“Oh my God. What was that?”
I stroke my hands reassuringly over the curve of her back, as I chuckle softly. “You squirted. Perfectly normal.”
“There was nothing remotely normal about that,” she says, still breathless, but I can hear the smile in her voice. With firm hands, I massage her ass cheeks, spreading them open in the process. She lifts her head, her fingers flexing uselessly as she struggles to move her bound arms.
“Liam. I—”
“Shh.” I stroke her hair and her skin slowly I guide my cock into her dripping pussy.
“Ooh.” It’s an exhalation of relief as much as pleasure.
I slowly slide my cock in and out of her, setting a leisurely pace. With each fuckstroke, the tip of my cock rubs her still sensitive G-spot as the pressure builds in her again. I move with deliberate slowness, pacing it just enough to keep her on the brink of another orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge.
“Liam, will you fuck me for God’s sake…” Her voice is husky and tinged with desperate need.
“Just trying to follow your instructions,” I drawl. “You did say you wanted to take it slow.”
Mindless with need, she does what she does best—she tries to take control of the situation. Using the only leverage she has—her legs—she pushes back against me, trying to force me deeper, faster. Holding her hips, I kick her feet out from under her and yank her back against me hard enough to make her gasp. Completely in control, I continue with a slow and steady pace until her need crescendos to a point where I know she can’t take it too much longer. And to be honest, neither can I. I want to make it last as long as possible, but she’s making it damn near impossible.
I gather her hair into a ponytail in my hand and pull her up to a standing position, turning her to face me. Her eyes are glazed, her lips parted, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat just above her upper lip. Slowly, I run my tongue along the salty sweetness. As much as I love watching her ass move and wiggle, and as much as I love keeping her off balance and at the mercy of whatever pace and depth I decide, I want to see her face. I want to see her eyes half closed, and that ghost of a smile right before she comes.
Her eyes widen, then darken as I lead her out to the terrace. There’s no chance anyone will see us—we’re at the edge of the resort, and there’s nothing but black jungle beyond the balcony—but I like the little flare of panic that flashes in her eyes as she looks around. I suppress a smile at her sense of exposure, and the realization that everything that’s happening is beyond her control, which judging by her erect nipples, flushed face, and sheen of wetness between her thighs, is exactly what she wants.
I sit down on one of the cushioned chairs and turn her so she’s facing me, I pull her onto my lap. She’s straddling me now, her wet and dripping pussy pressing against me, my rock-hard cock nestled between her lips. She moves her hips automatically, grinding against my hardness as she makes those needy little noises I’m coming to love.
I pull her toward me. Our lips touch. Part. An exhalation of coming home as we breathe life and fire and love into each other. We pull apart, staring into the others eyes, and then we both slowly smile.
With a knowing look, she tosses her head and arches her back, daring me to capture the tight little buds that are begging for my attention. I grab one between my thumb and forefinger, pulling gently as my mouth closes over the other, sucking it into my mouth. My tongue presses against the hardened little nub, pressing it to the roof of my mouth as I flick the tip. She groans and wiggles in my lap, her juices now flowing over my cock, making us both wet and slippery.
Lifting her hips slightly, I pull her onto me just enough so that the tip of me parts her lips, so I’m nestled at her wet opening.
“Untie my hands!” There’s a breathless urgency in her husky voice.
“So you can take over? I don’t think so.” I grasp her nipple between my teeth and tug as I lower her another inch, sliding a little deeper into her heat. I know the restraint, the complete vulnerability makes her even wetter.
With a moan, she throws her head back. I hold her there, giving her a minute to feel helpless, to feel my cock stretching her, to feel the emptiness that only I can fill. Then, inch by inch, I guide her all the way down until I’m fully sheathed in her velvet heat, filling her so completely that she can feel each twitch and pulse of my cock.
“I won’t take over. I promise. I’ve learned my lesson.” I pinch her nipple and her sweet little pussy throbs in response, squeezing my cock. This time it’s my turn to groan. Suddenly, I want to feel her hands on me, her fingernails digging into my shoulders as she convulses around me, her fingers threaded in my hair as she holds on for dear life.
With her resting in my lap, impaled on my thick shaft, I reach behind her and quickly untie her hands. I hold each wrist, gently rubbing the rope indentations with my thumbs before kissing each one at that tender area on the underside where the very pulse of her heart beats.
Then her hands are in my hair, her lips on mine, and our tongues are fervently tangling, probing, tasting, as if we can’t get enough. Buried in her sweet heat like this, our bodies and mouths so intimately joined, gives me the uncanny feeling of being home.
Somewhere in the midst of our kiss, I start lifting her up and down on my cock—guiding, controlling, setting the pace. And she lets me. She gives herself to me without reservation, even when my finger slips around to tease her bottom, lightly pressing at the tight little whirl there. Although she does bite my lip—a subtle little reminder that my little minx won’t hesitate to push back occasionally.
And then she’s coming again, completely lost in my touch, her body spasming as she rides an endless wave, finally free from the sand that keeps her grounded. I come, too, my cock pulsing long after she’s collapsed against my chest and my arms have gone around her, pulling her close as I wish for this night to go on forever.
Later, after I had scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the bedroom where I’d laid her on the bed and gently cleaned her with a warm washcloth, I stretch out next to her, gathering her to my chest as I pull the covers up over us.
“I think it’s safe to say I tamed you, sweetheart,” I say with more than a hint of pride in my voice.
She snuggles in closer. “For tonight.” I can feel the curve of her lips against my chest and I pull her closer.
“Oh yeah?” I nuzzle her ear, and she giggles.
“Yeah. I didn’t even need a safe word.”
“We can remedy that next time.” I stroke her hair, wanting to say more, to tell her how much this night has meant to me—how much she means to me—but her deep and even breathing indicates she’s asleep.
…
“Wake up.” I gently shake Charlotte.
“Fuck you.” Her words are muffled under the pillow she’s jammed over her head.
I sigh. I didn’t want to do this, but she’s left me no choice. I yank the covers off, stopping for a minute to appreciate her gorgeous naked body against the white sheet—all lightly tanned, smooth skin and sweet curves—before smacking her ass lightly.
She lifts the pillow, opens one eye to squint at me, and smiles slowly. “Ooh! I get it. This is how you get me to use a safe word? Fine. Fuck you.” As an afterthought, she adds impudently, “Sir.”
I laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. ‘Fuck you, sir’ is not a safe word.” She wiggles her ass at me provocatively. She looks gorgeously sleep rumpled and utterly fuckable, and I glance at my watch briefly before growling, “You’re lucky we have to be out of here in the next fifteen minutes.”
She sits up and stretches unselfconsciously, completely unaffected by the fact that I’m standing next to the bed completely dressed. On second thought, I think as she shoots me a decidedly wicked look, she may look unaffected, but she knows exactly what effect she’s having on me. “Oh yeah? What would you do?”
“Tame that mouth of yours, the same way I tamed the rest of you last night.”
“
My mouth is much unrulier than the rest of me.” Oh yeah. There’s definitely a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Oh, I can image.” I lean over and, bracing my arms on either side of her, kiss her hard. “I already warned you about waving those red flags, baby. You going to put your money where your mouth is?”
Giggling, she ducks out from under my arm, but I catch her by the waist. She pummels me with the pillow that’s still in her hand, but I don’t let go of her. I easily grab the pillow out of her hand and cup her jaw with my hand, pressing on her chin until her mouth opens. Her smile fades and her eyes darken. “Fuck, baby,” I say before descending on her mouth. What is it about her that makes me want her so badly?
I break the kiss, shaking my head. Unfortunately, we don’t have time for all the things I want to do to that mouth. I waited as long as possible before waking her up since neither of us got much sleep last night, and it took a good ten minutes of nudging her and cajoling her before she woke up enough to cuss me out.
“We better go. The plane will be waiting for us.”
It doesn’t take either of us long to get ready. Charlotte takes a quick shower, but she’s ready in the requisite fifteen minutes, her hair still damp, and hanging in dark tendrils around her heart-shaped face. It’s still dark when we slip out of the villa, headed to the Guadalajara airport.
“Here we are,” I announce as I pull the rental car onto the tarmac and park next to a Gulfstream 450.
“What do you mean? Don’t we have to go into the airport?”
“Nope. I chartered a private jet. Not only will it get us to Malaysia in about ten hours instead of twenty-four, saving us valuable time, it’ll also be much easier to stay under the radar without anyone seeing us. And with any luck, I’ll have some guns to bring back with me. It’s going to be a lot easier to get them into Mexico on a private jet.”
“Don’t we have to go through security?”
“Sort of. Here he comes now.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my backpack as the airport official, toting a machine gun, strides toward the car. “Act natural,” I say under my breath as I open the car door.
Charlotte follows my lead, playing the part of the newlywed wife to perfection. After taking a perfunctory glance at our passports, he gives a swift nod of his head, says a few words to the pilot in Spanish, and we’re clear to board.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Walsh. I’m Captain Jorge León. Captain Martinez and First Officer Olivares will be flying with us today. Please make yourselves comfortable while I ready for takeoff.”
“Why are there three pilots?” Charlotte whispers as we make our way into the cabin.
“FAA regulations. You have to have three or more pilots for a flight longer than twelve hours, which this one could be, depending on the wind. And a flight attendant too.”
“How are we going to join the mile-high club if there’s a flight attendant?”
“We’ll figure out a way. Maybe we’ll snuggle under a blanket on the bed and—”
“Bed? What do you—”
Charlotte stops in her tracks, temporarily speechless as she takes in the luxurious interior of the jet. The first section consists of four plush leather recliners clustered together to make a roomy seating area, each with its own small flat screen. Behind them, a table is set with a white tablecloth, crystal wineglasses, and china plates. Just beyond the dining area, two long leather divans in the same soft, dove-gray leather, which can be folded down into a bed, face each other, scattered with a few decorative pillows. Twelve portholes make the small space bright and airy, and wood finishes on the table surfaces and storage bins lend the entire space a luxurious feel.
“Close your mouth, sweetheart, or I’ll be tempted to put something in it.”
Her mouth closes with a snap. “Stop,” she whispers, her cheeks blushing as her eyes cut over to the flight attendant, who has just entered the cabin. “She’ll hear you.”
I laugh and lean forward to kiss her again. She’s adorable when she goes all prim and proper librarian on me. “Maybe we’ll invite her to watch,” I whisper in her ear, grinning to myself as she flushes an even deeper red. Grabbing her hand, I say, “Let’s go check out the cockpit.”
The pilots jump up to greet me when I stick my head in the cockpit, and while they’re patronizing at first, the more questions I ask—about fuselage, wind shear, and cruising altitudes—the more professional their demeanor becomes. I’m sure I’m coming across as the dickhead rich guy, but I hate not being in control of the plane. If I’ve got to trust a couple of guys I don’t know to fly us over the Pacific, I’m at least going to make damned sure they know what they’re doing and the plane is equipped for the trip.
Back in the cabin of the jet, I guide Charlotte to one of the sofas and, sitting side by side, we buckle ourselves in. The flight attendant introduces herself and tells us to let her know if we’d like a drink or food prepared, and then she goes to ready herself for takeoff. I don’t even realize I’m drumming my fingers on the sofa until Charlotte covers my hand with hers. I turn my palm up, closing my fingers around her hand.
“Nervous?” she says.
“What, me? Of flying? Hell no! I have my own pilot’s license and have flown planes smaller than this over people shooting at us.”
“Yes, but you were the one at the controls then.”
“Yeah…so?”
With a laugh, she threads her fingers with mine and says smugly, “You’re a control freak, just like me.”
I tap her nose. “Only when it comes to your naked body.”
“Sorry. Your gig is up. I know your secret. You like to be in control of things just as much as I do. Except instead of making lists, you’ve just made yourself an untouchable badass who can do anything—handle anything—without any help from anyone.”
Damn. Is she right? Before I can come up with some smart-ass answer, the pilot tells us we’re cleared for takeoff and the plane starts taxiing down the runway. Her grip tightens. When I look at her face, it’s pale, and her eyes are scrunched closed.
“Hey. Are you scared to fly?”
She opens one eye. “Maybe? I’ve only flown once before, when we went to Playa del Carmen, and we were doing shots so that kind of helped.” The plane lifts off and she squeezes my hand tightly. “Okay. Yes. I’m scared. This is a really small plane. And we don’t know anything about those pilots. We’re flying to Malaysia! Over the ocean! So much can go wrong!”
I lean forward and kiss her gently. “If anything happens, I’m completely capable of kicking all three of their asses and flying the plane myself, okay? Stop worrying. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” Her voice is a strained whisper.
I’m counting on us getting some sleep during the flight—we didn’t sleep much before we had to leave for the airport, and when we arrive in Tawau, it will be tomorrow morning. Without much time to spare, we’ll head straight to Sipadan to dive so we don’t lose a day. But she’s clearly not going to sleep anytime soon. She needs a distraction, something to relax her. Normally, I’d play with her body or give her an orgasm or two, but with the flight attendant nearby, I figure I should go with a different tactic.
I rub the two-carat diamond on her finger with my thumb, grazing her knuckles as I sit back and rest my ankle on my opposite knee. “Tell me why a woman who makes her living planning other people’s weddings is so against getting married herself.”
She sighs. “My parents met in college. In the pictures and videos I’ve seen, my mom was beautiful, and so full of life. She wanted to move to New York and work for a magazine. She’d already won a couple of awards, writing for the college newspaper, and she had a job lined up with Vogue.” She takes a deep breath. “Then she got pregnant with me and married my dad. He didn’t want to go to New York, so they stayed in St. Louis and slowly grew to hate each other.”
“Did she keep writing?”
“No. My dad thought it was a waste of time. He called it her hobby and made sure she
had no time to actually make money at it, to make her dependent on him. Then she had my two brothers and by then, she was trapped. They fought. He tore down her self-esteem to build his up—with his fists and with his words. She cried. Then she drank. One time when I was about fifteen I asked her why she didn’t leave, didn’t go do all the things she’d wanted to, and live the life she wanted. She said because she loved him. I knew then that wasn’t love, but I didn’t want any part of it.
“I decided then and there my life was going to be different. I’d make sure my life was the way I wanted it, and I would never give someone that kind of power over me or my heart. I was going to have a plan for my life that I didn’t deviate from, so that I’d never find myself in that position. And if I ever got married, it would be to a solid, dependable, boring guy who never blinded me to living my best life.”
My heart aches for her. I had two parents who loved each other so much, my father lost his will to live after my mother died. Turning our joined hands over, I rub my thumb against her palm. “That explains why you like control over things. You didn’t have any growing up.”
“I guess. As a result, I ended up being the responsible one. If I didn’t, no one would have. My mom could barely take care of herself. As the oldest, I ended up taking care of my little brothers and trying to shield them from the ugliness of my parents’ marriage. I guess I kind of got in the habit of taking care of everyone.”
“Me too,” I say. “Oldest child syndrome. Little sisters are a pain in the ass.” I wink at her. “But if you ever tell Kenzie I said that, I’ll deny it.”
Resurgent Page 15
