t matter if I live off the money or not. Creighton’s still dictating my behavior when it really impacts the company. Some days I wish I could just change my last name. I mean, I love my brother and I’m crazy proud of what he’s accomplished, but living under a microscope isn’t so much fun.” She stops playing with the fork and lowers it to the plate. “First-world problems, I know.”
I consider her words for only a moment before landing on a solution. “You can be whoever you want to be here, Greer. No one knows who we are or why we’re here, so let’s have fun with it. So just decide—who do
you want to be?”
Greer’s dark eyes light up with the possibility. “Well, damn. I’ve never thought about that. I need some time.”
Cav doesn’t realize what he’s done by setting loose my imagination. Has anything ever been quite so seductive as that one question—who do you want to be? As if I can just choose whoever that is and it can happen. But maybe here, on this island where no one knows who we are, I truly can.
Rea comes in and cleans up breakfast as I make my way back to the bedroom. The cool tile is refreshing under my feet as the heat from the sun is already warming the house.
Yes, paradise, I really do love you.
In my borrowed shorts and tank, I investigate my swimsuit options in the walk-in closet. The lure of the infinity pool is strong, and it seems like the perfect place to relax and decide exactly what or who I want to be while I’m here.
In my head, one answer is already bubbling to the surface and mocking me. Do I have the guts to say it aloud?
If this is all pretend and temporary, why not play the part? I’m not going to get to keep Cav Westman, but maybe I can pretend for a little while.
It’s going to take a hell of a lot of liquor to find the lady balls to say what I’m thinking.
Slipping into a neon-pink suit that’s only a little too small in the tits and ass areas, because apparently whoever owns this place has curves that are less generous than mine, I grab some sunscreen out of the bathroom cabinet and wander out toward the pool.
I pause and admire the sight before me when I see Cav has already stripped off his shirt. His board shorts are riding low, exposing the vee cut at his hips. Those lines really do make girls stupid. I had his dick in my mouth just before breakfast, and now I want to sink to my knees and lick those indents and then those abs . . .
The critics who say he’s been photoshopped? Liars. All liars. Because damn, if the ladies of the world could see what I’m seeing right now, I’m pretty sure they’d all want to hunt me down and take my place. Headlines would read GREER KARAS SHANKS RIVAL WOMEN IN CAT FIGHT OVER HOLLYWOOD SEX GOD.
