Paradise Bay: Resort 1 (Surrender Isle #1)

by Havana Scott

  “What? Relax and enjoy yourself?” I collapsed next to her.

  That warranted a slap on my bicep, but she also smiled. “Hey, I know how to relax.”

  “You don’t, but you are now, so I’ve already helped you this week in more ways than one.”

  “Is that your job? Going around de-stressing frantic women? God, I feel like such a basket case. A pale and sad basket case.” She reached for my face, but I took her hands and stopped her from kissing me.

  “Hey,” I said. “There is nothing wrong with you. Paris, you might compare yourself with other women here, but you’re nothing like them, and trust me, that’s a good thing. Don’t ever call yourself a sad, basket case again.”

  “I notice you’re leaving out pale.”

  “Pale is beautiful. Bronze is beautiful. Dark is beautiful. Listen, you might be a disillusioned, slightly depressed case, but not a sad one. And definitely not a basket one.”

  “Good thing you clarified that.”

  “I’m serious. Everyone gets into a depressive rut now and then. But that’s why…” I almost said “that’s why I chose you.” What the? Swallowing, I changed my course. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here, so you can forget the last few years. Paris, you’re gorgeous. You have to know that.”

  “I’m sorry. I get down on myself sometimes. I have to stop that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just enjoy everything around you. Look at those stars. Seriously…” I moved aside, so she could see the celestial show that was the best part of living here. “I mean, look at them! Have you ever seen anything as exemplary and infinite and sorry, but—fucking awesome—as that in your whole life?”

  “Yes,” she said. But she wasn’t looking up. “I’ve seen you.”

  I turned back to her. If my friends saw her, they’d tell me she was cute but I’d had better. To me, she was warm and gorgeous, and she hit all my senses so perfectly. I wanted her all to myself. I liked how I laughed when I was with her. I didn’t feel like an asshole, I didn’t feel like a business owner. I just felt like my regular self, not the man everyone expected me to be. “What do you want, Paris?”

  A long, deep breath released from her chest. She closed her eyes, as though she’d find the answer there. “For you to make me forget. That’s the best answer I can give you right now. After tonight, I might go back to not knowing.”

  It was the perfect answer.

  I wanted her too. And the same went for me, I didn’t know what I’d want after being with her. Tatianne was due soon, though she hadn’t called in a few weeks. She wasn’t my girlfriend, but she held a certain power over me that I abhorred and desperately wanted to vanquish. Tatianne had taught me how to be a man. She’d also lent me a ton of money to open this resort, and I guess I still felt indebted to her in the unhealthiest of ways.

  I wanted to pay her back fully, so I could focus on my own life, love whoever I wanted to love. Change was a big part of a person, and I felt on that very edge. “Turn around,” I said in a low voice.

  Her eyes widened a bit, as she clutched my arms. “What are you going to do?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, I…I think I do.”

  “That’s not good enough. You have to trust me. You shouldn’t give yourself to anyone you don’t trust. So I’ll ask you again, do you trust me?”

  “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Okay, good, then flip over.”

  “Say please.” One of those awesome, cheeky Paris smiles turned up on her cheeks. Who was more in charge here, I didn’t know. But her simple request sent fireworks off in my head and body. Nobody ordered me around anymore.

  “Please,” I said nicely.

  With a coy look, she sat up, flipped her long limbs around, so she was lying on her stomach. I plucked out the knot of her bikini top string and let the sides fall away. “Should we be doing this out here where everyone can see?”

  “Paris, people here don’t care. That’s why they’re here. Besides, I told you everyone goes topless. Close your eyes, and just enjoy.”

  “Enjoy what?”

  “What I’m going to do.”

  Another big sigh, and her body collapsed into the seat cushions. I massaged her back muscles, eliciting a long groan out of her, which made me even more hard than I already was. Her skin was soft, smooth with a tiny down of blonde hairs on the back of her arms and legs. My hands worked their way down to the small of her back, then slowly onto her ass.

  She groaned again and shifted. Getting antsy was a good sign, as her arms stretched out in front of her like a cat. A cat wiggling her bottom around only meant one thing. I paused at her bikini bottom, the two knots on either side of her hips, imagining her naked body for a moment. “May I?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She hadn’t said yes in a long time.

  Undoing the knots of her bikini bottom, I slipped the wet fabric down her thighs past her knees, revealing her incredible naked ass. I tossed the bathing suit aside and reveled in her nudeness. “Don’t ever put yourself down again,” I said, gazing at her perfect shape. “Ever.”

  My hands resumed the excruciatingly slow rubdown of her back, then I moved to the curve of her cheeks, spreading them, circling outward, then letting them fall into place again. When she moaned this time, a guttural sound came with it, rendering me the hardest I could possibly get. I could’ve entered her right then and there, and she seemed to be wanting it too, the way her ass lifted off the seat, but I didn’t want this to be over yet.

  “I’m at a disadvantage,” she mumbled, her face pressed against the towel.

  “How so?”

  “I’m the only one without clothes on.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I’m kind of liking it.”

  “You would like it even more if you took your trunks off.” Her words, not mine. She was cheeky and in control of this scenario, as much as I liked to think it was me. And she knew it.

  “I will do my best to acquiesce to your request, my dear lady.” The damn things had grown cold and clung to me anyway, so I slithered out of them and let them fall to the floor. Her face dipped a bit, as she tried to get a glimpse of me naked, but I didn’t want her to use her eyes right now. I only wanted her to feel. I lifted the seat cushion behind me and rummaged through a box of random items until I found what I needed.

  “Close your eyes and tell me what you want to feel, Paris.” I hovered over her, slipping on the condom I’d found. I lowered my body so the length of my hardness rested against her ass, and I pressed my chest against her back. My arms held her in place, in case she was thinking of going somewhere. I took note of the nape of her neck, her shoulders and middle back, wanting to map it all out with my kiss.

  “Tristan,” she whispered. “I’m so wet.”

  “That’s not telling me what you want.” I moved my hips against her, and her body responded by pushing up and back perilously close to dipping inside of her. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you inside of me.” Her face turned, her mouth straining for mine. I inched closer and gave her my lips and tongue, and she took what she could get, while I kept myself just out of her reach.

  “That’s what you what to feel. But what do you want, Paris? Why did you come here?”

  “To let it go,” she cried, clawing at the towel. “I want to let it all go.”

  “I want that for you too,” I said. Nobody understood that more than I did.

  “Please, Tristan,” she added, writhing underneath me. “Slide into me now.”

  Her words sent spikes of adrenaline shooting through me, as I moved myself right to her entrance, feeling the silky wetness growing there, even through the barrier. “You sure? You want me inside of you? You want me fucking you? But that would make you feel good when you have work to do. You want to get back to your work?”

  “No. I’m tired of work. I want to feel good.”

  “You do?” I pushed into her slightly, just the tip, but her groans made it d
ifficult to hold myself there. “Maybe you only want to feel a little bit good…” I pushed into her deeper, using my taut arms to hold myself steady, but they began to tremble, as I slowly melted into her. I wanted her harder than she wanted me, but I wanted her to own this completely.

  “No. I want to feel entirely good. More, Tristan.”

  When she used my name, it was all I could do to keep from knifing into her, but I slid halfway in and held myself there. Walls of softness clenched tightly around my length. I gave her more, and she groaned low and long. Suddenly, her head and chest lifted off the towel, and she rotated to face me, fanning her leg over me in an arc. I was taken aback by her movements. She might’ve had an innocence about her, but she was clearly experienced. Her breasts were beautifully shaped, not too big or small, but round and sloping naturally to either side with pink, rosy nipples.

  “Sorry, but I want to see you.” Her gaze embraced my whole body.

  “Don’t be sorry. I want you to be happy, Paris. Even for just a day. Is that okay?” I leaned down and kissed her deeply. “I want you to let go, do whatever you want with me.” As I pushed in deeper, all the way in slowly, my mouth slid to her neck and down her collarbone.

  She wrapped her legs around me and pushed up with her hips, matching my slow beats with hers. With every steady thrust, she picked up speed, as I took a hard nipple between my lips, teasing it and sucking it into my mouth. She moaned. “I like that. So good, Tristan…” She pushed and ground her center core against my hips, building up speed and pressure. Combined with her using my name, I almost couldn’t hold myself at bay any longer.

  Our strokes deepened, and I reached in as far as I could, feeling her muscles squeeze against my cock before pulling out again. When I pushed in again, her slender fingers joined us, pushing and circling her clit. I was all for it. At one point, two of her fingers slid on either side of me to pick up moisture and douse herself with it. Jesus.

  Time to drive harder into her. She made me want to pick up the pace, though I wanted nothing more than to see her explode with pleasure. “That’s it. Rub yourself. Do whatever you like. Use me, Paris.”

  “I want it harder. Kiss my breasts again, please,” she begged. When I pounded her harder and moved to her request right away, she held my mouth and head in place, as I sucked at her nipple, flicking it with my tongue, breathing in her delicious salty scent. Even if I never saw her again another fifty years, I’d immediately recognize the smell of her skin. She moaned and bucked hard against me, using her hand to heighten her experience, then I felt her go rigid.

  The telltale sign—legs tightening and straightening around me. “That’s it. You feel so good around me. You’re letting go, you’re forgetting. Come for me,” I urged her, and then she cried out once more and silenced, pressing her fingertips into her clit as though to hold it there, her pussy tightening in sweetness all around me.

  Seeing her head turn to the side and eyes roll back, as her world fell away was more than I could handle. I’d gotten what I wanted to and let myself go as well. One final thrust, and I pushed into her, holding myself still, spilling away.

  Paris Jones, a fitting name for a beautiful woman who’d amazed me with her natural being for the second time this week, third time since I first saw her name on paper. She evoked memories of home—reminded me of what was real. As I rested on top of her, feeling her fingers caress my shoulder, I slid next to her warm body covered in goose bumps and dozed off, letting warm French Indies breezes float over us.

  Peace.

  I might’ve fallen asleep for a minute or more, or seconds, I had no idea. She mumbled something about having to go, but the next sound I heard forced my eyes right quick, leaving me staring at the bedazzled sky all by myself—the sound of her splash as she left.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t say exactly what made me leave like that. Combination mortification, embarrassment, and overstimulation. I hadn’t gone looking to gallivant with Tristan tonight, I’d gone looking to walk the beach and get a load off my mind. Instead, I’d gotten a load somewhere else.

  Way to stick to the plan, Paris!

  Fantabulous. So I’d had sex with a stranger. Because, for all intents and purposes, Tristan was a stranger. I hadn’t known him from my grandma’s panties, but now he knew plenty about me, and me about him, and oh, my God, I was reeling. Reeling and rocking alone in my villa with the shutters drawn, hands over my face over what I’d done.

  Okay, calm the hell down.

  Maybe it was all fine. Maybe we could pretend that nothing happened, that I hadn’t let the stars and skies, rocking rhythm of the ocean, rocky rhythm of his pelvis pushing his thick and relatively long penis inside of me get to me. Nope, I would act like one of those sexually confident women who’d chalk it up to “just another day of modern sexual independence.” Yep, that was me—Paris Jones, randomly choosing male island guides—or whatever the fuck his job was—as sexual partners. He had, however, used a condom without me asking, so I had to give him credit for that.

  And for lots of other things, like holding and kissing me just right, saying sexy things to me, and making me feel like an overall Aphrodite for real. I just wish I’d gotten to know him better first, but it’s okay—it’s all good. I would forgive myself for this minor setback, big overindulgence, and I would tell him I couldn’t do it again next time I saw him.

  There—good plan, Paris. Good plan.

  Oh, fuck, what was I thinking? That was incredible, mind-blowing, and I wanted more!

  I shook my head so hard, my neck almost snapped off.

  Then came the final straw…my phone dinged again. I knew I shouldn’t look at it. It was most likely from Ben, probably some lovesick message, and whatever he’d written, it would look like it was coming from another world entirely, because it was. I was so far removed from Dayton, Ohio and Ben right now, and what used to be my life.

  His message: Haven’t heard from you. Hope you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.

  Ugh!

  YES, I needed to drive the last nail home and tell Ben not to contact me anymore. It would kill him, but it had to be done, or what was the point of being here? Writing my novel was my first priority, but so was weaning Ben off of me, and so far, I was doing a pretty shitty job of it. I would only reply with two words instead of a full message.

  My reply: I’m fine.

  Two days went by, and not a word from Tristan. Shouldn’t guys who’d had sex with you come around the next day to see what was up, or was that only in Fantasyland? Then again, I did have my shutters up making it crystal clear to all of Paradise Bay that I wanted nothing to do with the outside world. The silence allowed me to write three more chapters of my little mystery story about a British spy searching for an all-India Muslim League prisoner in turn of the century Pakistan. Isolation had made me productive, but so had the short break on the beach and boat the other night. Tristan was right. Relaxation would lead to great work later.

  There was a knock at the door, startling me after days of silence, as water sloshed underneath my deck, and breezes cooed through the villa. I got up, pulling my hair back and cracked open the door. A smiling, bronzed short man craned his neck to catch a glimpse of me. “Miss Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is for you.” He reached out with what appeared to be a colorful photo postcard between his fingers. I slid it out, and he backed away with a courteous nod. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

  “Thank you. You too.” Closing the door, I glanced at the postcard. A beautiful underwater image of a coral reef, fish, and two scuba divers. On the back was another Post-It with the same clean handwriting as the macaron note:

  It wasn’t signed, but I knew who’d penned it. A smile unfurled, despite trying not to let it. On one hand, I couldn’t begin spending too much time with Tristan, even though I admired his tenacity and determination to get me to enjoy myself—really enjoy myself. But on the other hand, how could I come to Sorendi Isle and not
take advantage of its bountiful outdoor gifts?

  Fuck it.

  I clicked open the shutter slats, letting in vertical strips of light, one panel after another. From the bathroom drying rack, I plucked my purple bikini with the little yellow flowers and changed into it, wrapping the sarong around my waist and grabbing a floppy straw hat I’d bought at Target before leaving. Sunglasses, too, and my phone…though I didn’t want to risk seeing disgruntled messages from Ben, I wanted to take photos. I hadn’t taken any since the day I’d arrived.

  Time to see what I could see. Down the beach, I spotted some couples I’d seen the other night. They waved at me, so I waved back. At first, I thought the older woman was wearing a nude colored top, until I realized those were her real breasts hanging out. Whoa. Tristan wasn’t kidding. Going topless was a thing here. Walking down a path surrounded by birds of paradise—the flower kind—I entered the pool area surrounded by tiki huts and laid eyes on some of the most colorful arrays of nearly naked skin I’d ever seen. From darkest chocolate to crème brulée to toasted s’mores, then there was me—undercooked coconut cream pie.

  “Good morning, Miss Jones,” a perfect stranger said from underneath the shade of a tiki bar. He was a handsome guy in his late twenties, dark blond and raising a drink at me—a green and clear concoction of some kind. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Well, I…”

  “One mojito for our guest of honor, please, Bella.” The man spoke to the bartender and smiled at me. I stopped to lean against a wooden post trying to blend in. He stood and offered his hand. “I’m Simon Coffe, one of the proprietors of this establishment. I trust you’ve been relaxing?”

  “Yes, I have.” And having sex. I had sex. Two nights ago. With a stranger. Then dove back into the ocean like a frightened mermaid. “It’s been very…interesting. I’m grateful to you all for allowing me to come here. I feel like I owe you something.”

  “Ah, well, speaking of that, I heard you’re a gifted copywriter. Has anyone talked to you yet about possibly writing some pieces for us here at Sorendi Isle?”