Page 43 of My Killer Vacation

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We dive into a kiss as she lands, her thighs hugging my waist, and the relief of having her as close as I need her staggers me back a step. And my driving hunger demands that I untie my board shorts and finish what we started last night. Just give her the business right here in knee-deep water, fast and furious and necessary. But then she mewls against my mouth, our tongues stroke together and we sink into a real kiss, the kind we’ve been dancing around without following through and my knees…my fucking knees turn to jelly.

What is happening here?

I don’t know. I’m too busy stealing as much of her taste as I can get. I’m greedy. I’m desperate. Twisting her lips with mine, right then left, my tongue occupying her mouth over and over again, with possession, with familiarity, growling when her heels dig into my ass and she climbs higher on my body, nails scoring my scalp, my back. It’s a kiss more personal, more intimate than sex, at least any kind I’ve ever had and I physically cannot stop. She’s so sweet. So addicting and…she’s a match for something inside of me, as scary as that is to admit. But I don’t have time to come to terms with it right now. Now when her taste is apples and ocean air and vanilla. And her pussy rides up and down against the aching ridge in my shorts, unconscious, hungry movements that I urge on with my tight handfuls of her ass.

“I’ve got a rubber in my wallet,” I rasp when we break away, sucking down lungfuls of air. “We using it, sweetheart? Am I using it to give you a pounding?”

“Yes. Yes.” She kisses my jaw, my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. “Then maybe I can go back to making smart decisions.”

Those words, spoken on a sawing inhale an exhale, twist a screwdriver between my ribs, even though I completely understand where she’s coming from and I can’t be mad at her. Couldn’t fathom being angry with her right now, even if she sucker punched me. Not when she’s clinging to me, giving me trust I’m not sure I’ve earned. I’m powerless to do anything but worship her. God, I just want to worship her.

Reluctantly taking one hand from her backside, I shove a hand into my pocket, bring my open wallet to my mouth and remove the condom with my teeth. Without taking my eyes off her beautiful green ones, I toss my wallet onto the shore and tear open the wrapper, pushing the ring of latex down the front of my shorts, gritting a curse when I encounter my stiffness. Jesus, I’m hard as nails. I’m going to come fast, so I’ll need to give her clit a lot of attention to bring her over the edge with me. No way I’m leaving this woman behind.

“You’re going to be so big inside me, aren’t you? Big and mean,” she whispers against my mouth. Then she dips down and scrapes my neck with her teeth, licking the sting away and colors—fucking colors are exploding behind my eyes. “You’re going to keep me safe and make it hurt a little at the same time, aren’t you?”

There’s no word for the sound I make. It’s hoarse and hungry and shocked and could only come from a man at the point of no return. She’s killing me. I didn’t know I liked to be…praised. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like it from her. Maybe I’m already hooked on it. Yeah, I am. “Safe,” I mutter thickly, walking her into the shadows, ripping at the strings of my shorts. “You’re so safe with me, sweetheart, baby, going to cram you so full and kiss it when I’m done—”

“Help!”

At first, I swear to God, that’s my dick talking. He is in dire need of some help. I’m throbbing, already letting beads of precome out into the condom, this beautiful woman has her back arched, waiting for me to fill her up, finally fill her up and give her the ride of her life.

But it’s not my dick shouting for help.

It’s someone else. Someone outside the cave.

No.

This is a nightmare. I’m asleep in bed having a goddamn nightmare.

“Help!” calls the voice again.

And then, “Taylor!”

Her eyes shoot wide, legs dropping down from my waist, her feet splashing into the water. “Oh my God, that’s my brother. He sounds hurt.” She flaps her hands, looking down at her aroused body. After a moment’s hesitation, she stoops down and splashes herself with cold water, which—for my money—doesn’t help matters whatsoever. Because now she’s flushed and the bathing suit is clinging to everything, including her hard nipples. And yet, she tries to charge out of the cave like that.

I catch her around the waist by the crook of my elbow, hauling her to a stop mid-air.


Tags: Tessa Bailey Mystery