Clickbait

by Lisa Suzanne

  “I’ve never seen a sunset like this,” I say quietly, breaking into the comfortable silence that stretches between us.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, too, as if we might disrupt the scene if we talk too loudly.

  “Yeah. Indescribable.”

  “High praise coming from a writer,” he says.

  I smile and glance up at him. “It’s rare to find me speechless.”

  He continues to look out over the water, but his eyes are smiling. “So I’ve noticed.”

  After the sunset and the tender kiss that somehow brought me to my knees even more so than the first one, we head back to our table to finish our bottle of wine.

  We talk some more about traveling, and he tells me more about Italy. For once, he isn’t being evasive, but he still doesn’t really tell me anything about himself. He tells me about the food, about the Vatican, about Florence. He talks about the beauty of the Amalfi Coast, the feeling of insignificance he experienced at the Pantheon, and the taste of the best gelato he ever had from a little shop by Trevi Fountain.

  He tells me a lot, but he never mentions who his travel companions were. He doesn’t say when he went or why he traveled there.

  The rest of our evening follows the same pattern.

  I try to get to know him, but instead, he dodges the real stuff and instead turns the conversation back to me.

  I do know he likes pizza, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

  When our bottle of wine is empty and he offers a second one, I nod. The wine is delicious, actually, and the company is…better than I thought it would be.

  I finally admit to myself that I’m starting to like this guy—just a little.

  Not that it matters. For one, he’s from New York. I’ve already tried the long-distance thing, and I won’t do it again. It’s not for everyone, and it’s certainly not for me. It doesn’t matter that he’s shopping San Diego for houses. His legacy is in New York, and as Liam just demonstrated, birds will always flock back to the nest.

  Two, feelings aren’t supposed to get involved here anyway. I’m not going on dates with him because I want a boyfriend. In fact, having a boyfriend might kill the momentum I’ve got going with the blog.

  “Come with me,” he says, standing once our second bottle is empty. I stand and follow, and he takes me on a tour of the boat. He tells me little details as he shows me around, and I learn that it’s a fifty-foot power yacht. It’s got a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room with a huge television, and a bedroom. In the kitchen, we open a third bottle of wine. Tomorrow is going to suck, but tonight…tonight, it’s working for me.

  We leave our glasses in the kitchen and he takes me into the bedroom last. I can’t help but stare down at the queen-size bed.

  I can’t help the naughty thoughts that form in my head.

  Granted, I just met this guy for the first time last week.

  True, I hated him the first time we met—and the second—but he started wearing me down the third and fourth.

  Tonight, though, everything is different.

  I’m not one of those people who says I have to wait a certain number of dates before I’ll have sex. I’m a millennial, a Generation Me, and I fit the mold well. I’m passionate, tech savvy, and adventurous. I’m sweet and kind. I respect my parents and authority figures, even if I challenge them when I think they’re wrong. I’m compassionate and confident, and I can multitask with the best of them.

  I do what I want when I want, and I don’t really care what other people think about it.

  As I stare down a bed made with sheets that most certainly boast a thread count over a thousand on Carter King’s family boat, I most assuredly want to have sex with him.

  The moment is heated as we both gaze at the bed with words left unsaid.

  It’s clear that there’s passion between us; the lust is obvious. The first kiss spilled those beans, and the second told me that the sex wouldn’t just be animalistic, that there might even be some feelings in there, too.

  I want him to lay me out and take charge of my body. I want his mouth, his hands, his body. I want it all and I want it everywhere and I want it now on this bed.

  It’s not the wine mixed with the Dramamine talking here. It’s all me—that’s the effect Carter has on me.

  I feel his eyes on me, but I’m still staring at the bed. I break my gaze and look over at him, and I can’t help my sharp intake of breath at what I see.

  His gaze is hot. His eyes are hooded with desire, and they flick briefly down to my lips before landing back on my eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and that little peek of his tongue sends a bullet of craving right to my core.

  “I wasn’t—” he starts, but he stops himself short and looks away, breaking the heated moment between us. “I didn’t plan on this,” he finally mutters.

  “On what?” I press.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I like you, Courtney.”

  I smirk. “Well I still kind of hate you.”

  He laughs. “I know. You’re just so…so…” His smile fades as he searches for the word.

  I take a step closer to him. “So what?” I whisper.

  “So unpredictable.” He shakes his head. “So goddamn annoying.” He closes the small gap between us and gets right in my face. “And so fucking sexy that I feel like if I don’t kiss you in the next five seconds, I might die.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” I murmur, and then his lips come hurtling down to mine.

  He wasn’t lying.

  He’s kissing me like he needs me to survive, like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe, the drink to quench his thirst, the sustenance to sustain his life. It’s erotic and searing, this kiss, and it’s so completely different from the first two. The first one was to prove a point, a response to my blog post. It was hot and it took me down, but it wasn’t like this. The second one was sweet, romantic.

  This one? This is one for the books. It’s passionate. It’s fiery. It’s all-consuming and blistering.

  His hand dives into my hair, and he uses it to hold my head in place. His other hand finds my hip, and he pulls me so our bodies crash together. I feel him against me. His whole body is hard, but one area stands above the rest. He wants me, and he’s shoving his hips into me to prove it.

  I don’t want to tell him no. I want him, too. If this much dynamite explodes just from his kiss, I can’t imagine the sex.

  I don’t care that we’re in the middle of our second date.

  This is going to happen.

  He guides us toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. I feel the edge of the bed hit the back of my legs, and I allow myself to fall back as I put my trust in this guy I hardly know. Maybe it’s because he’s related to Axel, someone I do know well; maybe that makes it all okay.

  He holds me and catches me, letting me land gently on the bed as he comes down with me. I kick off my shoes, glad I wore heels without straps. He’s hovering over me, his hand now trailing upward. He finds my breast and massages it gently with those long, perfect fingers, and I moan to encourage him. His hands on my body feel so good, like I’ve never been touched by a real man before.

  Maybe I haven’t. The sex with Liam was excellent and the sex with Harrison was amazing, but one touch from Carter and I’m a puddle on the floor. Just his kiss is better than any sex I’ve ever had in my life, and we’re not even to the really good stuff yet.

  I don’t want to wait any longer. I gently push him off me and he gives me a confused look before I grab the hem of my dress. He grins in appreciation before helping me tear it off over my head. He stares down at me for a minute, clearly appreciating the view. I’m wearing a lacy navy bra and panty set, one of the things I treat myself to. I feel pretty when I’m wearing pretty underwear.

  I tug at his shirt, no words needed. His eyes move away from my tits and up to my eyes. It’s like he was in a trance, and it broke when I tugged on his shirt.

  He quickly
removes his shirt and tosses it on the ground, and there are those abs I’ve spent so much time ogling on the internet.

  Good God, they’re even prettier in person. They’re all carved and toned and just perfect. They’re tan from his time in the California sun, and they taper down to those hip flexor muscles that make all women everywhere drool. It’s like God decided he was going to make the most perfect specimen of the male body and as a result, he sent forth Carter King.

  I make a mental note to include that in my blog post in the morning—and holy HELL am I going to have a field day writing this post.

  Once his shirt is off, I nod toward his pants, too. He chuckles. “I’m, uh…going commando. Are we ready for that step?” He has the decency to look a little embarrassed.

  I nod. I want to giggle, but I want him to bury whatever’s underneath those pants inside of me more.

  “Yeah,” I say softly. “We’re ready.”

  I take a deep breath as he unbuckles his belt, pops his button, and lowers his zipper. He drops his pants, and holy mother fucker, he’s perfect. Every inch of him is divine. He’s thick and hard, and just seeing his gorgeous body in its naked glory is enough to soak my panties.

  Not that it matters, because after giving me only milliseconds to appreciate his fine form, he’s yanking my panties down my legs while I wrestle with the hook of my bra. It’s like I can’t get naked fast enough, and I hope that’s not a precursor of a quick fuck.

  Luckily, it’s not.

  Our clothes are gone, and before he settles into the bed, he picks up his pants, pulls out his wallet, and takes out a condom.

  His eyes meet mine, and there’s another touch of sheepishness in his. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Always prepared,” he says with a boyish grin, and I can’t help but smile back.

  “I’m glad,” I say, because let’s be honest, a guy who looks like he does should probably always be ready for girls to drop their panties around him.

  He strokes himself a few times, and achy need pools low in my belly as I watch him. He stops and rolls on the condom, and it’s game on when he pounces.

  I can’t help my giggle as he literally jumps onto the bed over me. He manages to avoid hitting me, but he’s grinning down at me and lands with his legs on either side of my body.

  “That seems practiced,” I say.

  He shrugs and shoots a wolfish grin at me, and that ache between my legs intensifies. He lowers his face toward mine and murmurs quietly, “Wait ’til you see what else I’ve practiced.”

  His mouth covers mine, and there’s no more conversation. He doesn’t even touch me first before he readjusts his legs and then pushes himself in, and he doesn’t use his hands to guide himself in like every other guy I’ve been with. No, it’s like his dick is another hand of its own, and let me just tell you, my God does he know how to use that third hand of his.

  He moves himself all the way in, and my body clamps onto him like I never want to let him go.

  “Fuck, Court, you feel so good,” he mutters nearly incoherently as I let out a low wail of pleasure. I can’t even form words at this point, not with our bodies connected. He starts to move, and my eyes roll back into my head as he drives his body into mine over and over and over.

  It’s heaven. He hits every pleasure point, and then he lowers his head to take my nipple into his mouth while he fucks me. He grabs at my breast and pulls it to meet his mouth at a weird angle. The way he’s going after it, it’s like he needs it in his mouth to live, and all it does is accelerate my need for him. He’s somehow rough and tender at the same time. I feel the quaking start in my thighs as he drives me closer and closer to my release. I’m teetering on the edge of the Epic Quake, and then he pulls out abruptly and unexpectedly.

  “Jesus,” he mutters. “I need a second or I’m not gonna last much longer.”

  “Get the fuck back inside,” I say through gritted teeth. I was so damn close and he pulls this shit?

  He chuckles. “You look really angry.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I know.” He growls and then picks me up like I weigh nothing. He plants me on his lap, impaling me with his dick as he sets me down. His hands remain under my ass, and he lifts and lowers me over and over. We’re both grunting some kind of rambling sounds. My eyes roll back again in pleasure as we pick up right where we left off, except now his face is literally at tit level, and he’s burying his face in them instead of grabbing them at strange angles.

  The angle doesn’t matter, though, because everything he does to my body is pure magic.

  I feel his fingertips under my ass as they squeeze, and then one of his fingers starts to trail over to the no-fly zone. My body clenches automatically, and he starts to tremor beneath me. “Oh fuck,” he yells, and he thrusts up as hard and far into me as he can, like he’s trying to bury himself all the way in so he can’t ever come out again. His Epic Quake sends me into my own Epic Quake. I shudder fiercely and furiously as I come. And come.

  And come.

  It’s like a never-ending orgasm, and it wears me the fuck out.

  He lifts my ass and pulls out of me before laying me down on the bed, and then he collapses beside me.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. I close my eyes because I’m so physically spent. I’m so satisfied and I feel like I can’t move and I don’t ever want to move anyway.

  You know that cake that they call Better than Sex Cake?

  Whoever named it that obviously never had sex with Carter King.

  * * *

  I’m disoriented when I open my eyes. It’s bright in here, but I can tell right away it’s not from natural light.

  An overhead light is on, as well as a bedside lamp. All I can see out the little porthole window is inky blackness.

  It all hits me at once—the nausea from the sea rocking the boat, all the wine I put down, having sex with Carter King.

  I’m about to throw up, and I don’t even really remember where to go to do that.

  I bolt upright in the bed. I’m alone, which is actually a good thing considering how I feel at the moment.

  There’s a cup of water on the nightstand next to the bottle of Dramamine. I hate the little squeeze my heart feels at his thoughtfulness.

  I draw in a deep breath as I open the pill bottle. I should probably check the time so I’m not overdosing on nausea meds, but I’m desperate for this feeling to go away.

  I take one, and then I take tiny sips of the water and pair my sips with deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.

  The seasickness starts to dissipate, but the grogginess from the wine and the nausea over what we did are still pressing strong.

  I’m not sure when using Carter for his connections actually turned into wanting Carter for more than just that delectable body, but it definitely happened.

  Does it really matter at this point? So I started with intentions that weren’t necessarily the most innocent; he never has to know that.

  It’s dumb that I’m not just giving in to what I want, anyway. I can’t use the blog as an excuse for the real issue here: my fear. I’m terrified of getting hurt. That’s why I’ve never really had a serious boyfriend before. It’s why I didn’t allow myself to invest in someone who moved to a different state. It’s why I use my blog to hurt the people who hurt me. It may be entertainment for my readers, but it’s therapy for me.

  I close my eyes and draw in another breath.

  “She’s awake.” Carter’s voice breaks into my cleansing breath.

  I open my eyes and notice that—to my extreme disappointment—he has put his clothes back on. “Was I out long?”

  He shakes his head. “Half hour maybe.”

  “Thanks for the water.”

  “I felt a little dehydrated myself after that workout.”

  I chuckle, warring with myself over saying what I really want to say—that I’m ready for round two. Ultimately good sense wins out over my
libido, which is a rare occurrence.

  “That was…fun,” I say.

  He nods. “We’re back at the marina. I’ve got Martin on standby.”

  A shot of disappointment lances through me. I brush it off before he can see it on my face. I don’t even know where it came from, and I don’t like it.

  “Great. Get me the hell off this boat.”

  His brows draw together. He’s not as good at hiding his disappointment as I am.

  “I just meant because of the nausea,” I clarify, tapping the bottle of Dramamine.

  He nods as understanding lights his face. “Not because of the company, then?”

  “If you would’ve asked me that yesterday—or, hell, even today before, you know…” I trail off and motion in front of me at the bed. “I would’ve had a different answer, but I had a nice time tonight, King.”

  He chuckles. “That’s good, Sanders, because I’m taking you out again.”

  “Oh? When and where are you taking me out?”

  He walks over to my side of the bed and reaches out his hand to help me up. “Tomorrow.”

  I stand. “And what if I have plans tomorrow?”

  He moves in close to me, his face inches from mine. “You’ll cancel them.”

  When he’s this close, I have a hard time concentrating. I have an even harder time trying to come up with a witty and clever response. “What if I don’t want to?”

  He lowers his head so his mouth is close to my ear. He brushes his lips against the shell of my ear before he whispers, “I’m pretty sure you won’t miss another session of me inserting my wand in your chamber of secrets.”

  “You did not just say that to me.”

  He grins that same boyish grin that hit me right in the orgasm button a little earlier, and I can’t help my giggle.

  “Fine. I’ll cancel my plans, but you need to work on your euphemisms for sex.”

  “I think I feel a Fast Five from a guest writer coming your way.”