by Morgan Rae
“Good girl,” Damien murmurs in my ear, his fingers still deep in my hair. “You just came for the cameras.”
Two can play this game. I slip my hands to the side of his face and kiss him, deeply. I taste his mouth and his hunger for me. I linger in it, drawing it out. He sighs for me.
I pull my knee up then and knee him between the legs, sharply. His reaction is better than expected. He crumples over, his head dropping by my shoulder, and he groans loudly in pain.
I curl my nails over the back of his head and kiss his ear. “Good boy,” I whisper, voice dripping with sarcasm. “So did you.”
Damien pants against me. My skin tingles every time his bare body brushes against mine. His thigh is still lodged tantalizingly between my legs. I have to get out from under him before I lose control again. I shift, pretending to pull my underwear back on even though they’re still safely secured around my hips, and then squirm out of the bed.
“That was great,” I say loudly for the cameras as I adjust my bra strap back over my shoulder. “Let’s do it again sometime.”
I don’t wait for a retort. I’m blinded by a mixture of anger and something else far more dangerous. I go into the bathroom and lock the door hard behind me.
The second I’m alone, I drop my underwear and spread my legs. I’m feverish with lust, burning up from the inside out. I can’t wait any longer. I’m so frustrated, my throat pinches and I feel like I might cry if I don’t get relief right now. My soaked panties puddle around my ankles and I don’t even take the time to step out of them. I brace a hand on the sink and shove my hand between my legs. My clit is hard as a rock, needy and swollen between my puffy nether lips. I flick it rapidly and my finger goes slick immediately. My fingers grip the lip of the sink until my knuckles go white and I bite back a moan.
In the seashell mirror in front of me, I see the face of a woman I don’t recognize. Mouth open, eyes pinched, expression twisted in agonizing pleasure. My sex is so wet, my finger slips sloppily against the sensitive skin as I try desperately to get purchase. I hit my exposed little bundle of nerves again and again, sending intense lashes of hot pleasure through me.
I’ve never been this turned on. What is he doing to me? Why am I acting like this? Is it because there’s part of me that wanted him to push me into an airplane stall?
My knees buckle as my orgasm explodes inside of me. I get on my tippy-toes and bite my bottom lip until I taste blood to hold back my moans. Explosions of ecstasy leave spots in my vision as I hump my hand desperately riding it out. My empty pussy clamps on nothing and throbs in painful wanting. I need something inside of me.
No. I need him inside of me. My body needed that orgasm, but instead of feeling satisfied, longing only sinks its claws deeper in me.
Face it, Nan. You’ve got it bad.
It’s a schoolgirl crush, I reason with myself. And I’m far too old to be a schoolgirl.
I catch my breath and try to clean myself up. I’ve dripped lewdly down my thighs and wiping just makes a mess of it, so I jump in the shower. I wash all the slippery wetness away, turn the shower temperature down to cold, and try to freeze this lust out of my system.
By time I get back, Damien has redressed. He’s propped up in bed, looking a little chastised. The bruise around his eye is looking worse, a little swollen, like it might turn into a full-blown black eye. Maybe I’m feeling bad too, because I exit to the kitchen, pour some ice into a towel, and come back holding the cold package.
“Here,” I hold it out to him. “Hold this against your face.”
“Thank you.” He takes it and presses it to his eye. He winces slightly as the ice hits his bruised skin. Damien glances over at me then and adds, “Are you all right?”
His question surprises me. He’s the one who has a bruised face. My eyes flicker automatically towards the camera, and I realize he’s thrown a shirt over the lens.
Damien gives me a wink. “It’s just us. Keep your voice down.”
I nod, but the momentary privacy also puts me slightly on edge. I walk around and settle into my side of the bed. “I’m fine,” I tell him.
“Ten years, huh?”
“Yeah. Sorry, that just slipped out.”
“You’re completely irresistible. You must be swatting them away left and right.”
I feel a blush run up the side of my face and I glance away so he doesn’t see my cheeks burst red. “Yeah, well. Intense daddy issues coupled with the fact that I surround myself with dishonest men…”
“What happened with your father?” His question catches me so off guard, I turn and look at him. There’s nothing but openness in those blue eyes. He’s genuinely curious, something I haven’t experienced in…well, ever.
“Wow,” I laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Okay. I see what you’re doing, Mr. Blaze.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “What am I doing exactly?”
“This. We’re not supposed to get to know each other, remember? This is all a façade.”
“What if I want to get to know you?” The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch.
Pull it together, Nan. Draw a line in the sand.
“Stay on your side of the bed and I’ll stay on mine.”
“Okay.” His eyes linger however, betraying his desire for me. I try to remind myself that it’s not me. Damien Blaze is the horniest man in LA and he’d flirt with the Mona Lisa if she so much as cast her disinterested gaze his way.
But his eyes catch me off guard. The way he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world makes me want to believe them. I get how hundreds of women have fallen into that honey trap. I almost lean into the couple inches it would take for our lips to touch when Damien pulls back abruptly. He sets the pack of ice down on the bedside table, stands, and strips off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting ready for bed.”
Ugh. Why can’t he sleep in some ridiculous animal onesie? At least then I wouldn’t feel that low, needy pulse between my legs when he slips back into bed beside me and those washboard abs are so infuriatingly close.
Briskly, Damien catches my jaw, brushes his lips over mine, and then says, “Goodnight, darling. Sweet dreams.”
He flicks the light out and I catch my breath. I’m painfully aware of the fact that we have to spend the night, and every night after this, only inches apart.
Three weeks, I think to myself. Just three more weeks.
Three more weeks and then you never have to see Damien Blaze and his piercing blue eyes again.
CHAPTER TWELVE: DAMIEN
Tomlin isn’t in the bed when I wake up. By time I pry myself out of bed, she is already dressed and standing by the door.
“There’s an orientation down on the beach,” she tells me. “Get dressed.”
I grin at her. “Good morning to you, too.”
She doesn’t smile. Very well. I go to the bathroom and pull myself together. My eye is looking a little puffy from the fight last night, but I’ll live. I brush my teeth, pull on clothes, and meet Tomlin by the door. Together, we walk to the beach where everyone is sitting around the now extinguished bonfire. My stomach clenches at the thought of the fight last night, so I try to stray my mind.
Luckily, Tonya is all business this morning as she gives us the details of our home for the next twenty days. Our huts are all constructed around a platform, on the top of which has a small living area for the crew. A black zone, “behind the curtain,” so to speak. We’ll all exist on the lower half of the island, which includes the beach, the water, and a bar.
Tomlin is giving me the silent treatment all the while and I can’t blame her. Yesterday, I was enjoying the bare comfort of my home in LA. Now, I’m on a beach in Hawaii with a woman I barely know.
She showed me a little of herself last night, at least. I can’t help but replay the events in my mind. Ten years. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone t
en days without shagging. I see it in her now, her shoulders are tight and there’s a sharp, quivering focus to her eyes. Tomlin is what I call permanently “camera ready.” She shows people what they want to see, not who she truly is.
I know that look and feeling all too well. I’ve pulled it off myself, numerous times. It’s much easier to hide behind a reputation and stuff my secrets down where no one can see them.
I know it would be easier on both of us if I just ignored this persistent, nagging feeling in my chest. But when Tomlin enters the room, my heartbeat picks up. When she opens her mouth, I hang off every word. I find myself wanting to go past the façade and truly get to know her, get to know the littlest detail of her.
She thrashes around in her sleep. She twisted herself in the covers, kicked her legs, and her mouth fell open like she was trying to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out. I rested my hand on her shoulder and stroked the skin there until, eventually, her brow unfrowned, her face went lax, and she fell into a dreamless sleep once more.
I want to know what haunts her at night, I can’t help it. She’s ignited my insatiable, nagging curiosity.
“Damien.” I glance up to find everyone looking at me. Tonya offers a polite smile. “Are you with us?”
“’Ee’s in lala-Liverpool!” Bryce says in a terrible accent. Everyone seems to find this funny except for Tomlin and me.
Tonya continues her orientation and once it finishes, everyone parts ways.
“Bryce is an ass,” Tomlin tells me as we make our way to the hut.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The Big Dipper looks upside down on this side of the world.”
“What?”
“I noticed it last night. Didn’t you?”
I can’t help but grin. “You read constellations?”
Tomlin looks down, embarrassed, like she let something slip that she shouldn’t have. She shrugs as her feet kick up sand. “Some. It passes time.”
“Fascinating.”
I find myself completely captivated by everything about her. As soon as we’re inside, however, Tomlin goes cold again. She picks a book off the shelf and announces, “I’m going to get some reading in.” Just like that, she goes out the porch and closes the door behind me.
That’s Tomlin, I’ve discovered. As soon as I peek through her wall, she throws it up taller.
I decide to take her lead. I grab a beach towel, a notebook, a pen, and I make my way back down to the shoreline. Martin has encouraged me to think of this as a vacation. Maybe it would be for him, but it’s not for me. I’ll play my manager’s game and do this ridiculous song and dance to mend my reputation, but I still have a career to think about. I need to push my solo album out as soon as possible and I’m not going to waste time twiddling my thumbs on the sand.
I sit by the beach, make myself comfortable, and try to write out lyrics. I wish I had my guitar with me, but unfortunately, we’re not afforded that luxury here. Instead, I play the music in my head. My ears pick up on the low hushing sound of the waves and I draw a rhythm from that.
I write:
Your love
Love
Your heart is deep
Deep as the
Deep as what? I tap my pen on the side of my notepad. The waves climb the shore, pick up a couple pebbles, and drag them back down with them.
Your heart is as deep as the ocean.
I write until I lose track of time. Before I know it, the sun has started to set and it’s time for me to call it a night. I shake out the beach towel and make my way back to our room.
Tomlin is in the bedroom. She has her legs pulled up, a book propped on her thighs, completely lost in her book. She barely glances at me when I walk in the room.
“Good book?” I ask.
She makes a small mmhm noise of acknowledgement. To be honest, my focus isn’t on the sunset out the window or her book. She’s dressed in a nightshirt that clings to her body and only that. Her panties are black, thin, with small bows on the side. My mouth waters as the thought of unwrapping that sweet little gift.
I feel Tomlin’s eyes meet mine. Bloody hell, she noticed me staring.
“Oh…are these distracting?” she asks innocently. She moves her book to give me a good view of her panties.
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Bows aren’t really my thing.”
“I can take them off if you’d like.” Her eyes flash. I’m being punished for the other night.
Those legs are a cruel temptation. I need to change the topic before I lose control of the situation.
“I’m making dinner,” I tell her.
“Let me know if you need help,” she says. Her eyes are back on her book. She’s shutting me out again.
I will get through to you, Tomlin. One way or another.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NANCY
“Darling,” Damien calls out. “We’ve got a letter.”
It’s been nearly six days in this hellhole. Three weeks on a beach sounds nice on paper, but it wears thin quickly. My skin burns far too easily in the sun, I’ve sweat through every shirt I own twice, and at night I can feel sand crunching between my teeth. Then there’s Damien, my constant companion. We’ve done exceptionally well at dancing around each other. When he’s in the hut, I’m on the patio reading a book. When I’m inside, he’s writing lyrics by the beachside. The only time we have to face each other is at night. We haven’t had fake sex since the last time ended in so much hair pulling. Instead, we sleep on opposite sides of the bed, not touching, as though there is a physical divider between us.
Although, occasionally, I admit, I dream that his arm hooks around my middle and presses me against him. In my dreams, he’s always rock hard, as he was that night on top of me. He’s patient, and he trails slow kisses down my throat and my back. His hand reaches around to cup my panties and I can feel him stroke my aching pussy through the fabric.
You’re a naughty girl, I hear him whisper as he bites my earlobe.
More than once, I wake up gasping, my legs trembling as I’m wracked with orgasmic contractions.
If Damien ever notices my rude awakenings, he’s never mentioned it. Instead, he sleeps on, his bare chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, peaceful as a damn baby.
Meanwhile, I’m going stir crazy.
At least I have my article to keep my mind sharp. I’m not here to fuel my own wet-dream fantasies. It’s my job to uncover what makes Damien Blaze tick and spread his darkest secrets across the centerfold.
If only he would open up to me. Every time I ask him a personal question, he dodges it with a cheap come-on and a charming smile. Getting Damien Blaze to open up is like trying to pick a lock with a toothpick. I need a new strategy and fast.
It seems like fate then that Damien comes back in through the glass patio doors carrying a parchment sheet of paper. I’ve cornered myself off in the bathroom, the only place that doesn’t have cameras, to scribble down notes for my article. So far, all I’ve got are:
Damien Blaze
- Secretive
- Playboy
- Slept with contestants
- Secret yoga enthusiast?
Yeah. It’s real deep. The sound of Damien’s footfalls brings me to my feet. I wedge my notebook in the small space between the toilet bowl and the wall, flush for good measure, and then step out of the bathroom, smile intact.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask casually.
He has a glass bottle in hand with a piece of parchment paper wedged into the top. “Found this on the porch.”
“They don’t skimp on dramatics, do they?” I find a spot on the couch and fold my legs underneath. “Open it up.”
Damien pulls the parchment paper out of the bottle and unravels it. “Ahoy, lovers,” he reads out loud. “Your first challenge awaits. Get ready for a wet and wild adventure. Win the challenge and you’ll each receive a special, unique package. Lose a
nd you’ll be shipped off the island. May your minds be open—”
“—And your hearts be true,” I finish. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
“P.S.,” he continues to read, “Tomlin Murray, wear your most revealing bathing suit.”
“What?” I get up quickly. “Let me see that.”
When I move to grab the parchment, he smirks and hides it behind his back. “Don’t fight it, Tomlin.”
“Don’t make me break this bottle over your head, Damien,” I respond. Even as I threaten him, I’m smiling. I can’t help it. He’s a thorn in my side, but he makes me feel twenty years younger.
“Very well,” he relinquishes the parchment to me, “I may have embellished a bit. But I would suggest a bathing suit. I get the feeling they take wet and wild very seriously around here.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: NANCY
Damien’s not wrong. The challenge becomes apparent as soon as we step onto the beach. Sometime overnight, they set up an obstacle course in the shallows. Even from the beach, I can see what looks like a monkey-bars, inflatable tires, and a pole waving multicolored flags bobbing up and down in the water. The production crew is waiting for us at the dock by the speedboat to take us in.
Tonya smiles when she sees us, her white teeth as blinding as her white sundress. The other two couples make it there as we do. It takes every fiber of my being not to tug at my sun shirt. The other girls are in daring bikinis that show off their ample breasts and tight asses.
Jack, that asshole, packed me nothing but a tiny, peach-colored patch of swimsuit. It does nothing to hide my too-bountiful curves, so I’m keeping my long sun shirt on until I absolutely have to give it up. Thankfully Damien is wearing a band shirt over his swim boxers. It doesn’t make me look like a complete prude with him covered up, too.
Part of me wishes some of the other men would take Damien’s lead. Bryce is all patchy suntan and muscles crisscrossed with bulging veins. He looks like he’s two steroid injections away from a heart attack and he’s wearing nothing but a skimpy Speedo.
