by Anne Marsh
Slick and sweet. Fucking magnificent.
Her breasts deserved attention, too, so he sucked a nipple in, deep. Kind of like having his cake and eating it too, because he found her clit and rubbed it. She rewarded him with that husky noise he liked so much, wiggling around to adjust the fit of his fingers. Apparently she had a few favorite spots of her own, and she wasn’t shy about showing him. God, he loved how uninhibited she was. She felt really, really good, and not just the places where he was touching her.
His dick ached for her. Hell, his whole body ached for her. In the last few moments before his brain shut down entirely, turning over the reins to other parts, he recognized that he was in trouble. He couldn’t think, could only feel, and while that usually wasn’t a problem, this was Dixon. His occasional teammate. He had a bad feeling she was something more than an amazing lay and a good friend. He’d had good sex, hot sex, kinky sex.
She was just...more.
Probably shouldn’t overthink it. He’d give her what she wanted, take what he wanted. Tit for tat. They’d get matching his-and-hers orgasms, and everybody would leave happy. His dick twitched, emphatically on board with that plan.
He switched to her other breast, loving the tight, hard bud, and her hands jerked in his. Since he only had two hands and one mouth—all currently busy—this left his Dixie free to make all the noise she wanted. Or to talk. Jesus, sometimes the woman kept up a running commentary that made him think he’d have to kiss her nonstop to get a little silence.
“Let go,” she demanded, in between more of those breathy little moans. Since she was wet as hell, he was hoping those two words weren’t his marching orders to leave the bed and the villa.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he growled, lifting his head. Her nipple came out of his mouth with an audible pop, the tip cherry red. He licked it, because there was no resisting something so tempting, and she groaned.
“My hands.” He was pretty sure an unspoken you idiot followed those two words, but he didn’t feel like checking.
“Give me a good reason.” Because he liked having her like this, at his mercy. Not that he planned on having much. He wanted to come, she wanted to come, and this was a damned good way to make that happen for both of them.
“Because then I can touch your dick,” she snarled, blunt as always. “You’re hogging all the fun for yourself.”
She was complaining? He gave her nipple another lick—followed by a nip that was a tad harder than necessary. The sound that came out of her mouth was more satisfying than her words. Turned on and surprised, with a side of angry. Angry sex with Dixon would probably finish him, it’d be so amazing.
But if she wanted to touch him, he guessed he could accommodate her. Plus it would give him two hands to work with.
He let go of her, she palmed his dick and things heated up all right. He’d been a goddamn gentleman before, holding back because he didn’t want to run her off.
Or wear her out.
Yeah. That was a major concern, as he had big plans for their night.
But her fingers working him changed all that. She explored and stroked, squeezing the head of his dick in a way that reminded him how badly he needed to be inside her pussy. But fuck, he guessed he was a gentleman, after all, because he was going to be all ladies first. He curled his fingers inside her, finding the perfect spot.
She was still shrieking his name—and that had to be the best sound of the night so far, knowing she knew exactly who’d made her come—when he slid his hand under her butt and flipped her over, lifting her onto her knees.
Before she could stop chanting his name he had a condom on and the head of his dick poised at her entrance. She was ready, he was ready, so he pushed inside her in one hard stroke. She made another, louder noise and he stilled, waiting for her to get used to him.
“Did you have to be so large?” Since she fisted the sheets and shoved her butt back, taking him deeper, that didn’t sound like much of a complaint to him.
“Maybe you’re small,” he grunted, finding her clit with his fingers. She squeezed down on him, so he started moving. She’d definitely tell him if he had the wrong spot. His Dixon definitely didn’t hold back, so damned if he was going to, either.
So he drove inside in one hard, determined thrust as if he were storming a beach and had just the one shot to accomplish his mission. Ashley opened her mouth, probably to critique his pace, but the moan that came out shut her right up. Apparently her body liked his pacing just fine.
More than liked.
Because when he pulled out and drove forward again, she shoved back to meet his thrust. She was magic. Probably the black comes-with-a-dangerous-price-tag kind but she made him think of nothing but his next thrust and the pleasure consuming them both. He could feel the tension building in her, her entire being focused on the erotic friction between them. When he tugged on her clit, the rough-hard sensation pushed her over the edge.
Possibly she screamed his name—thank God for the muffling effect of the sheet—because she squeezed down hard around him. With a low curse, he pounded harder, intent on catching up. Too late for that. She’d come first, he’d come second, and she’d fucking won their erotic race.
He wasn’t prepared for this. That was his first thought when his breathing slowed down some, and he could think again. She’d almost killed him, and he’d loved every moment of it. He still had her pinned beneath him, so he rolled to his side, bringing her with him. She muttered something sleepy and sated sounding.
“Me, too, babe.” Bending his head, he brushed a kiss over the top of hers. Whoa. When had tender become part of his repertoire? Unfortunately, her crazy tangled hair didn’t have any answers for him, so he did it again. Just to see how he felt.
Not an aberration.
She snuggled into him, getting comfortable, and he wrapped an arm around as she drifted off. To sleep. The sex had been fantastic, but he’d known for a while now that he’d lusted after her. L word, he told himself. Lots of L words. His dick protested the introspection, but he had to hand it to her. Sex with her was amazing. Life-changing, make-you-think spectacular, which kind of made this her fault, right? Lust. Like. Love.
There was a really slippery slope there, one he was already rocketing down. He definitely had the lust part down, and he liked her. It was that third L word that made him feel kind of like he was drowning, but in something sweet and possibly not so scary. Love. He ran a hand over her arm, because he’d probably never be done touching her. She sighed and relaxed deeper into his hold.
Well, fuck. She made him feel strong. Manly. Protective.
His strong suit was blowing stuff up and leaving—and now he had to learn how to stay. He had a wife, and crazy as it sounded, he kind of didn’t mind being married. If she didn’t like it, she’d tell him, but for now he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
10
THE RED LIGHT blinking on the room phone was innocuous. After Levi had screwed all coherent thought out of her head, she’d fallen asleep in his arms. That had been one way out of an awkward situation. Maybe it was the phone that had woken her up? Ashley turned her head, not quite ready to rejoin the real world, but the other pillow was empty.
She was still processing Levi’s absence when the man himself padded out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Guess that answered the question of where he’d gone, since his hair was wet. And then, hooboy, she tore her eyes away from the towel and got a good look at the rest of him. He was hot. The towel dipped lower over his hips, leaving his broad chest on full display, and the water droplets sliding down his skin were an invitation to touch. Weren’t they? Because her fingers were reaching for him, itching to touch the body she’d explored last night, and she was once again turned on by Levi—deliciously, wonderfully, achingly turned on—even though she’d supposedly had h
er fill of him.
Oblivious to her internal touch-him-don’t-touch-him debate, he glanced at the phone. “We’ve got voice mail.”
Hot sex followed by banalities was even more awkward than angry sex. Possibly Levi felt as uncomfortable as she did because he stared at the you’ve-got-mail light as though it held the answers to life’s mysteries. In reality, the message was probably nothing more than a timeshare offer or a fifty-percent-off spa coupon. Nothing important. Nothing to worry about.
She’d had sex with Levi Brandon.
She didn’t even like him. Not much. And really hot, slightly rough, absolutely orgasmic sex...that had never factored into her carefully laid-out plan for these seven days on the island. She’d broken her own no-sex rule. At some point in the not-so-distant future, it wasn’t unlikely that she and Levi would have to work together again. Not that the DEA partnered up with SEAL teams on a regular basis, but they’d had some successes and she’d have to work with him. After he’d seen her naked. Seen all of her. Introducing sex into the workplace was never a smart move.
She stared at the light, willing it to go away. Turn off. Do something. Levi grabbed the phone, punched a few numbers, and listened intently. He’d rocked her world, turned it upside down, and now he was checking voice mail? She couldn’t be that prosaic herself, but maybe what they’d done truly was no big deal to him. She was still trying to process that when he looked up.
“It’s for us.” He punched the button for speakerphone.
No kidding. Who else did he expect to be staying in their villa?
Seconds later the smooth tones of the resort’s general manager filled the room. Naturally, the guy couldn’t be calling to offer them a spa discount or introduce himself. Nope. He wanted to tell them all about the hurricane that had taken a left-hand turn somewhere near Barbados and was now headed straight toward Fantasy Island, give or take a few miles. The resort had instituted a mandatory evacuation, and all guests had to be packed and in the lobby in thirty minutes.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” he said, his gaze holding hers. For a moment, as she felt the intensity of his stare burn through her, she couldn’t even remember why she’d wanted him gone. He seemed concerned, she’d give him that. And if concerned wasn’t love or even affection, that wasn’t his problem. He’d made his limitations perfectly clear.
“I can handle this,” she said, instead of asking the questions driving her crazy. Did last night mean anything to you? What are we doing with each other?
It wasn’t as though she herself was ready for marriage. Heck, she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for a committed relationship. Being a mature adult about Levi’s priorities also landed somewhere near the bottom of her wish list. But she also wanted him by her side. Preferably with an arm slung around her waist and—just possibly—his mouth nuzzling her cheek. Her throat. She was pathetic. Last night had been too short, and she had it real bad.
Levi’s eyes lingered on her face for several more moments. Maybe a few of her unwanted feelings were written there, plain as day, because he actually paused before jogging toward the door. “I’m going out,” he said.
“Mandatory evacuation means something different to you?” She swung out of bed and started grabbing clothes. Evacuating naked was also not on her to-do list.
He shrugged and opened the door. “I may be able to help.”
Right. Because he was a highly trained SEAL and good at evacuations, rescues and managing mayhem. He could go out there and be all manly and SEAL-like, but she still wasn’t going to pack his boxers and socks. And not just because he’d decided to do something that had nothing to do with her and everything with rescuing the island’s guests. Those were good priorities, and ordinarily she’d have backed him one hundred percent. Only now that she’d had a taste of Levi, she wanted more. Worse, she wanted him to focus all of his attention on her. The island could sink like Atlantis for all she cared.
Crap.
“Packing’s on you,” she warned him in the interest of fairness.
He shrugged again, clearly not worried about his stuff. “Got it.”
“I’m going to head to the lobby and confirm the evac plan.” The GM’s message had been detail-free, and she needed a few more data points—like estimated arrival time until the storm hit, where exactly they were being evacuated to, and if there were still available seats on the next flight out of Belize City.
He nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”
Fun, flirty Levi was gone—replaced by the single-minded SEAL on a mission. Leaving him to do what he did best, she headed out to do some self-rescuing.
Unfortunately, after she’d hotfooted it to the front desk, she discovered that getting off Fantasy Island wasn’t going to be straightforward. The resort had boats lined up to take them to the mainland, but after that the destination was a local storm shelter—and not the airport. Which had shut down three hours ago. Holy shit...like this was seriously happening? Just her rotten luck that a tropical storm could churn up the Atlantic, hang a left, pick up steam, and be on track to cross far too close to Fantasy Island and Belize for her own personal comfort. Had karma painted a target on her butt or something?
“I thought the National Hurricane Center tracked storms.” She gave the frazzled front desk clerk a hard stare. She wanted answers.
She might have grown up in the Midwest, but she wasn’t completely ignorant. A full-fledged, eighty-mile-per-hour storm didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Someone had to have seen this thing coming, and that someone had apparently not bothered to inform the staff of Fantasy Island—or herself—in any kind of a timely fashion.
The front desk manager smiled apologetically and more than a little wearily. “Sometimes storms change course. Now instead of a little rain, we get a Category One.”
She’d just bet they did.
“There was no tropical storm watch in effect when I made my reservation.” Great. She sounded like a whiney toddler. The guy probably wanted to drop-kick her into the middle of next week.
“No, madame.” He shook his head. “Because the National Hurricane Center only issues them forty-eight hours in advance.”
She’d carried her suitcase down to the lobby, not bothering to wait for a porter. She could do it herself, and there was no point in waiting around. She was ready to leave—but apparently she’d be doing so with every other guest on the island. The lobby was now a scene of well-organized chaos.
The manager gestured toward the line of guests filing toward the motor launches that would take them to the mainland. “Everyone’s leaving. We have a mandatory evacuation.”
The sky was gray and the water none too calm, but she’d seen worse. Tense anticipation filled the air as the fronds of the palm trees whipped and whistled as the wind picked up. A launch provided by the resort was small and sitting low in the water, burdened with guests and luggage. It sure beat swimming for shore, but it was also a potent reminder of why she’d gone DEA instead of Coast Guard. The only boats she liked were cruise-ship-sized, and this one would practically fit in a bathtub.
The first time she’d come to the island she’d flown in and out on the resort’s seaplane. That had been more than six months ago, and plenty had changed since then.
A crewman held out his hand to help her into the launch and she kicked off her flip-flops, surveying the boat as she bent to retrieve them. The blonde from the beach shot her a wan smile, her hand wrapped securely in her husband’s. They didn’t look entirely unhappy though, so maybe being together was enough for them. It was a nice thought, although she couldn’t imagine feeling that way herself. Which was probably why she was standing here all by her lonesome without her not-quite husband. Although in all fairness, she was certain Levi would have accompanied her if she’d asked.
And speaking of the devil...where was Levi? “Where are the other boats?”
The crewman shook his head, and pointed to the manager who was speeding down the dock. “This is the last boat. Everyone is aboard.”
Levi was a big boy and a trained SEAL. Worrying about him was stupid, because the man could definitely take care of himself. Gut churning, she flexed her hands at her sides. Well, apparently she was going to worry, even though he’d probably just slipped past her and she’d missed him.
“Hold the boat.”
The manager gave an audible sigh. “You can’t put a hurricane on pause, madame.”
“Ten minutes,” she promised. “But I don’t see the guy I checked in with. Contact the other boats and verify his presence for me, and I get on this boat.”
She was banking on the resort’s security procedures making it unlikely that they’d leave without her. Abandoning a guest on the island with an incoming storm would make their insurers itchy. Two minutes later, it was clear that Levi was not on any of the other boats. Unless he’d decided to swim for it—and even his Navy SEAL self would have been hard-pressed to make the twenty miles towing a suitcase—he was still on the island. Somewhere.
Eventually the manager—who was clearly anxious to push off and head for the mainland—finished thumbing through his checklist, and miraculously remembered that one of their guests was a security expert and had volunteered to make another sweep of the resort to make sure no one was left behind. That certainly sounded like Levi. Honorable. Protective. Pain in her butt.
She’d be happy to yell at him once she had him on the boat.
“If he was conducting a security sweep, where is he?”
The manager sputtered, eying the increasing chop of the water with understandable concern. She didn’t want to get caught out in the middle of a storm either, but she couldn’t just abandon Levi. She’d do the same for anyone of course. He wasn’t special.
Right?
“Ten minutes,” she repeated, clambering back onto the dock. Behind her the manager bellowed something, the wind whipping his words away. She waved a hand in his direction, and hurried down the dock.
