Beached with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday #3)

by Sylvia Pierce

  “Hmm. Is that supposed to be a come-on? I mean, does that line actually work?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning. After I make you come. On me.”

  “Cocky boy.” Cracking up, Layla slid her arms around his neck, pressing her cold, wet nipples against his bare chest. Her skin was cool and slippery from the water, sliding beneath his rough hands as he cupped her ass.

  “So,” he said.

  “So.” Layla sighed. In the cool pre-dawn air, her breath was hot against his lips. His dick stirred, seeking the warmth of her flesh. Everything about her felt so damn good in his arms, so damn right. “Here’s the deal, Boy Band.”

  “Now there’s a deal?” he teased, kissing the corner of her mouth. “This mean I have to sign another contract?” He kissed her chin. “Maybe redraw the masking tape borders? Agree to a few new rules?” Another kiss, this time at the hollow of her throat, closing his mouth over her pulse and sucking her soft, tender flesh. He teased her for a minute, then pulled back. “Here’s a rule for you: no skinny dipping alone. Haven’t you ever heard of the naked buddy system?”

  Layla smiled, running her thumb over the center of his lips, leaving a salty trail. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

  “Wasn’t about to, Layla. Not with how we left things in there. No way.”

  “I didn’t mean to freak out,” she said. “I just… I guess I had to work out some stuff first. Stuff I didn’t realize I was holding on to.”

  “So. Did you work it out?”

  Layla closed her eyes, considering the question. Or maybe just considering her answer. Fair enough—he had no right to her secrets. Not all of them. Not tonight. Not tomorrow, either.

  Tonight, he just wanted to be inside her. Fucking her slow and deep, owning that pussy until she felt so hot, so good, there was nothing left for her to think about at all.

  And tomorrow? Tomorrow he’d make her breakfast. Make her laugh. Pretend to enjoy her chewable, motor-oil coffee.

  And then they’d take it from there.

  “I made progress,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to look out across the endless ocean behind them. “Nothing like the Pacific to give you some much-needed perspective.”

  Trick sighed, burying his nose in the wet hair at the back of her neck. “Gotta be honest, Sunshine. Half hour ago, I was thinking you saved me from making a big mistake. I had rules for this trip, you know. No partying. No distractions. No fucking around. And most importantly, no women.”

  “And no going bareback.” She laughed.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “And now?”

  Trick looked out at the horizon, the band of orange at he bottom of the sky where it met the ocean. And then she turned around in his arms, facing him once again, her eyes searching his face for the answer they both wanted.

  Perspective. Much-needed.

  He gathered the sopping wet hair behind her neck, pulling it back off her shoulders and chest, and admired her soft, perfect breasts, his desire unchecked.

  Fuck this. No more words, no more talking, no more fumbling.

  He crashed into her, his mouth claiming hers in a possessive kiss that he hoped showed her exactly where he stood on his rules. Her tongue slid out from between her lush lips, teasing him, urging him deeper, her soft little moans making his balls ache.

  Behind them, the tide surged, and still he didn’t stop kissing her. A wave lifted them from the ocean floor, then set them back down, unsteady, but clinging to each other with desperate desire.

  Trick sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, then kissed her chin, her neck, the creamy round orbs of her breasts.

  Cupping one, he grazed her nipple with his teeth, then sucked the stiff peak into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. Her skin was salty and smooth, her body melting into his arms as the water pushed them gently toward the shore.

  The closer they got to the sand, the more her body was revealed, inch by tantalizing inch.

  She was gorgeous in the twilight haze, her naked skin glowing like a fucking goddess. Trick felt like the ocean was giving him this gift, one little glimpse at a time, forcing him to savor it. To savor her.

  But he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  He wanted to be inside her. Now.

  Pulling her close again, he cupped her ass and lifted her easily. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her skin soft and slippery as she slid against him.

  “Come on,” he panted, trudging toward the shore with his woman wrapped around him tight. “Let’s go in.”

  She slid her hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, making him shiver. “Aww, don’t you like swimming?”

  “Not as much as I like making you come.”

  She shivered in his arms, pressing her mouth to his ear. “What a coincidence. I love when you make me come.”

  That was all the invitation he needed.

  Fuck it. They were out of the water now, and he couldn’t wait another second. He laid her in the sand just past the shoreline. Her skin rippled with goose bumps, but it hardly mattered—he’d be warming her up soon enough.

  She didn’t make a sound as he gripped her thighs and spread her wide, taking in the view. She just closed her eyes, her head rolling in the sand as she arched her hips toward him.

  He lowered his mouth to her slick, gorgeous pussy, inhaling her scent, ghosting his lips over her clit.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

  Still silent, Layla slid her fingers into his hair, urging him closer as she sighed in pleasure.

  He licked her clit, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes as he worked his way down. Her flesh was hot and silky, her honey melting on his tongue as he slid inside her. Layla’s scent drove him wild—like the ocean, but sweeter. A heady mix he’d never fucking forget.

  In less than a minute, he was utterly addicted.

  Jesus fuck. No more teasing. No more slow, careful kisses.

  He wanted to eat that pussy and make her scream.

  Burying his face between her cool, damp thighs, he sucked on her clit, fucking her with his lips and teeth and tongue, devouring her as his own need burned inside. Fuck, she was so wet for him, so responsive to his every touch, it was all he could do not to take her right there in the sand, bury himself balls deep.

  But he’d waited too long to taste her like this, to make her come apart, to feel her all over his goddamn face.

  He’d never wanted a woman in his mouth so badly before. He wanted more of her. All of her. Closer. Deeper. Everywhere.

  Trick slid his hands under Layla’s ass and pulled her closer, guiding her legs over his shoulders as he fucked her deep with his tongue. He was high on her, the taste and scent and feel of her hot, silky flesh like a drug, dosing him until he was so blissed out, he could barely remember his name.

  “Oh my God,” she finally breathed, writhing in the sand.

  “Layla,” he moaned into her flesh. “I want you to come so fucking hard. I want you to come all over my tongue. Let me taste you, Sunshine.”

  “I’m right there. I’m… Oh my God!”

  Her thighs clamped tight around his neck, and he squeezed her ass, plunging his tongue deep into her divine pussy, fucking her hard, sucking and licking, devouring her flesh, taking as much as he was giving, pushing her to the very brink.

  “Trick!”

  Her hips rocked forward as the orgasm tore through her body, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling so hard his eyes watered. She bucked wildly against his face, riding him hard, screaming with a roar like the ocean, calling his name again and again as he brought her over the edge. He sucked her until she collapsed in his arms. Until her legs went limp. Until he could remember nothing but the taste of her sweet pussy on his tongue.

  Moments later, she looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her body as limp as a noodle and still quivering, her skin glowing, her face coated with more sand than freckles, and Trick was slammed
with a single, unwavering thought—crazy and impossible, but clear as the twinkling sky above.

  I was fucking born to make this woman happy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Propping herself up on her elbows, Layla leaned her head back and laughed. The tide was coming in, lapping at her feet, soaking Trick entirely, and she’d never felt so free, so unburdened. It was like she’d finally let go of the shroud she’d been wearing since her divorce, let it get swept away by the sea. The ocean had washed her clean, and all that remained was Layla herself. Pure. Open. And—for the first time in years—happy. She was actually happy.

  No matter what happened after tonight, after this week, this month, this year, one thing was certain: She was taking back her life. Snatching it away from the vicious grip of the past, from the darkness that had held her in its clutches for far too long.

  Unbothered by the waves, Trick looked up at her from between her still-trembling thighs, pressing kisses along the inside, up to her hipbone, across her belly, up to her breast.

  The intensity of his gaze was even fiercer than it had been in the living room, the same vulnerability and passion as before, layered with heat and desire and something she couldn’t even find the words for. But this time, it didn’t scare her. It didn’t freak her out.

  It made her feel good.

  No—screw that.

  It made her straight up giddy.

  Another wave broke on the shore, soaking Trick and dousing her legs with cool water. She laughed again, turning over in the sand, attempting to crawl away from the incoming tide before they were both swept away.

  She didn’t get very far. Trick wrapped her up in his impossibly strong arms and held her close, refusing to let her escape. His chest was smooth and warm against her back, his delicious weight pinning her down in the sand, firm and commanding, totally in control.

  He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her earlobe. With a growl that made her skin tingle, he said, “I’m not even close to done with you yet, Sunshine.”

  That deep, gravely voice made her shudder all over again. She was still so wet for him, her thighs clenching in anticipation. She hadn’t been with another man in years, and though she’d always wanted this moment to come again, she’d been too afraid to really think it was possible. She’d spent so many nights imagining it, writing about it in the pages of her manuscripts, giving her characters all of her own fantasies instead, never really allowing herself to hope.

  Now that it was here, she couldn’t have wished for a more perfect moment. A more perfect man.

  It was nearly dawn, but as far as Layla was concerned, their night was just beginning, and she had no intention of sleeping.

  “We won’t be alone much longer,” she warned.

  For now, the beach was still empty, but the sky had turned to a pale pink, the moon fading. Soon the sun would rise fully, and the lifeguards would come down to man their towers, and people would file out of their cottages to stake out a good spot for the day.

  Trick smirked. “Afraid of an audience?”

  Layla turned to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Aren’t you? What if some sweet old ladies come out here looking for seashells, and they find us instead?”

  “Then I hope they enjoy the show.” Trick licked a hot path along the back of her neck, then sucked her earlobe between his teeth. In a command that left no room for argument, he said, “I want you on your hands and knees in the sand, right here, right now, and I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.”

  Layla was a goner. She’d been holding back for days. Now, she couldn’t even pretend to resist.

  Trick slid his hands down to her hips, and Layla pushed up from the sand. On her hands and knees before him, she arched her back, stretching out like a cat, her body eager to finally take him in. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him, sense the raw power coursing through his muscles, his body strong and firm as he took control.

  Digging his fingers into the flesh around her hips, he positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with the tip of his hard, perfect cock until she was throbbing with need.

  “You sure about this?” he asked. “No second-thoughts, no doubts, no—”

  “No nothings,” she breathed. Everywhere Trick touched her, her skin tingled, sparking with electricity. Anticipation. Desire. “I want you inside me. Please don’t make me wait for it, Trick Harper.”

  “No, Layla Hart,” he said. “I won’t.”

  And then he sighed, his fingers tightening around her hips as he sank blissfully into her from behind.

  Layla gasped.

  With one hand still wrapped around her hip, Trick ran his other hand up her back and fisted her hair, tugging her head back as he slid in and out of her needy flesh, so slowly she thought she’d collapse from the torturous pleasure.

  “God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned, his perfect cock sliding deeper, stretching to fill her completely. She felt her body adjust to his size, taking him in, making him part of her as if she’d been waiting for this her entire life.

  In so many ways, she had.

  Layla sighed, curling her hands into the sand beneath her.

  God, that’s good… so right…

  “Mmm. You’re not going to last,” he said, his deep voice rumbling right through her. “I can feel how close you are, beautiful.”

  Layla bit her lip to keep from crying out. He was right; even after he’d licked and sucked and kissed her to ecstasy and back, she was so damn close again, right on the edge. God, everything he did made her wet with pleasure, hungry for more.

  With her hands firmly planted in the cool, damp sand, Layla pushed back against him, craving more of him, all of him. She didn’t want it slow—it was too good, too intense, too overwhelming. She was out of her mind with pleasure, hungry for him, hard and fast.

  He rolled his hips, sliding into her, then pulling out. Just when she thought she’d die from the epic tease, he slammed back into her, crashing into the backs of her thighs, nearly driving her down into the rough sand. He pumped her harder then, faster, faster still, the friction driving her wild with wanting.

  She’d never, ever been with a man like Trick before. One who seemed to know her body instinctively, who seemed to be made to fit her perfectly. He responded to her every need, her every signal, making her feel things inside her she didn’t even know were there.

  No, she wasn’t going to last.

  It started low in her belly, the tightness, the butterflies, the flicker of heat that quickly ignited, spreading throughout her body in a white-hot flash. She was hyper-aware of every sensation—the cool, damp air chilling her skin, the taste of salt on her lips, the cold ropes of her hair pressed against her back, her knees scraping against the sand, the frothy ocean tickling her feet. Then, just as quickly as they’d come, all of those sensations faded away, leaving nothing but Trick—his hands on her body, claiming her. The low growl in his voice as he lost himself in their shared pleasure. The wet, hot slide of his cock as he took her all the way back to the edge.

  “Layla,” he warned, his cock thickening, stretching her further. “I can’t hold out. I’m—”

  “Trick!”

  She pushed back against him, and with a deep, final thrust, he exploded inside her, a hot and sudden burst that made her flesh tighten in pleasure around him, pulsating as he rode out his orgasm. She cried out again, her own orgasm crashing through her body like fireworks, heating and electrifying her skin from head to toe as Trick rocked against her, worshipping her with his every touch.

  Time stopped, the sky a perfect shade of blush, the last stars of the night fading with the moon, the gentle breeze caressing her skin like a whisper, and Layla held her breath. She wanted to capture the moment in her heart, to hold it forever, to remind her that yes, life could still offer moments of absolute, utter perfection.

  Finally, when they were both empty and spent, limp and trembling, Trick collapsed on top of her, nuzzling the back of her n
eck. Behind them, the sea receded again with a content sigh.

  Me too, Layla thought. Me too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m all packed up.”

  Two days after their incredible night on the beach, Layla rolled her suitcases into the living room, setting her laptop bag on top of the pile. Trick’s stuff was already there by the door, the guitar case leaning against the wall like a bored kid, antsy to hit the road.

  She couldn’t believe the week was over.

  “I guess that’s it, then.” Trick sounded as defeated as Layla felt.

  How had it come to this? After spending the first few days together bickering or avoiding each other completely, the last two days of pure bliss didn’t feel like enough—especially since they’d had to punctuate their time together with work. Not an easy feat.

  Trick’s kisses left her delirious, his touch set her whole body on fire. It’d been nearly impossible for her to concentrate, but somehow, she’d managed to finish the story.

  In some ways, she owed that to him, too.

  The part of Layla that fed her soul, that inspired her art, that allowed her to connect with people through her writing—that part she’d feared was lost for good—Trick had unlocked.

  Turned out, it had never really abandoned her. It was there all along, buried just beneath the rubble, until Trick came along and set her free, one seductive kiss at a time.

  Now, standing in the living room by the front door, neither wanting to take the first step outside, Layla leaned into his arms, her ear on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. A few more days, a month, a year… no amount of time would’ve seemed like enough. She was mad for him, her appetite insatiable.

  The fear in her was gone. The rules, the warnings she’d thought would keep her safe, all the things that had dulled her shine and chased her muse into hiding… they were gone.