I didn’t get the research grant I was hoping for. In the aftermath of the boat explosion, Dean found my bag, but my camera and the memory card were destroyed. I missed the deadline for the grant after our dirty little reenactment of Gilligan’s Island, but our story made national headlines.
Dean and I were flown to New York to appear on a morning talk show where we were peppered with questions about the explosion and our days (and nights) weathering the storm in a tiny tent. When the host asked how we killed time, I blushed so red that she cackled and said, “Nevermind, that’s probably a little too spicy for the morning crowd.”
But our enemies-to-lovers story, coupled with our “ordeal” made us national sweethearts for a couple of news cycles. Donations flooded the museum’s website from all across the country. People sent enough money to build out the Wychwood exhibit and fund the museum for the next five years.
Insurance replaced Dean’s boat and the influx of horny women hoping to get stranded with him kept the excursion company hopping for months. He took to wearing a wedding ring just to keep them at bay, winking at me when I scowled at the thirsty broads. I trust him with all of my heart, but he gets such a kick out of my jealous glares that I just do it to make him smile.
I set the box on the floor and eye the space. One corner, the home of the new Wychwood exhibit, sits empty under the soft lighting. I get to work, carefully placing each document and artifact until I’ve covered the wall with the last three months of my research. Putting the final touches on the artifacts in the display case. Pieces of netting and traps, bottles, and containers found at the site, all neatly lined up with their tags before I close the lid.
The exhibit doesn’t open until Monday, but I want to get it done today so I can spend the weekend with Dean. Locals are gearing up for fall festivities, running around with their pumpkins and hay bales, too busy to stop into the museum. I don’t see a single soul all day and lose track of time, lost in my own world.
Dean is running two whale-watching tours today, unusual for the down season, but not unheard of. He woke me early this morning with soft kisses to the back of my neck, hands roaming and slipping under my sleep shorts. He pulled them down, palming my belly as he slipped into me with a groan.
My core clenches at the memory of it. His thick arms wrapped around me, one hand on my breast, the other working between my legs. He kissed my neck and made love to me like we had all day, instead of just a couple of stolen moments before the real world intruded. It’s always like that with Dean. Consuming.
I’m lost in my filthy thoughts, replaying the feel of his breath on my skin as he came deep inside me, when the bell over the door chimes. An alert that someone is about to see me blushing. I check my watch and realize I should have locked up by now, but if someone wants to visit, I can stay a little longer.
When the hulking form appears in the entryway, my heart pounds excitedly, thumping like it’s trying to jump right out of my chest. I don’t blame it. I want to be as close to the man as it does.
Dean leans on the doorframe, casual as can be. He strokes his short beard, that gorgeous cocky smile pulling at his lips as he crosses his arms. His eyes work their way down my body. Slowly. Deliberately. He licks his lips as his eyes climb back up, scorching every inch of my skin. Heat pools in my belly. Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I keep my distance, letting him look as I lean my butt on the edge of the front desk.
“What are you doing here?” I ask with a grin as he runs a thumb over his lower lip, eyeing me hungrily.
“Excuse me, I believe the museum closed fifteen minutes ago. I’m here to collect my little historian.” He reaches back, locking the door. There’s so much heat in his eyes that I shiver. I know that look and know exactly how good he’s going to make me feel.
* * *
11
Epilogue - Dean
Sutton leans on the front desk, hip cocked, taunting me with those gorgeous curves. She looks up at me through her lashes, a knowing smile playing at the edge of her pouty lips. I have plans for her that mostly involve getting out of this museum for the next 48 hours, but some things can’t wait.
Closing the distance between us, I press my body against hers, pinning her hips to the desk so she can feel how hard she makes me with just a look. Her hair lays in soft red waves over her shoulder. Hair that I’ve stroked, held, and pulled. Hair that I’ve wrapped around my fist as I fed her my cock. Hair that fans out over our pillows when she sleeps.
I take the silky waves in my hand, bringing them to my nose, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and letting it invade my senses. She watches me, eyes wide, pupils dilated. God, I love that expression. Her lips part, breath hitching, and I know that if I slid my hand under her dress, I’d find her wet and swollen, dying for my cock. Soon, I promise in my head. But not yet.
I press a thigh between her legs, feeling her heat and letting it warm my skin through the fabric that separates us. She moans softly, spreading her soft thighs, welcoming me without a word. Gripping her hips, I lift her easily, depositing that luscious ass on the desk. Sutton laughs softly, spreading her legs and wrapping them around my hips.
I tug her hair, tipping her face up to mine. “Christ, I’m glad you came around on the hair pulling, Sunshine.” Her eyes are hooded, heavy with lust as I take her mouth. I kiss her deep, tongue tangling with hers. She moans softly, giving as good as she gets. I want to pull her dress down, bare those pink nipples and suck on them until she’s squirming and begging for more. But I have plans for her and I need to show a little restraint. For now.
I pull back, tucking her hair behind her ear before sliding my hands to the backs of her knees and holding them tight. Sutton’s lips are swollen and pink as she looks up at me. She gazes at me with a heady expression; love and lust warring.
No one looks at me like she does. What we have is a miracle. A once-in-a-lifetime passion that burns hot and steady; an unbreakable tether that I know will hold us together no matter what comes along.
I lean forward, whispering in her ear, not because anyone is nearby to overhear, but because it makes her shiver against me and I fucking love it.
“I would love nothing more than to rip those panties off your body and bury myself in your hot little pussy. Fuck you hard on this desk, bent over and dripping for me.” Sutton lets out a low moan, shuddering and squeezing me with her thighs.
“But I have other plans for you, my love,” I say, kissing her on the forehead and stepping back. She moans again, but it’s dismayed.
“You’re a mean tease, Dean.” She scowls at me, but I press my thumb between her lips, lightly pressing her tongue.
“I’ll make it up to you, Sunshine. You’re not going to sleep tonight until I’ve wrung every last ounce of pleasure out of your gorgeous body.”
Her eyes shine as she sucks my thumb, running her tongue along it in the world’s sexiest cock tease. My girl knows how to suck a dick so good she could make the gods weep.
“Oh, we’ll do that too,” I promise with a wink. “Since I know how wet you get when I fuck that tight little throat.” She blushes but doesn’t disagree.