Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  Anton and Derrick grinned at each other and then turned to Ian. “We’ll do the questions,” they both said.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked as we huddled in the corner with Ava, Leila and Paul, a piece of paper and a pen between us.

  “Positive.” Derrick beamed. “I’ve been to Sweden; I read their The Ultimate Traveler cover to cover. I’ve got this.”

  I gave him a skeptical look but nodded. “Okaaaay.”

  It took us a good twenty minutes to compile our questions. Making sure that they were fair, but not too easy. We certainly weren’t going to ask them what our national animal was, but the official sport of Canada (most people think it’s hockey, but it’s actually lacrosse) was not off the table.

  We handed the papers to Ian, who gave them a quick look, and then, he swapped them out and handed us our questions.

  “No phones, no laptops, no cheating. You have five minutes. Annnnd go!” And he drained his beer before jumping down off the bar to go and make googly eyes at the Lithuanian girl who appeared to be licking her wounds from getting her ass kicked by moi over in the corner. She held a pisco sour in her hands and wore an inviting smile on her face as Ian stalked toward her. She made room for him on the couch, and within a second or two they were sucking face. Ah, hostel life!

  “All right, let’s see what we have here,” Derrick said, rubbing his hands together in delight as he unfolded the paper. “What is the name of the bridge between Sweden and Denmark?”

  Paul, Leila, Ava and I all looked at one another with blank faces.

  “Öresundsbron.” Derrick grinned, writing it down, and even making sure he put the little dots above the O.

  “How…hic…did you know that?” I asked in amazement.

  He shrugged. “The Ultimate Traveler, I told you. Okay, next one, what is the name of the gulf that separates Sweden and Finland? Anyone?” We all shook our heads. “The Gulf of Bothnia.”

  I gaped at him; the man was a walking-talking encyclopedia. And as he read through the questions, answering them with total ease, exuding confidence but not cockiness, I couldn’t get over how turned on I was becoming — like wanting to abandon the game altogether and whisk him to our room, tear his clothes off and ride him like a stallion turned-on. He was brilliant.

  I was breathless, while a sudden warmth crept up my chest and neck and a slickness ran down between my thighs. I rested my hand on his shoulder, but that did very little to quell my need. Instead, it just ramped it up and made me want him even more.

  “Okay, the last question, everybody knows what the Nobel Prize is, but does anyone know what Mr. Nobel’s first name was?”

  I perked up. I knew this one! I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew it. “Al…hic…Alfred! His name was Alfred Nobel…hic.” Covering my mouth as I hiccupped again.

  Derrick’s face turned from curious to smoldering as he wrote down the last answer. Was he as turned on by my brains as I was by his? Were we two nerds who were going to go hump like geeky bunnies as soon as we claimed our victory? God, I hoped so. I really, really hoped so.

  He folded up the paper and handed it to Ian who had managed to extract himself from the lips of the Lithuanian girl and was back standing on the bar. Anton handed Ian his slip of paper as well. It was a minute or two as Ian toiled over the questions and the answer sheets we’d also provided, making sure that all I’s were dotted, T’s were crossed, and the O’s had those funky dots on the top.

  “We have a winner!” Ian announced, lifting his beer and turning to face us. “The Hairy Beavers from Canada take the gold in the Battle of the Homelands! Five out of five questions right!”

  Everyone erupted into cheers while Derrick grabbed me roughly by the arm and spun me into his chest, dipping me low, his mouth crashing down on mine. It was as if Canada had just won gold in the Olympics in both men and women’s hockey (this was something we go mental over), and it wasn’t just some silly hostel game. In a celebration of immense proportion, I half expected to be showered with champagne soon.

  I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him into me, our tongues dueling and dancing as teeth nipped and lips caressed. I was wild for him, desperate to get his skin beneath my fingers, beneath my lips. I wanted to taste every inch of him. We’d made love just that afternoon, but already I was going through severe withdrawal. The man was my drug, and I was starting to worry how I’d ever be able to give him up cold turkey when we finally parted ways after Machu Picchu.

  Ian walked over with a tray of shots, our prize for our landslide victory. Apparently, the Swedes had only managed to answer three of our five questions correctly. Who doesn’t know that the bridge between Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick is called The Confederation Bridge? Or that poutine is an ooey-gooey dish of carbohydrate loaded deliciousness made of French fries, gravy, and cheese curds?

  Derrick grabbed a shot, but then, instead of slamming it back, he put it back on the tray, scooped me up and carried me over to the bar, laying me down on top. I gave him a quizzical look, but the eyes that stared back at me were pure fire, like embers flickering in hot coals. He took the shot from Ian again, and then lifting up my shirt he proceeded to pour it into my bellybutton, and he took a lime from the tray and popped it into my mouth.

  His licked my chest and neck, sipped the tequila from my navel and then came at me for a kiss, squeezing the lime between our lips, the citrusy tang mixing with the tequila on his tongue, making me lightheaded and craving more. Whoops and cheers and laughter filled the air as he did a couple more shots off of me, mixing it up between my belly button and cleavage, but always ending with a searing kiss that left me wanton and eager to whisk him back to our room.

  We were kissing again, the lime still between our lips when he went to pull away, but I grabbed him by the collar. “Enough of…hic…this…” Fuck, I still had my hiccups. “Enough of this. Take me to our room and fuck me…NOW!” I didn’t even care if people heard me. I didn’t care if people knew what we were up to, I was ready to tear his clothes off right there and have my way with him, voyeurs and health codes be damned. My engine was revving, and we needed to hit the accelerator.

  A wide grin spread across his face as he lifted me up An Officer and a Gentleman style and carried me toward the door. I kind of wished he’d been wearing a hat, so I could take it off and put it on my head. More laughter and more whoops and hollers erupted from the peanut gallery, but neither of us cared. I was only looking at Derrick. He walked us through the throngs of partiers, down the steps and to our room. It would have been so hot if he’d just kicked the door open and then tossed me on the bed, but, alas, real life is not always like that, and he was forced to put me down so he could fish his keys from his pocket.

  “I tried to be all alpha and romantic,” he said with a discouraged grumble, jamming the key into the door and giving it a hard nudge with his shoulder. “But it’s just not practical leaving the door unlocked, especially not after Lima.”

  I snorted. Lust and the animalistic need to fuck would never trump logic, at least not where we were concerned. We were quite the pair, pragmatic to the core. He turned the doorknob then looked down at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing thick and sexy in his throat. I wanted to lick it; I wanted to feel it move beneath my tongue. Wait a second, why couldn’t I? We were preparing to do far more despicable things to one another, why couldn’t I lick his throat?

  I turned into his arms and rose up on my tiptoes, my hands on his shoulders for balance while I brought my lips to his skin, dragging my tongue up the front of his neck, tasting him, smelling him, feeling his pulse race and his throat undulate.

  “Piper.” God, I would never grow tired of hearing my name from his lips. Never. And then he lifted me up by my hips and carried me inside, kicking the door closed for dramatic effect.

  I leaped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, tearing at his shirt while peppering kisses along his face and neck. He slammed my back against the wall, his pelvis pinning me
in place as his hands made quick work of my T-shirt.

  He groaned. “Fuck, you are so fucking sexy.” I tossed his shirt to the floor. My jeans were next, he put me down for a second so I could shimmy out of them. He did the same, boxers too, so I figured, what the hey? And stripped off my skivvies as well. His eyes fell to my breasts, and I felt my nipples tighten. Just his look alone sent a burst of need coursing through my body, and I leaped back up onto his hips, my arms tangling around his neck as I planted wet, hot kisses all over his face and neck.

  “Fuck me, Derrick, fuck me so hard… please.”

  I could only describe the sound like a roar, a low rumble, with the teeth and nostril flare of a snarl, that burst from his chest and past his parted lips. He loved it when I begged. And even though we were now both naked, the way I clawed at him, the way he ground himself against me, his hands roaming my skin, it was as if we couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get deep enough. We both needed past the skin, past the muscle. I needed to feel him in my bones, in my soul.

  He pushed into me, the length of his shaft rubbing between my legs just right, hitting that sweet spot and nearly making me come. I was so ready, so primed and willing, desperate to have him inside me.

  “Please…” My head fell back against the cool brick. “Inside me…now.”

  His teeth raked my jaw, and he snarled as his fingers dug painfully into my butt cheeks, and he hoisted me up. Slowly, ever so slowly I sunk down, sheathing him to the hilt. I let out a satisfying moan and just stilled for a moment, relishing the intensity of being full, of how well we fit together, how right it felt. Then we started to move, hard and fast, my head smacking the brick as he pumped up into me, thrusting harder and harder. The sound of flesh on flesh ricocheted around the room, interrupted only by our ragged breaths and feral groans.

  I was drunk, really drunk, and usually, when I had sex while intoxicated, I was a tough nut to crack if I cracked at all. But not with Derrick. Within minutes I was crying, sweet tears of joy running down my cheeks as I came apart at the seams, his name on my lips as I let go and allowed the climax to claim me. It all just felt so good, the rubbing, the friction, the fucking. Oh God, the fucking. The way he fit inside me, so damned perfect, I felt every part of him, relished every buck, every ram. I felt it all, and I loved it all. Bright lights and swirling colors flashed behind my closed lids as I clenched and squeezed my body around him, quivering as he continued to plunge himself inside, seeking his own release.

  He stilled, pressing me harder against the wall as his teeth found my shoulder and he bit down.

  “Yes…fuck!”

  His cock began to pulse, and I clenched around him again. Even though I’d found my release, I wanted to help him with his and increase his pleasure, make him feel as incredible as he made me feel. His teeth pierced my flesh until I gasped from the pain, but I loved it. I truly loved the pain and the pleasure dichotomy, and just as soon as the pain came on, it quickly bloomed and spread along my shoulder and chest into a pleasant warmth.

  I felt him shudder against me as he ground out the last of his orgasm, his skin rising to gooseflesh beneath my fingertips as I traced them along his hard and sexy back, tickling and teasing, scratching him with my nails until he groaned in delight.

  He kissed his bite mark and then lifted his head, his eyes glassy and sleepy and so full of appreciation and desire. His lips found mine. But this time, unlike the passionate tongue twirling make out sessions from earlier, it was a sweet little closed mouth peck.

  “Wow!” His fingers kneaded my butt.

  “Mhmm.”

  “Have I told you how freaking sexy you are?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “Have I told you that you’re like the perfect woman?”

  “Mhmm.” He helped me down to my feet, and I headed off to the bathroom.

  “Well then, what else is there left to say? Besides maybe that you’re also hella smart and that’s a big turn-on, too.”

  I giggled as I shut the door. “You’re a wizard with words. I’m sure there’s no end to your compliments.”

  “As long as you keep fucking me like that, there won’t be,” he said through the door.

  I sat down to pee, a ridiculous smile on my face. “Deal!”

  CHAPTER 10

  I couldn’t tell at first if the tapping against my arm was part of the weird dream I was having about the squirrel monkey trying to get my attention at the animal sanctuary in Puerto Viejo, or if it was in real life. But when the strength and frequency of it increased, only to be then accompanied by a “Piper! Piper!” I struggled to open my eyes and was met with darkness and a moaning from the floor.

  Crap, I was still kind of drunk. I pushed myself up to sit and flicked on the lamp on the side table. Derrick was lying on the floor.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked, scrambling out of bed to kneel next to him. He was curled up in the fetal position and clutching his stomach and chest, a thick bead of sweat across his forehead. I put my hand on his cheeks; he was on fire.

  “I…I can’t breathe.” He made a face like he’d just been stuck through with a rusty pitchfork.

  “Is it the booze? Alcohol poisoning?” He shook his head. “The altitude? Do you have altitude sickness? Do you want me to make you some tea?”

  He nodded. “Yeah…maybe.”

  “Okay.” I stood up and put on the kettle and rummaged around in his backpack for the pills and some Advil. “Here.” I placed them in his hands and then passed him a bottle of water. He popped them in his mouth but struggled to swallow any water.

  “My chest feels like it’s in a vice,” he wheezed. “And my…my stomach.”

  “Do… do you want me to go and have the front desk call a doctor?” I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t lose him, too. I couldn’t do this alone. I couldn’t start over again.

  “Maybe.”

  But I couldn’t handle maybe. I needed confirmation that he wasn’t going to die on me.

  I tossed on some yoga pants and a hoodie, slipped my feet into my shower flip flops and then headed out to the front desk.

  It was about twenty minutes later before a soft rap at the door had me getting up and tucking a pillow under Derrick’s head, where my lap had been. I opened the door and a small but friendly-appearing woman, in green scrubs and a no-nonsense bun, smiled and nodded.

  “Hello, I am Dr. Garcia.”

  “Hello. He’s over here.” I led her to the man who, in just four short days, suddenly meant more to me than I was prepared to admit.

  She knelt down next to him and opened up her black medical bag, putting the stethoscope into her ears. She started listening to his chest. He was shirtless, and his chest heaved and rattled with each strangled breath.

  “Deep breath for me,” she said softly, her English impeccable, though not without that hypnotic Spanish lilt.

  He did as he was told, but winced and then coughed. She moved it down to his stomach and then told him to breathe in and out again. He winced and coughed again, but did as the good doctor instructed.

  She turned to me. “I believe we need to take your husband to the hospital for tests. I believe it is his stomach.”

  I didn’t bother correcting her, that Derrick wasn’t my husband. Now was not the time. “His stomach? But he’s complaining of chest pain.”

  She nodded. “We will check that, too. But we must go.”

  I bobbed my head and then started scurrying around the room, changing my clothes to something a little more suitable and helping Derrick get dressed as well. He grimaced and moaned with every move. Even just putting on socks appeared to be painful.

  Within ten minutes we were in the back of an unmarked, unassuming SUV and driving through the quiet, early-morning streets of ancient Cusco, Derrick’s head in my lap. I was mindlessly stroking his hair while murmuring incoherent reassurances, though I wasn’t sure who they were for, him or me.

  It didn’t take long before we pulled up to a building with a
giant red cross on it and some Spanish words that I couldn’t quite understand. The only one I was able to decipher was médico, but that was good enough for me. We were at the hospital; Derrick was going to be okay.

  Another tiny woman, this time in peach scrubs, met us at the door with a wheelchair. Dr. Garcia and I helped Derrick into it, and then we were whisked forward to an elevator, where we rode three stories up to the top. More peach-scrubbed cuties stared at us, wide-eyed and eager, when the double doors parted, each one appearing to have an important job, because they flocked forward and fawned and fussed over Derrick as if he were a crown prince or Channing Tatum without any clothes on.

  They rolled him into a brightly lit hospital room and helped him into bed. All the while, the patient did as he was told. A manly moan or wince was the only sign that he was in any discomfort, besides the grayish pallor of his skin and the deep purple bags under his eyes.

  I felt unnecessary and in the way, as half a dozen tiny Peruvian honeybees in peach scrubs scurried around. Each with a purpose. I had no purpose. Except to panic and pray that he didn’t die.

  His gaze snagged mine as he writhed in pain on the bed. “Piper?”

  “Yeah?” I tried to maneuver around the nurses so I could be by his side, but there were so many of them, and they wouldn’t let me get close enough.

  “Piper… you have to tell them that I’m… that I’m recovering from brain surgery. I just had radiation and a craniotomy a few months ago. You have to tell them.”

  What the hell? Brain surgery? Radiation? Why was I just hearing about this now?

  “And Piper?” He grimaced when one of the nurses pressed fairly hard on his abdomen. “I’m allergic to penicillin. You have to tell them that, too, okay?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake! When it rains, it goddamned pours!

  I nodded but realized he probably couldn’t see me. “O-okay. Brain surgery, radiation, and penicillin. Got it.”