by Teagan Kade
“How can you promise that?” she says. “The cartel… You don’t know what they’re like.”
I’ve had a couple of run-ins with drug runners, mules… Desperate people doing desperate things, but she’s right in one way. Direct contact with the cartel? No, even if I have seen their handiwork first hand. Still, the bigger players tend to keep a lower profile on local soil, preferring to work remotely.
“As I said,” I tell her, “you have my word.”
The siren goes again. “I’ve got one more game, sorry. After that, I’m yours—sweat and all.”
She smiles. “Who’s left?”
I look down at the court. “Paramedics, but don’t be fooled by their scrawny appearance. These guys can actually play.”
She leans forward to kiss me, her lower lip sticking to mine in the heat as she pulls away. “Better put on your game face then.”
I bring my hand down over my face, changing my expression to a serious scowl.
“Archer!” Robbie shouts from the court. “Get your ass down here.”
I jump off the railing back down to the sand. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck!” Winter shouts.
The last match is tighter than the rest, but we still manage to pull ahead, the poor paramedics forced to concede.
I whoop and holler with Robbie, the crowd in a frenzy by now. He’s busy lapping it up, climbs the umpire’s chair to beat his chest and throw water over the crowd.
I decide to leave him to it, turning around to find Winter but spotting something in the crowd to the right. It’s quick, fleeting, a blur of black, but I have an instinct for these things, know trouble when I see it. But just like that the mystery person I think I saw, the man in black, is gone, blended back into the crowd.
I dismiss it and climb back up to the tower, taking hold of Winter and spinning her around. The crowd below us gives a small cheer.
“Well done,” she says, unable to keep the happiness from her face.
I lead her into the tower. “Come.”
There’s another female lifeguard inside. She tosses me a water. “Quite a show.”
I twist off the top and drink the entire bottle in seconds, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Thanks,” I reply, dropping the empty bottle into the bin and taking hold of Winter again, leaning her over the small table we keep up here. No one seems to be taking notice, and I wouldn’t care if they were.
“How should we celebrate?” she asks.
I’m about to reply when someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around to find a grinning Robbie standing there. I’m about to tell him to fuck off when he holds up a set of keys. “You might be needing these.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WINTER
It’s close to midnight. Outside, the beach is a dark teal, little moon to provide illumination bar a light shimmer across the surface of the ocean. The sound of the waves is only muffled by the windows of the tower—a living, breathing energy.
At first I didn’t know why Robbie was giving Archer the keys to the lifeguard tower, but now it all makes sense, as does our shopping excursion to Agent Provocateur following the tournament.
I’ve never worn lingerie before, but feeling the silk against my skin, the delicate fabric sitting against my most intimate area, I’m starting to understand the appeal. Archer was like a kid in a candy store. I had to stop him before he spent his life savings buying everything in the place. We almost did it right there in the changing room, but Archer assured me this would be worth the wait.
I didn’t think about the cartel, about my precarious position here at all during the day, too caught up in the excitement, of being with Archer, to care.
The view is impressive, I think, my thoughts not lingering on the ocean, but the incredible specimen of a man before me.
I seat myself on the desk near the front windows.
Archer closes the door and stops there, watching.
“Aren’t you going to lock it?” I suggest.
He starts to walk forward. “And where would be the fun in that be? Why do you think I wanted you here, at my place of work, so to speak, taking you here so I can think about it every day, think about how you sound when you come over and over and over again.”
My greater concern is someone seeing us from the beach, but I remind myself it’s darker in here than it is out there. No one will be able to see in even if it’s like looking out of a fishbowl inside.
He stops before me. “Why don’t you spread your legs for me?”
A hot blush runs up my spine, moving into my shoulders and neck. Slowly, I spread my legs. Given the obvious and growing bulge in his pants, it looks like he’s enjoying it.
His eyes light with the hint of a smile. “Good girl.”
Just having him watch me is such a turn-on.
He dips his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say those new panties of yours are already wet. Have you been touching yourself?”
My cheeks burn with shame even though I’ve done nothing. I play along regardless, reaching down with a tentative finger and hooking the crotch of my panties, pulling them to the side and allowing a second finger to roam across the swollen bud of my clit above. It’s not long before my breathing’s short and fast, each breath rushing in and out of my fast burning body.
Watching, Archer slides a hand down the front of his trousers. I can see it working below the fabric. Seeing him touch himself only sends fresh sensation to my core.
“Slide a finger inside yourself,” he says, eyes glued to the dark space between my legs.
I nod and press my longest finger inside myself as deep as it will go, right to the second knuckle. He’s right. I’m wet, my hot sex begging for the kind of attention I know only Archer can provide.
“Yes. Beautiful.”
I stare at him across the space of the tower through half-lidded eyes.
With his free hand he reaches down and unzips his trousers, pulling his cock through and continuing to stroke it before me. He concentrates on the head of it, balling his fingers before stroking back down over the shaft. “Are you thinking about my cock right now, how it would feel inside you, filling you up?”
“Yes,” I murmur, drawing my finger out of my center to concentrate on my clit, rubbing it while I keep my eyes fixed on his hand and swollen cock.
We start to match rhythm, our hands moving in time to one another, our breathing rushing in and out in tight syncopation.
I think of hot summer nights spent back home beneath the sheets, my hand working against myself. I never came, though. I didn’t have someone in mind when I masturbated back then , but I sure do now.
My mouth hangs open, my sex slick and wet.
“You’re making me so fucking hot,” he says, voice clipping, the wet sounds we’re making filling the small room and only seeming to turn him on more.
He pulls lightly on his scrotum, his eyes never leaving mine, that intangible connection between us remaining unbroken as I begin to lift towards orgasm.
I’m panting, barely able to get in enough air. I know I’m close to release, but deeper still I’m quietly hoping he’ll let go of his cock and come to me, press it into my body. I don’t just want to come. I want him to feel me come, to feel my pussy grip and squeeze his cock. The thought almost sends me over the edge.
I concentrate on my clit, the sensation fast becoming overwhelming. I bite down on my lower lip to stave it off, to contain the sounds I want to scream out aloud.
I’m so close.
He loosens his top button, his pants falling to the floor in a puddle. He steps out of them, walking towards me still pumping away at his cock. His eyes are hot, full of desire.
I bite the inside of my cheek, anything to hold my climax back a little bit longer.
When he’s a foot away he reaches for a manual of some sort on the desk beside me, smacking it lightly on the desk.
Thwack.
The front of the manual is laminated pla
stic, spiral bound. I begin to realize what he’s planning.
His stare is hard and unmoving. The manual meets his palm again and I flinch at the noise, struggling to contain the building excitement at what I know is inevitable.
“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?”
I shake my head slowly, playing along. “Yes, sir.”
He waves the manual in the air, testing it. “Do you think you need to be punished?”
“Yes,” spills from my lips.
“Turn around. Put your hands on the desk.” His tone is stern and firm, far from the Archer I’m used to.
I turn and place my palms on the desk, pushing my ass out in wait.
I flinch again when I feel his hand, but it’s only to lift the back of my dress up, to place it in the shallow of my lower back and bare my ass for good.
“That’s a very pretty thong,” he says. “Did you choose it yourself?” I don’t have to turn around to see the smile.
The manual lands hard and flat against my right ass cheek. I yelp in surprise and shock, easing when his hand smooths over the spot. “Don’t move,” he commands.
He presses me down into the desk, but the next strike doesn’t come for quite a while. Again, he brings the manual down hard onto the other buttock. I cry out, my face burning with shame and strange emotions I haven’t felt since I was a child.
This time I feel his lips press against the burn, unable to control the moan that falls from my open mouth.
I can’t get my head around why I’m so turned on by all this, why being hurt like this can somehow feel so good, can provide so much pleasure. It’s a strange contradiction.
I wait for the next blow, shivering when I feel the hard butt of his hand sawing between my legs. Strong sensations flood through me.
“Yes,” he says. “You do like that, don’t you?”
Another blow comes unexpectedly, right in the center of my ass, the very bottom of the manual kissing my lace-covered flesh.
His hand returns, a finger snaking below the lace to press against my clit. I rise almost immediately to orgasm.
“Don’t stop,” I moan.
“It’s okay,” he coos. “You can come. Come all over my fingers, baby.”
I’m panting long and deep, reaching between my legs to hold his hand in place, his finger continuing to rub against my clit.
The climax hits me hard and fast. I shout aloud, hot desire leaking from my core, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me until I no longer see the ocean ahead but a mix of technicolor. My legs shake, new heels rattling against the floorboards.
I close my eyes and it starts over again, Archer easing up on the pressure and allowing me to slowly glide back to earth.
I turn around to look at him, see him slide his still-wet finger into his mouth and moan his approval, his tongue swirling around the tip.
He takes me by the thighs, spinning me around to face him before instructing me to lift my arms above my head.
“I want to see you,” he says, voice rough. “All of you.”
He lifts the also-new dress up and away, his heated stare boring into every inch of my exposed body. A light, cool air works its way between my thighs, desire cooling on the skin there.
With a single snap he unclips my bra, pulling it away and tossing it into the corner. My nipples are tight and needy, a tawny blue in the moonlight.
He kneels, peeling my panties away and lifting my leg. As he does so, the colder air touches the heated apex of my pussy, my folds still wet.
He spreads my legs wider apart, dipping his head to examine me. “You’re fucking soaking wet,” he comments, reaching up and dipping two joined fingers into my pussy. He draws them out and uses them to spread my need over the head of his cock, palming it into his hand. Not once do his eyes leave mine.
All I know is that I need to be filled, and now. Nothing short of his cock will do it.
“I want you,” I tell him, the deep voice that comes from my mouth unrecognizable.
“I’m yours,” he says, standing and unbuttoning his shirt.
I push the cotton to the side and find the bronzed, chiseled muscle below. I smile as his skin comes alive against my fingertips, seeking out every crevice and fold.
He presses his lips to mine, a hand moving to the back of my head and drawing me forward, fingers caught in my hair. He takes hold of my hips, grinding his length against me.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
“I want you to…” I start, hesitating.
He places a finger on my lower lip, pulling it down to expose my gums. “Say it.”
I draw in a breath. “I want you to fuck me.”
To my surprise, it doesn’t sound corny or cliché, but instead sexy and seductive. It’s empowering.
He lifts me by the hips back onto the desk, coming up between my open legs.
I hear the ocean, louder now, in my ears, the rush and pull of it matching my labored breathing.
“Please,” I beg him, reaching for him, “put it inside me.”
“Put what inside you?”
“Your cock,” I beg. “Put your cock inside me.”
I shuffle forward, but still he holds back, finally moving forward to settle himself in my folds.
I’m so wet I know there’s going to be no resistance.
He pushes into me, sliding it until he can go no further, the full length of his cock taken from the very first stroke.
That sensation flows out and folds over itself, my head tingling with it.
I tense and release as he draws back.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers, thrusting forward again. He pulls back and presses in again.
I hiss and start to shift, anything to take him deeper, to take him all and finally satiate this growing need inside me.
My left eye starts to twitch, my toes curling.
With effort, I manage to lever myself off the desk and move to the edge of it, reaching around to hold his ass. I dig my nails into the hard flesh there, beckoning him on.
His lips press against my forehead, his hips swinging forward and filling me so completely, so full I don’t know how I will ever be able to top this.
His body slides against mine. We’re on, Archer leaning on his forearms and my nails digging deeper and deeper. He fills my mouth with his tongue, my soaking pussy with his cock, his face shifting away every now and then to look down at me.
It’s not long before he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts, swinging into me like a human battering ram, each thrust inching me further and further across the desk. The manual lies discarded beside me, Principles of Advanced Resuscitation, forcing a hot flicker of need out from my core.
That deep ache inside my core starts to intensify, sensation building and building as I beg him loudly for more, to go harder, faster…
I move with him, lifting my hips to meet his, heels dropping to the floor as I lock my ankles at the base of his spine so he can bottom out inside me. The slight adjustment of angle provides a whole new wealth of pleasure, better than anything I’ve felt in my entire life by my own hand, better than our first time.
It’s different. We’re not making love. No, this is sex, fucking, hard and fast just like in the movies, raw and primal.
With every thrust he pushes me closer and closer to the brink, fucking me full until he scoops me from the desk completely, holding me afloat in the air by my ass, letting me lift and drop onto his cock.
I gasp against his shoulder, nipples tight against the hard plane of his upper chest. I can feel the tension in his biceps as he holds me there, the strain of it.
When a finger slides between the cheeks of my ass, when it finds the tight knot of my taint and presses there, so taboo, I explode.
I bite down on his shoulder and scream out a loud and profane release.
“Fuck, I’m going to…” but he can’t get the rest of the words out.
Holding me with one hand I feel him reach down and pull h
imself free, his cock jerking against the bottom of my ass in release, ribbons of heated desire falling to the floor.
He jerks again, lifting me up and down with the motion, my own climax refusing to release me.
Groaning, he stumbles back, collapsing us onto the sofa to the side of the room. I sit there straddling him, his still-convulsing cock caught between my ass cheeks.
We regulate our breathing together, doing our best to gather oxygen again and find some sense of normality.
At any moment I expect the door to open, for a flashlight to expose us, but it never comes.
I can feel his heartbeat against my ribcage—solid and strong.
Place my head against his shoulder, my hair matted against it, and look towards the floorboards where we were just standing. “Quite the mess you made there.”
He simply smiles, running a hand through my hair. “Speak for yourself.”
A solemn quiet fills the space and I feel compelled to dismiss it.
“I’m still scared,” I tell him. Whatever was holding me back from truly expressing myself is gone. I’m completely open around him, feel like I can tell him absolutely anything.
“You don’t have to be,” he replies, “and tomorrow I’m going to prove it—prove you can do damn near anything.”
Curiosity builds. “Why, what are we doing?”
His only reply is a wide, sheepish grin I know is going to be the undoing of me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARCHER
We arrive at the airfield just after noon. The sun’s high in the sky, the humidity like walking into a brick wall, but the wind’s low and heavens clear.
Oh, yes. Conditions are perfect for flying.
Getting out of the car, Winter sees the planes, looking over the roof of the truck at me with a questioning expression on her face. “You want to take me on a plane?”
I look up at the sky, smiling with my hands on my hips. “No. I want you to jump from a plane.”
Her eyes go wide. “No. Absolutely no way.”
She goes to get back into the car, almost closing the door before I grab it with my hand and crouch down beside her. I place a reassuring hand on her upper thigh, momentarily consider ditching this idea and taking her somewhere a little private for a flight of a different kind, but I know this will be good for her. There’s no better way to face your fear, whatever it may be, than throwing yourself out of a plane, letting go of everything.
