by Angel Payne
“Excuse the hell out of me?” The incredulity in his voice is overruled by the tilt of his lips, the silver fire in his eyes…and the dull glow at the ends of his fingers, which rushes my backward pace onto the grass of the dark, empty fairway.
“Trust me?” I giggle it out, knowing damn well he won’t refuse. He just asked me to trust him for three days—that might as well have been forever—while he pulled strings and made machinations for the astounding step he’s just taken in the name of our love. And I’m grateful, believe me, I am—but right now, before letting the rest of the world in on our supersized fairy tale, I want to give him one more chapter that will be ours alone to savor.
He just needs to know how much I’m truly his. In every way possible.
When we get to the sand trap, I guide him to the curve of the steep slope. We’re shielded from the lights of the clubhouse, with only the rising moon and the winking stars as our light. And oh yeah…his fingers. And the magical, spectral glow emanating from the back of his gaze as he leans in to take my mouth in a consuming, kneading, deep, drowning kiss.
At once, I’m spread open for him. Letting him claim my tongue and my breath, my oxygen and my equilibrium, as he delves farther into the source of my high, needy moans. And yes, I give even those to him—letting him have every sound I make, every breath I take…
His. His.
Even now, after what he’s declared to my mother, my father, my sister, and at least a hundred social media feeds, the truth is almost too much to believe. The world’s most notorious playboy is now the man of my soul and the keeper of my spirit. My heart bursts painfully in gratitude for every step we’ve both taken, separately and together, to get here.
Pain I’d gladly endure all over again.
For a together that’s meant to last for the ages.
Our perfect fit. Our electric love.
A union that needs its physical manifestation, right here and now.
As if Reece has heard every syllable of my soul—and I wouldn’t be surprised if his superpowers include that talent now—he moans against my mouth, his breath audibly accelerating. We break our hands apart so we can fully cling to each other, like a pair of trees wrapped around each other for the rest of time. He doesn’t stop kissing me, even as his hands cup my ass and sear through my clothes. Not even as I dive both hands into his hair and twist his thick strands so tight, his moans become grunts. Not even as our hunger for each other makes us tumble into the sand, rolling into the valley created by the carefully raked knoll and the scoop of earth into which it’s nestled.
Somehow we settle with him on his back against the grassy alcove, his leathers making moist shooshes against the damp stuff as he reaches up again for me—only to growl as I lean up, enticingly out of his reach. I sit astride him but scoot down his body by erotic increments, taking extra time to work my crotch in little circles atop the swollen hill beneath his fly.
The fly I start working on as soon as I reach his thighs.
“God.” The fierce eruption from between his teeth extends into a hiss as I unbuckle the top strap, work the zipper down, and gently graze the crown of his erection with one fingernail. Immediately, his cock spurts a couple of silky drops, an entrancing contrast against his burnished skin and black pants. I run my tongue along my lips. Holy shit, he looks delicious.
“Fuck.” It’s not even a growl anymore. He rasps it while letting his head drop back and his arms go slack. “Emma. Velvet. What are you…”
“Sssshhh.” But the exhortation isn’t necessary. He’s nothing but gargled chokes as soon as I part the zipper more, releasing his huge length into my waiting hand. My strokes spread more of his precome down his stalk, which pulses with a faint blue glow in time to the primal heaves of his chest. “I just want to make sure your trip down to the OC wasn’t for nothing, Mr. Hottie Bolt Man.”
A gruff chuckle vibrates through him. “Mr…Hottie… Oh, that’s good. Real good. But—” He cuts in on his own sarcasm with a groan I can feel down to the thighs I’m still straddling. “But holy fuck, that’s even better.” He bucks into my grip as I close my fist around his swollen rod, working my thumb against the bottom of his crown.
“Better is good,” I tell him, massaging the ball of my thumb against his ultrasensitive spot. “But tonight, I’m going for best.”
Chapter Two
Reece
“B-Best?”
I let my tone do most of the talking for me—mostly because I’m unable to even think about structuring the rest of the words, much less string them together. Not with her hand on me like that. With her thumb pressing against me…right there. With the mesmerizing little tune she hums while working the zipper of my leathers all the way down until she’s bared my balls to every star in the sky and ground squirrel on this golf course.
Still, I can think the words. Sort of.
What the hell does best mean?
And why the hell is she still humming as if she’s just stirring soup, when she’s heating my goddamned cock like the prized mutton she’s about to toss into the stew?
Or maybe not.
She’s not going to wait for the stew.
She’s going to devour me raw.
And oh God, how she does.
She all but impales her wet, tight mouth over me. Onto me. Taking me inside her orifice as far as she can get me, before she inhales deeply and slides herself even farther down my screaming, ecstatic dick—which I force her to accept even more with the violent demand of my surging hips.
“Damn,” I growl. “Damn!” It’s twice as ferocious due to how she trails her fingers down, skimming my balls with pressure and rhythm born from instinct completely tuned to mine. Desire utterly aligned with mine. A heart completely knowing mine. How did I ever think just fucking my way through women would be all right for the rest of my life? None of that was right. None of that was this. None of that was Emma.
None of that was love.
My senses go pyrotechnic again as Emma reaches beneath my jerkin with her other hand, scratching at the ridges of my abdomen before trailing lower, through my pubic hair, working her magical touch back toward the base of my length. She braces me there for one excruciating, indelible moment—just before taking my erection into the darkest recesses of her mouth.
As the magma in my balls dances for her other hand, the head of my cock knocks at the back of her throat. The feeling makes me jerk again, aligning my senses with every single star over our heads. My cock has become her air. More of my precome slides down her throat. And soon it’ll mix with her vital fluids…and work its heat to the most sensitive core of her body…
And I’ll become more than her air.
I’ll become her reason for breathing.
“Emma.” My croak blends with her eager moan. My quick-fire breaths are the backbeat for her full breaths, whisking in and out of her nose. “Emma. Fuck. Baby…”
I try pulling at her shoulders, needing more of her—needing the connection for which we’ve both worked so hard—but all I get is a protesting moan as she works her pretty mouth up and down my stalk. She sucks at me like a kid who’s never tasted a candy stick before.
Like a woman who wants me to get off in her mouth.
Holy. Hell.
My dick craves exactly the same thing, though it’s now got my heart and soul to contend with. The parts of me that need to watch as I give her that load. The senses that need to experience her own completion at the exact same time it hits her.
Only there’s not much time left.
“Emma.”
This time, I back up the order with my physical strength. I’m not gentle either—not after beholding the force of the aqua fire in her gaze and knowing that right now a John Denver fuck isn’t what she wants.
It’s time for something more like Nine Inch Nails.
And there’s my ideal segue.
“I want to feel you from the inside.”
My vocal abrasion isn’t nearly as cool as Rez
nor’s, but her eyes flare as if it is, and that’s all that counts. With a slow, knowing slide, letting a thin line of saliva trail in her wake, she drags her mouth free from my cock and works her body back up, not stopping until the apex of her thighs is positioned over my jolting erection.
She wipes her lips clean with one sensuous slide of a finger while hitching her skirt higher with the other. “Then feel me,” she rasps, her gaze hooded with lust as she rocks her panty-covered pussy over my aching cockhead. “And take me.”
“Damn…” I grit it while shoving aside that thin satin barrier. “Goddamn.”
“Unnnh!” Her little cry is accompanied by a massive shudder that rolls through her body as I push into her wet, clenching tunnel. She releases another moan, louder and longer, as soon as I grip her bare hips and grind her harder on me.
“Fuck yourself on me.” I husk it out with every ounce of the ruthless prick in me, satisfaction churning stronger when her lips part in raw desire. “Drive your cunt on me like an animal.”
“Yes.” She’s more breath than volume, finishing the sound by grabbing the side of my face and ramming her mouth over mine. As she fucks her tongue into my mouth, she rides me like a possessed she-beast, illustrating the effects of my juices through every drop of her heated blood. “Yes,” she repeats against my mouth. “Say it again. Order me again.”
Whatever my horny little harpy desires…
“Do it.” I seize her with force that’ll likely leave marks but bank on the fact that she likely won’t mind. “Rut yourself on my cock. Harder. Harder.”
A crazed harlequin smile dances over her lips, right before she smashes them again on mine. When she’s done invading me, she pulls up just enough to keep her blue fire eyes burning me alive and her hot, sweet breath fanning across my face.
“My lightning,” she rasps, fucking me even faster.
“My storm,” I breathe, meaning the fuck out of it. She’s my hurricane. My cyclone. My blizzard. My force of nature.
“My miracle,” she whispers.
“My angel.”
“My…”
Her throat clutches.
Her body stills.
Her pussy, shoved all the way down on me, clenches tight.
But only for a couple of seconds.
Two exquisite heartbeats—before every inch of her cunt is claimed by merciless, ferocious tremors. Only then, as she comes with violent force, does she gasp out words again, pushing them between the breaths that heave her stunning breasts against her bodice and make the main veins of her life force throb wildly against her neck.
“My…everything.”
And with the gift of her confession, she gives me my climax too.
I’m rocked to my core. Strained to my limit. Burned and consumed and drained, my searing seed claimed by her gripping, tremoring body, until there seems nothing more for my cock to give—but then there is, and I’m coming for what feels like forever. And I pray that’s exactly the case. That the universe has finally declared my debt to Karma paid in full and my reward for all the good deeds is now an eternity of this wicked fire…the burning bond only possible with this mesmerizing creature. My own Emmalina.
Mine.
Mine.
Dear God, just let forever start now.
Please…
But all too soon, a cool wind rushes up from the ocean. And all too quickly, a burst of applause from the ballroom reminds us that anonymity isn’t on our side tonight. As if we need any more reminders, there’s at least three tire screeches from the clubhouse’s main driveway, followed by what sounds like heated arguments.
“…a private event. Invited guests only…”
“…don’t understand. We’re with channel seven…”
“…we’re with CNN…”
“…World News Now…”
“World News Now?” Emma jerks a little, making me groan. Having her sweaty, exhausted body draped over mine, her tight channel keeping our bodies locked, isn’t a heaven I’ll give up without protest. “Are they freaking kidding?”
“Probably not,” I grumble against the curve of her neck while circling my arms around her waist. “They have crews all over the place waiting to pounce on breaking news.”
She quirks the edge of her mouth. “Well, this is probably the best action their OC crew has had in years.”
“Oh, come on.” There are few things that make me happier than some post-fuck teasing with the goddess of my dreams, especially when she’s into the let’s-not-move-until-we-have-to thing as much as me. “I’m sure they’ve had other dazzling events to hop on.”
“Other than the Housewives?” She snorts.
“Well of course other than the Housewives.”
“Yeah?” she retorts. “Name one.”
I give it a few seconds of sincere thought. A few seconds more. “Okay, hold on,” I protest as soon as she begins to snicker. “You’re not giving me enough time.”
“Take alllll the time you need.” She tosses her head, cascading the glistening waterfall of her hair across one elegant shoulder. “I’m still going to win.”
“Bummer for the World News guys.”
Her adorable shrug pops the ball of her shoulder up through her blond tangles. “Sucks to be them.”
I school my features into a thoughtful stare. “Unless…”
“What?” She doesn’t mask the suspicion across hers.
“We give the poor bastards some more scoops to hop on.” I waggle my brows. “Maybe come down for more visits. Find some more sand traps to christen…”
She drops her forehead to my chest. “Oh, gawd,” she groans into the leather.
“Something wrong, Bunny?” I go for feigned candor.
“I’ve created a monster.”
Deep chuckle. “Yeah, but you had a hell of a lot of fun doing it.”
With her head still bowed, she echoes my laugh. “And there you go again, reading my damn mind.”
* * *
So maybe we sealed our own doom with the sand trap pillow talk.
Or maybe, as she so eloquently phrased it, she did create a monster.
Because here I am, on my second trip to the OC this week—which officially doubles the number of trips I’ve logged to the OC over the last twenty-eight years—pulling up to the Balboa Bay Resort while silently ordering the dragon in my pants to go take a goddamned nap.
That’s what I get for taking the long way down here, purposely going for the route that took me past Pelican Hill. But that was fifteen minutes ago. I’m now in the land where a yacht-filled harbor fills one side and a Ferrari dealership and “Car Spa” fills the other. Here in civility land, only pinkies can be erect.
As if sensing I need help with the messaging, a flood of laughter spills into the air the second I get out of my i8 and toss the keys to the valet. A lot of laughter. High-pitched. And wild.
And female.
Damn. The hormones pouring out of that restaurant could turn the Newport Bay waters pink. As I kick off my loafers, walk out onto the resort’s small private beach, and take in the sparkling sapphire of the water, I’m glad that’s not the case.
At once, gazing out over the canal where gulls cavort around upscale yachts and sailboats, my serenity is recalibrated. And no, the word’s not just a placeholder. “Serenity” is an accurate tag on the current Bolt mood, still cruising along on the high of getting to acknowledge the woman I love to the entire world. And yeah, I realize the past six days have been a strange honeymoon phase of sorts, since everyone from LA’s mayor to the president of France has sent messages, presents, and mushy support of a “superpowered love” to Emma and me, but I’m going to ride the feel-good train for as long as it wants to chug along…
Even if I have to endure another burst of feminine screams, gaining even more volume as a waiter opens one of the restaurant’s beach-facing doors. Just as fast, he closes it. Thank fuck.
I blink rapidly, wondering if I’m the only one to notice the uproar fr
om inside, until movement catches my periphery. A hotel bellhop has come out to sit on the low wall fronting the beach, catching some rays and a few puffs on his vape during a break.
“You’re not losing your mind, man,” the guy confirms. “It’s really that crazy in there.”
I twist my lips. “I thought it was a baby shower.” One that Emma felt strongly about attending, for a friend from high school.
“So did we. But somehow, it took a turn for the wild side.”
“Clearly,” I remark. “But why?”
“Dunno. But the waiters tell me they’re now all talking lingerie, multiple Os, and battery life expectancy on sex toys.”
“So…the mother-to-be is also the naughty bride-to-be?” Explains the whole otherworldly theme a little better. On the other hand, it’s not that crazy an idea. Judging by the laughter, the kid will be surrounded by a lot of love from day one.
“Nah.” The guy takes another drag on his vape. “It’s not her. Guess there’s someone else at the party they’re all fascinated with. Apparently, the chick who inspired Bolt to come out last weekend.” He loosens his tie. “Okay, not out, out. But—well, you know what I mean.”
I settle on the wall myself, a few feet away. “Sure.”
The kid grunts and then tightens his frown. “Did you hear about all that?”
I school my features. “About what?”
“Bolt. And what he did.” A hissing grunt pops from his twisting lips. “Dude just ripped off his mask. In front of all those people. Just like that, you know?”
“Ohhhh, yeah.” I nod with feigned contemplation. “I did hear about that.”
“Hunnhh.” A new pull on the vape. “Just seems whack, if you ask me.”
Because you’ve never been in love, kid. Completely, totally, down-for-the-ride love.
I simply ask, “How so?”
“Well, that woman’s into him, right? Just as much as he’s into her? If that’s the case, why does the whole world have to know about it? Why can’t he keep putting down bad guy fuckers but go home to her every night? Why do they have to go broadcasting it and shit? That’s like painting a target on both their asses.”
