Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  "What happened?" I ask, once his pause turns into just a regular silence.

  "I shouldn't even be telling you any of this," he says. "Club business is secret. Not that it matters anymore, since the club is gone."

  I don't ask any more questions after that, since I can hear it in his voice he'd rather not talk about it anymore. So I just let the silence win. Silences between us are not tense, because I'm never afraid that they won't end.

  "So why are you out here instead of surfing on some sunny California beach?" he asks after awhile.

  "Three years ago, I came to work at an orphanage in Rio. Packed everything I owned into my car and drove down here." I started telling him more than he asked for, and now I'm not sure how to continue.

  "You drove all the way from California to Brazil by yourself?" he asks, sounding very impressed. "That must've been an adventure."

  "I literally just drove, didn't stop much except to sleep," I admit. "I mostly slept in my car too. Basically I just did a lot of thinking. I needed it."

  "We're not that different, you and I," he muses. "Did you find any answers?"

  I know exactly what he means. It was answers I was searching for while I just drove. "Some, I guess, but not all. I did find a place I can call home, though. I love taking care of the orphans."

  "So you're not going back home anytime soon?" he asks, and I think maybe we're on the same page, that we both really want to stay with each other, but we're both too scared of what the other's answer will be to ask directly. I know I am.

  "I doubt I'm ever going back," I say.

  "Whatever you were running from must've been bad," he says and chuckles softly.

  Anger at the lot I was dealt, the reason why I had to leave my home and my whole life behind, blossoms in my chest black and corrosive despite his closeness, his arms around me, despite the orphans waiting for me back home.

  "What are you running away from?" I ask.

  "The same thing I always ran from: Not having anywhere to call home," he says, chuckling again. "But I’ve made my peace with that. Now I just ride, because the open road is the only place I'll ever call home."

  I was going to ask him to stay, but he beat me to it with this admission, and now I don't know what to say.

  "We should take the kids swimming at one of those bays tomorrow," he says, while my mind is still reeling from finding out that I truly am just a pit stop on his never-ending quest to belong nowhere, and to no one.

  "I'd love to, but they won't all fit in the jeep," I say more bitingly than I intended.

  "They'd all fit in the minivan and the station wagon, wouldn't they?" he asks.

  "They would, but those two don't run. And no mechanic in a ten mile radius can fix them."

  "Why didn't you say before?" he says. "Maybe I can do it. They look like they have some years left in them with proper care."

  "You're a mechanic too?" I ask, my heart fluttering since this new job will keep him around for at least a couple more days.

  "Yeah, I know a thing or two. I'd usually work on cars when I wasn't building houses," he says. "I'll take a look tomorrow."

  And I really hope tomorrow turns into two months. Or two years. Or forever. And that's all I'm going to think about until it's time to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 8

  RIDER

  I always wake up rested even after sharing Chloe's narrow bed, which I'm pretty sure has a mattress stuffed with straw. This morning is no different, even though we spent the last three days digging like crazy and reinforcing the ditches. It started raining soon after we returned from our bike ride to the top of the hill, and the ditches worked, but only just. So I spent the last three days deepening them, just to make sure they do hold when the real rains come.

  But this morning the sun is shining again, and a slight breeze is coming in through the breaks in the walls. Chloe and me deserve a day off, and it's a perfect day for it. I still think some things are a man's work, but she was right there beside me working on those ditches every day, and I can't help but admire her dedication, her stamina, and her willingness to do what it takes to get the job done right.

  I've never met a woman quite like her, not since leaving the nuns who helped Father O'Reilly run our orphanage. Most of the women I've met after that were more than happy to stay home painting their nails when they weren't out spending my money. I put up with it, since I only kept them around to warm my bed in the colder, slower months of the year, or when I needed a break from riding. I certainly never tried to make a home with any of them. Home is just a thing you lose, and I've decided long ago never to lay claim to anything I'm not willing to lose.

  But Chloe is nothing like those other women that came before her, she even has short nails, though she somehow still managed to scratch up my back pretty bad with them. I don't mind, and I love hearing her scream as she comes on my cock. She's certainly no nun either, and I've been having vague notions of staying here with her for reasons other than just needing to weather out the rainy season.

  The kids are great too, and they need a man around. Ed is just not cutting it in that department. I haven't gotten around to fixing the minivan for them, but I'll do it soon. Right after me and Chloe get some quality time together. She needs a man around too, because she's been doing it all on her own for too long.

  I kiss her neck softly to wake her. She murmurs something and shifts in my arms a little, giving me better access to her breasts. Her nipples rise to hard little nubs of the sweetest candy I've ever tasted, but they're not doing it now, so I help them along by pinching them awake, then sucking and biting them until she's moaning and wriggling in my arms. My cock is fully hard, resting against her clit, her wetness already coating it, getting it ready.

  "Yess," she murmurs her eyes still fully closed, and I decide she's awake enough.

  Her eyes flutter open as I push my cock into her, her whole body rigid as her tight, soft pussy struggles to accept it.

  "Yes?" I ask, barely able to form a coherent word in my animal need to fill her to the hilt, fuck her until she can't speak anymore either.

  She nods, gripping my forearm like she's bracing herself. But I'm gonna give it to her slow today, long and deep.

  I adjust her position, spread her legs wider and kiss her neck as I push my cock into her until she shudders. Then I pull out all the way, her tightness unwilling to let my cock go, but unable to stop it. She lets out a long moan as I push it back in, her grip on my arm softening.

  I like opening her up slowly like this, coaxing her body to accept me, to mold to me. Soon, a single, never-ending moan is escaping her throat, her pussy clenching and pulsing around my throbbing cock as I enter her deeper and deeper.

  She's completely soft in my arms now, only her nipples still hard as she surrenders her body to me. I keep fucking her slowly until all of me is buried inside her and she's coming so hard she's shaking in my arms, her pussy gripping my cock so hard I couldn't move it if I tried.

  Once her grip on my cock releases, I start fucking her with short, hard thrusts. I clamp my hand over her mouth as soon as her moans start turning to shrieks. She can scream all she wants out in the jungle, but here the kids will hear her.

  But as I come, that's a very distant thought, because as far as I'm concerned she can do whatever she wants to, as long as she's doing it with me.

  CHLOE

  * * *

  I WAKE up from a ray of sunshine burning my forehead. Rider's cock is still in me, softer, but not soft. When he takes me the way he did this morning, claims my whole pussy with his massive cock, I lose all touch with reality, know only the pleasure he's giving me, the safety of his embrace. And reality is slow to return now.

  "Hey, you," he says as I open my eyes and look at him.

  I smile, my eyes fluttering shut again. "Hey."

  But then I realize it's probably already very late, and I haven't done a single thing around the orphanage.

  "What time is it?" I ask, rubbing the sleep
from my eyes, shifting in his arms and moaning as his cock slips out of my pussy. He wraps his arm around my waist tightly, so I have no hope of getting up without him releasing me. I don't even try.

  "I have no idea," he says. "But I thought we could take a personal day today, maybe go check out that surf you liked."

  "You surf?" I ask.

  "No, but you do," he says and holds me even tighter. "And I think you should get a day where you do something just for yourself. You don't get a lot of those."

  "I do exactly what I want everyday by working here and taking care of the kids," I say prying his arms apart, so I can sit up.

  "Yeah, but that's your job," he says. "I was talking about leisure time."

  He's smiling, but I'm angry at his insinuation that I'm not enjoying myself here, that I'd rather be doing something else, because I wouldn't. Though maybe I'm just angry, because he mentioned going surfing and that's something I did in my old life. When I was carefree and trusting, sure everything would be alright so long as I let everyone else live the same way. But I learned my lesson the hard way.

  "You have to do things just for yourself from time to time, otherwise everything becomes a chore," he adds, since I'm just staring at him and not saying anything. "Worrying about what the rainy season will do to this place has already sucked most of the joy out of you."

  "Yeah? How would you know?" I snap. This conversation just went from bad to worse.

  I want Rider to fall in love with me like I've fallen in love with him, not see me as a joyless woman who doesn’t know how to have fun.

  "I know because you're really a bright ray of sunshine, but it only shows when you let go, when you let yourself be completely free, and you're not doing much of that." He brushes a strand of hair off my face and cups my cheek. And he can probably feel me shaking, because I am, and I don't even know why. "But you're right, I don't know much about you. Because you won't tell me anything about yourself."

  "You didn't ask," I finally manage to whisper after a few false starts. The last dregs of my anger and fear that he'll never love me are mixing now with a strange subconscious certainty that he already does, and that he knows me better than anyone ever has.

  "I did try, but you always change the subject," he says. "And I don't make a habit of prying into other people's business."

  "What do you want to know?" I ask in the same strangled whisper as before. And I still don't know if I'll tell him my whole story. No one here knows it. The whole reason why I moved to another country was so that I could start afresh, that none of my past could come after me. No one knows exactly where I am, and I only call my mother once a month to let her know I'm still alive.

  "Why did you pack up your whole life to move to the middle of nowhere in the Brazilian rainforest?" he asks, going in for the kill with his first question, the way he always does. He really has a knack for that.

  "I…I…" here I go again with the false starts, because I still don't know, if I want to tell him my story, I don't know if he'll understand, or if he'll just think of me as an even better catch after he learns I'm a pretty famous amateur porn star. I mean, there are websites and fan pages created for me still out there. No one cares that I wanted none of that. And they won't take them down no matter how many notices I send.

  "I packed up everything to escape the fact that I'm actually a porn star," I say, going right for the heart of the matter, the way he does, since that's how I used to be too. I was a straight shooter, honest and trusting, told the truth always, spoke my mind whenever, believed in the principle of the golden rule, and to do no harm, always made sure no harm came to those around me.

  "You did porn?" he asks, his eyes gleaming with even deeper desire than what is usually there. But it is a question.

  "Not voluntarily. An ex and me made a couple of home videos of you know, sex, and then he uploaded them to porn sites in revenge after I broke up with him," I say. "They went viral, kept trending everywhere until just about everyone saw them."

  "That happened because you're gorgeous, Chloe," he says and chuckles. And it's not an embarrassed chuckle, or a lewd one, it's just meant to make me feel better, I think.

  "I don't think any of that is funny, Michael," I say and this is the first time I'm calling him by his real name. But this is a very personal thing I'm telling him, and I can't say that to a nickname. Especially not a nickname that reminds me of the fact that he's been travelling aimlessly for practically his whole life, and that I'm only getting him for a little while. And especially not when I'm telling him something I haven't told anyone in three years.

  "I can see that," he says with a serious face.

  "I was in college at the time, getting a degree in humanitarian work, but when the videos started circulating around the campus they asked me to leave. When I wouldn't, and complained that it wasn't my fault, that I had nothing to do with the videos getting online, they just kicked me out. And before that happened I was almost gang raped by a bunch of frat boys, and I couldn't even go to the mall without some guy recognizing me and wanting a selfie with me, preferably a naked one. Friends I thought would stand by me for life started disappearing. My dad, who lives on the East Coast was getting ridiculed at work, my mom lost friends over it, and there was nothing I could do. The sites wouldn't take the videos down, and suing them would cost more money than I will make in my whole lifetime."

  "So you just got in your car and left it all behind," he says when I pause to catch my breath, because all that just spilled out. "Makes sense."

  I yank up the leather bracelets that cover my left wrist, ripping a couple of them in the process. "First I tried this."

  His eyes freeze on the jagged vertical scar on my wrist. Then he takes hold of my arm, traces his thumb over the scar and looks into my eyes so deeply I feel as lightheaded as I did from the blood loss when I cut up my wrist.

  "You meant business," he says softly. "What did you use? A hunting knife?"

  "A normal kitchen knife," I admit. "But I changed my mind as soon as the blood started flowing and drove myself to the hospital so they could stich me up. I left the country as soon as they released me from the hospital, and I haven’t been back since. I'm not in touch with anyone except my mom."

  He's still caressing my wrist like he means to erase the scar for me. But I have many invisible ones too, and I don't think they can ever be erased. And it certainly won't be done by someone who's just using me and this place as a rest stop on his travels.

  "I have one of the videos on my phone," I say, snatching my arm from his grasp and getting my phone from the nightstand. "Wanna see?"

  He's looking at me like he doesn't think he heard me right.

  "This was the most popular video," I say, turning my phone on. My hands are shaking by the time the chime comes on.

  Rider snatches the phone from my hands roughly, and tosses it to the foot of the bed.

  "The last thing I want to do is watch you get fucked by someone else," he says harshly. "And if I ever meet the guy who put you through that hell, I'll make him regret it. But why the fuck do you keep a reminder of it?"

  My mind's reeling from all the hurt and pain telling the story brought up, and I don't understand his angry reaction. I thought he'd laugh again, say, "Yeah, sure, let me see it. And give me a copy, so I can boast that I fucked a porn star after I leave here”. But there's none of that in his face, or in his voice.

  "I keep it to remind myself never to do anything stupid again," I mutter.

  "Erase it, Chloe," he says a little more softly than before. "Just let yourself forget."

  Tears are a hard ball in my throat, burning and painful.

  "I don't know how," I manage to say before tears start spilling from my eyes and my throat closes completely.

  He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me tight, strokes my head and my back as I sob into his shoulder.

  "You can forget, Chloe," he says. "I'll help you. And I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

&
nbsp; I don't know if I can believe him, or if I even heard him right. Or if what he's promising is even possible. But I want it to be, and I want to believe him.

  CHAPTER 9

  CHLOE

  I was all talked out after telling him my story and crying over it. But the awkward silence after I finally managed to stop sobbing and wiped my tears away, didn't last long before I let him convince me to go surfing.

  I've been in the water for awhile now, but the waves aren’t ideal, as I figured they wouldn't be this late in the day. Still, I feel some of the old thrill I used to every time I went out on the water, and I feel lighter than I did this morning, more free than I've felt for the last three years. More like my old self, the carefree, wild girl who trusted the world was a good place. Rider gave that back to me, by listening, not judging, by seeing what I'd buried under layers and layers of denial, regret and shame, and coaxing it back out into the light. I love surfing, but I'd much rather be sitting on the beach in his arms.

  I paddle to the shallows, closer to where he's sitting in the sand at the waterline, watching me.

  "You wanna give it a try?" I call out.

  "I'm not much of a swimmer," he says. "And I'd rather just watch you."

  I smile and come all the way out, dump my board in the sand and join him. He's wearing his jeans and no shirt, and I'm all wet, but he'll have to hold me anyway, I'm not giving him a choice. He's not asking for one either, just wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.

  "I can teach you to swim," I say. "And to surf. If you want."

  "Well, I do know how to swim, just not very well," he says. "Father O'Reilly took us swimming a couple of times. We even went to Lake Mead once. As for surfing, I fell into the deep end of the pool once, and the shock took all my air, then locked it right out. It was worse than getting punched."