by Whitley Cox
I wasn’t in the sauna five minutes when the door opened.
“Nothing like a nice bake after a refreshing swim, eh? Limber up the muscles for the day to come?” He sauntered in with the practiced swagger of a playboy, his towel slung over his shoulders and faint goggle lines rimming bright eyes. But I barely took notice of any of that. It was the tight black Speedo that left absolutely nothing to the imagination that had me practically swallowing my tongue and suffering from quick-onset dry mouth.
I nodded only to hastily look away. “Uh . . . yeah. H-how many laps do you do?”
“A hundred.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.” He took a seat one bench below me and a tad over. He brought his water bottle up and took a healthy swig. My eyes fell back to the tattoo. It looked like a series of black swirls and etchings and patterned lines. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I couldn’t draw my eyes away. His skin practically glowed from the water and his muscles flexed and bunched as he continued to chug. I swallowed and licked my lips. I wanted to trace that entire tattoo with my finger. No, wait, with my tongue! Yeah, my tongue. I wanted to lick every square inch of that gorgeous ink. I watched as his throat jogged with his swallow. Damn, even that was sexy, and of course, I’d forgotten to pack a water bottle.
“You want some?” he offered, lifting the bottle to me.
I took it from him. “Thanks.”
Why did I get a sudden rush knowing that my lips were going to be touching where his lips had just touched? We’d already kissed. Hell, we’d done more than just kiss. But the idea of drinking from Tate’s water bottle was turning me on. Not to mention that Speedo of his, and that sexy as hell tattoo, and his abs, and his pecs, and his biceps and legs . . .
“So, you swim a hundred laps, every day?” I asked again, feeling the need to make chit-chat, otherwise I was just going to continue staring at his body, let my fantasies run wild, inevitably start to drool and possibly have a spontaneous orgasm. Yeah, chit-chat, harmless, boring, sexual-tension-free chit-chat was a must. Reluctantly, I handed him back the bottle and then, damn it, my eyes fell back down to his crotch.
Get it together, woman!
“Yep. It’s a great way to start the day. Though, sometimes I take Sundays off.”
I shook my head. “Were you a swimmer. Like in college?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I was on the swim team in university. Qualified for the Olympics even, but that was right around the time my uncle got really sick, so I bowed out and went to take care of him.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s very noble of you.”
Lifting one shoulder casually, he made an indifferent face, as if the past was the past and he didn’t want to talk about it, or didn’t want to draw attention to his compassion; either way, I was drawn to his modesty. To his quiet power and the immense force it wielded. The man was a magnate, a billionaire, and yet he still seemed to be so humble and down-to-earth. The Richie Riches I hung out with in Xavier’s circle never would have given up an Olympic dream or even a business opportunity to go and take care of a sick relative; they’d have just hired out the job. But not Tate. Tate was different.
“In the end it was for the best,” he said with a sigh. “I prefer to swim to keep fit, and that’s it. The training regime was insane.”
Now I didn’t know what to say. No matter how hard I tried to look elsewhere, my eyes just kept drifting from his back to the front of his bathing suit and the bulge that sat there tempting me. I knew what was hidden inside, a serpent . . . and like Eve and that damn apple, one taste was not going to be enough.
“Wh-what is your tattoo?” I asked, desperate to take the thoughts that were currently cannoning off one another in my head out of the bloody gutter. Fat chance of that. I’d jumped headfirst into the gutter the moment I asked this hunk of a man to take me to heaven and back in a bloody broom closet.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s Samoan. It symbolizes the ocean and waves. These here,” he ran his long, capable fingers over a well-defined shoulder blade, “these are meant to be sharks’ teeth. Which is fitting, considering that early on in my diving career, I was attacked by a tiger shark.” He spun around to show me his full, perfect body and then pointed to a series of scars on his left hip. “See, teeth marks.”
My eyes went wide. “Oh my God. You were okay, though?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah, it wasn’t a very big tiger shark, just an aggressive one.”
I licked my lips again, the urge to trace my fingers over every line of the stunning ink work making my hand twitch. I lifted my thigh and tucked my fingers beneath my leg to stop myself from reaching out. “Well, it’s beautiful.”
A dangerously sexy smile spread across his face. “Thanks. A buddy of mine, he’s Samoan, and when I went to visit his family with him a few years ago, he took me to his uncles’s tattoo shop and I had it done. I wasn’t sure about getting something so cultural on my body, especially since I’m not Samoan, but Malakai was insistent. He says I’m family, and even though I’m as white as they come, he knows how deeply embedded French Polynesia is in my heart.” His Adam’s apple bobbed heavy in his throat at the mention of family. “It was an honor.”
I looked down at my thighs. The silence between us was deafening, as was the pounding of my pulse inside my ears. Not to mention the voices in my head that were screaming at me to touch him, hell, they were telling me to do more than just touch him.
“You know,” he started, making my head snap up from where I’d been staring to blatantly at his crotch, “I don’t see why we can’t make the most of your time here. Make one another feel good for the next ten days. You said you’re coming off a rough breakup, and I’m unattached. Isn’t it pretty much necessary to have an endless stream of mind-blowing, meaningless sex after you break up with someone?”
An endless stream of mind-blowing, meaningless sex?
No matter how hot the sauna was, my cheeks were hotter.
He moved over on the bench and pushed himself up, his forearms flexing with the weight of having to hold up his body. A second later, he was next to me on the bench.
“I mean, if you say ‘no,’ I’ll obviously respect your decision and back off.” His lips twisted, and he reached out and fingered a strand of my damp hair. “But something tells me you’re not totally sure if you want to say ‘no.’ Am I right?” His voice was dark and low, almost gravelly. It kissed across my skin, licking and biting, tasting and teasing and I wasn’t even touching him.
I swallowed and squeezed my thighs together, biting back a whimper from the ache I felt deep in my belly and my swollen clit.
“Quick and dirty, wasn’t that what you said?” His voice now tortured me. Every word, every syllable sent shards of need directly to my erogenous zones and made them spark alive.
All I could do was nod as I watched a sinfully delicious bead of sweat emerge on his sculpted upper lip. I wanted to lick it off; I wanted to lick every damn inch of the man.
“Well, ten days is quick, and what I’d like to do to you is all kinds of dirty, so . . . ” His eyes flicked up to mine while his hand landed on my bare thigh and squeezed. I inhaled abruptly from the heat of his touch. I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t control it, they had a bloody life of their own; my eyes drifted down once again to his crotch. I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth and watched as the bulge in his Speedo started to grow, lying thick and eager against his pelvic bone, desperate to break free of its Lycra prison.
Oh my freaking God.
“Tate . . . ” I breathed, unable to form a complete sentence, let alone a complete thought.
“You can say ‘no,’ Parker.”
He stood up on the bench below and positioned himself in front of me, spreading my legs and moving into the V. His fingers made their way up my thighs and waist, finally resting on my shoulders, hooking beneath the straps of my swimsuit.
“Say ‘no,’ Parker, and I’ll stop right now.”
Slowly, excruciatingly so, he drew the
damp straps of my suit over my arms, exposing my breasts, then my stomach. His eyes drifted up to mine for a second before he bent his head low and latched on to a nipple, drawing the tender bud between his teeth and tugging. I arched my back to give him better access, my eyes fluttering shut like a vintage doll’s as a moan built in the back of my throat. Dear God, the man’s mouth was diabolical. Hot and wet and so freaking wonderful. His tongue flicked over the achy bud, and I choked on a sob.
“Tell me ‘no,’ ” he said again, moving over to the other nipple and delivering the same erotic torment. “Tell me ‘no.’ ”
I buried my hands in his hair and pulled his head up. His gaze snagged mine.
“No,” I breathed, tugging on his scalp just hard enough to make his eyes go wide in surprise. “No. Don’t stop.” I smashed my lips against his and wedged his mouth open so I could ram my tongue inside, taking what he was offering and then some. Our tongues plunged and swirled in a hypnotic dance all their own, exploring the deep recesses of each other’s mouths while teeth gently nipped and hands roamed and deftly removed clothing (not that he had much). Once we were naked, he backed away, and I mewled in discontent before I could stop myself.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said matter-of-factly.
My face fell. Then what the hell were we starting?
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you scream.” Then, without any further ado, he knelt down on the wooden bench, spread me wide and dove in, ears deep.
I nearly came on the spot. Xavier had never been an overly generous lover, not that he didn’t go down on me, but when he did, it wasn’t for long. He’d claimed I wasn’t adventurous in bed, but when it came to sex, the man liked three positions: missionary, spoon, and me on my knees. So to have a man like Tate, a man I hardly knew, eat me out with such fervor and fascination was enough of a high to send me to the moon and back multiple times over. His energy was endless, and the claim he had over me, his possession of my body, was overwhelming. I wanted this man more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted his hands all over my body, his mouth on my breasts. I wanted everything and all at once; I wanted it all. Within minutes, I found myself gyrating against his face, loving the way his beard scratched my throbbing lips and inner thighs as he lapped at my core, drinking down my juices and groaning as I poured my arousal into his mouth. Using two well-placed fingers, he stroked my inner walls while his tongue ran circles around my swollen and needy clit.
I began to lose focus on the rhythm, and my hips jerked randomly, weak from having to keep my thighs spread and on his shoulders. I tried to delay my destination just a little longer, enjoy the journey and the wicked pleasure this talented man was giving me, but it all just felt too good, too damn good. Another finger probed my core, and then he did something no one had ever done before; he drew his chin up between my lips and rubbed his beard against my clit. The pain, the new sensation, the pleasure, oh God, the pleasure, so much pleasure, it was all too much—I detonated.
My hands found their way back into his hair, and I pulled on the ends, shoving his face deeper into my pussy, wanting more of the delicious torture, wanting him to get his fill, to get my fill. I heard him growl between my legs, and an arm came up and hooked around my waist, the fingers making their way to the top of my mound. He spread my lips wide and rubbed his chin up and down again, making filthy little circles around my clit until the nub was swollen and hard and I came again.
I shook like I was having a seizure. Every nerve ending and synapse fired at the same time as the rapture roared through me in growing waves. From the tips of my toes to the top of my head and back again, I was lost to the moment, to the endless parade of exquisite sensations eclipsing me. I was lost in Tate.
Finally, after what felt like hours, if not days, he popped his head up, a Cheshire cat-like grin on his face, his lips and the whiskers on his chin glistening with my release. I reached for him and pulled him down to me, swiveling around so I was laying down on the bench and he was on top of me. His cock was notched at my core, while his arm muscles bunched and bulged with the weight of his big frame.
Tate shook his head. “I don’t have a condom, Parker.”
I nodded and swallowed. “I know . . . I just . . . ”
A smirk caught on the corner of his kissable mouth. “Just the tip?”
My nod was frantic; I thought my neck might snap. “Y-yeah . . . j-just the tip . . . please. I am clean and on the pill . . . ”
His pupils dilated until there was nothing but black in his eyes. “I’m clean, too,” he said, lifting his hips up with a grunt. Then before I could blink, he slammed into me.
Chapter Four
When I got back to my villa, there was already breakfast waiting for me. A plate of fresh tropical fruit, toast, poached eggs and fresh coffee. I didn’t even remember ordering room service, but then perhaps it just came with the villa, much like my all-access pass to the grounds. Or maybe Tate had ordered for me, I honestly didn’t know. But either way I dove right in, as I was famished from swimming . . . and other rigorous activities.
I was still getting over the jet lag and time difference, so at Tate’s suggestion I was going to spend the morning at the spa, getting pampered and massaged into butter, then wander around the grounds during the afternoon interviewing staff and checking things out. Followed, of course, by the remainder of the day spent lounging by the pool or on the beach working on my tan. Just because I was technically working didn’t mean I couldn’t indulge in the hot sun and the flattering bikinis I’d packed.
I was just coming out of the spa, feeling like a new me, with pink paint on my toes, a fresh face and limber limbs when I was snatched by the wrist and hauled across the hallway, a hand firmly held in front of my mouth. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. I tried to catch a glimpse of my captor, but he had me in such a tight grip I was locked solid staring straight ahead.
A door was opened, and I was ushered into complete darkness. Holy crap, I was being kidnapped! I kicked and punched at my assailant but kept getting air and no contact.
Oh my God, I was going to die.
I could see the headline now: Xavier Rollins’ Ex Found Dead on Tropical Beach. No name. No details. Because in the end, I didn’t matter. I was just Xavier’s ex. That was all. Would anyone even miss me? But then the panic inside my veins ramped up. I was at a resort for the elite; no way in hell would Tate let my murder or death get out. I’d be tossed out into the middle of the ocean to cover up the scandal. Fish food. Shark bait. Would anyone come looking for me? Would my mother start to wonder and ask questions? I really didn’t call her that often; it might be months before she started to worry. My heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and I thought I might pass out from how heavy I was breathing. This was it. I was going to die. At least if they did find my body, they’d find it with perfectly pedicured toes and freshly exfoliated skin . . . that is, if the fish didn’t eat my flesh first. A very inappropriate giggle bubbled in my chest. Jeez, Parker. This is NOT the time to laugh.
Suddenly the hand on my mouth left only to be immediately replaced by lips. Sensuous lips, sexy lips, lips I was coming to know very well.
My body instantly began to relax as curious hands roamed across my freshly scrubbed skin. They pushed the slit of my robe wider, and fingers delved into my core. Among other things, like a pedicure, body scrub and facial, I’d also allowed the esthetician at the spa to give me a waxing. It’d been a while, and things were getting a tad “overgrown.” I heard him inhale when he found me hairless, followed by a growl of approval.
It was wild. Our bodies raged at each other in the darkness, hands and mouths exploring and caressing while his beard chafed my cheeks and his teeth nipped at my lips until I was sure they were bruised.
“You’re insatiable,” I whispered as he slid two fingers inside me. “Twice in the sauna . . . and now.”
“I’m under your spell, Miss Ryan.” He hauled me away from the wall a few steps, turn
ed me around and pushed my head down until I was bent in a ninety-degree angle, my hands braced on something hard like a bench or wooden chest. I heard the quick zip of his zipper and the swish of pants dropping to the ground followed by the tear of a condom wrapper. We hadn’t used one in the sauna, but I could understand his need to not want to make a mess in here… wherever we were.
Two fingers trailed through my slit, drawing my wetness up and around my lips. He plunged those fingers inside me, scissoring back and forth while continuing to pump. I squeezed my muscles around him and rode his hand, loving the way he felt, but wanting more. He read me like a book, and soon the fingers from his other hand were alternating between rough circles and dirty pinches on my swelling clit. I moaned from how good it felt, how good being with Tate felt. The excitement of him whisking me off to have sex, pretending to kidnap me only to then worship my body a few seconds later, making it hum and cry out for more—it was intoxicating. No man had ever treated me like this. No man had ever desired me this way. Made me feel craved and needed. He was a master at seduction, and for the next ten days I was going to let him seduce the bejesus out of me.
“Fuck me,” I panted, my breasts jiggling beneath me as I swayed in his hands, lightheaded from how incredible it all was. My orgasm right around the corner. “Now!”
Slowly he withdrew his fingers, and although I knew what was coming next, I couldn’t help the whimper that passed my lips when I was suddenly devoid of his touch. Firm and nimble fingers gripped my hips, kneading and massaging. I pressed into his hands, breathless and desperate for him to take me.
“PLEASE!”
“Oh, God!” He grabbed his cock, angled it at my cleft and then sheathed himself to the hilt in one solid thrust. “Oh fuuuuck,” he sighed.
