“I think I could manage that,” she said finally, the smile audible in her voice.
Less than an hour later, she was snuggled against my side with my arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“What do you want to watch?” I asked, scrolling through our options.
“Anything with Tom Hardy.”
“Tom Hardy, huh? Is that who does it for you?” I teased.
She bit her lip and shook her head, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“No? And who would that honor belong to?”
She turned, bracing one knee next to my hip and swinging her other leg over my lap. Her hands came up to my face and she looked into my eyes. My hands settled on her hips as I awaited her answer, suspecting I already knew what it would be.
“You,” she said, the instant before her lips descended on mine. Her kiss started slow and sweet, but when I opened my mouth to deepen it, the heat behind it rose considerably. My hands slid beneath her shirt and skimmed up her back, luxuriating in the feel of her silky skin. She was soft and warm and smelled so damn good.
She rolled her hips and I groaned. The friction was enough to spark my desire without granting me any relief. I needed to get her shorts off and feel that hot, wet center against my skin. I stood, cradling her against me, her weight resting in my hands cupped beneath her ass.
I carried her down the hall and into my room, not releasing her until we were at my bed. She ran her hands over my shoulders and arms, exploring each muscle, her soft fingertips gliding almost reverently over my skin. I laid her across my bed and stood to remove my shirt. Her hazel eyes were rimmed with a ring of gold that seemed to blaze like an inferno.
I ran my hands up the outside of each thigh, watching her face and memorizing her reactions. I loved seeing how my touch affected her. When my fingers found the edge of her shorts, her lips parted on a silent gasp and her eyes widened ever so slightly. She lifted her ass, allowing me to remove her shorts. I wanted to go slow. I wanted to tease her, to draw out her satisfaction, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I ripped her shorts down her legs and went back for her little pink thong. She pulled her shirt off hastily, her impatience matching my own.
We collided, skin on skin, our tongues diving inside each other’s mouths for a taste. We were both needy and frantic, every motion fueled by lust and something a little deeper. I was falling. She was, too, if I was reading the situation right. We were two ships lost at sea, battered and bruised by the ones we’d loved before. We met in a raging storm and were finally sailing into calmer waters.
My chest filled with hope, my heart fluttering with excitement. Maybe it was too soon to get involved with someone else, but one thing was for certain. No one – not even Gianna – ever made me feel the way Taylor did. It took me those six days and nights to realize just what I’d been missing.
Taylor
Two years later…
I couldn’t wait to get back to this place. This was where it all began. The moment we stepped foot on this island sealed our fate. There was no escaping our attraction, the explosive chemistry that kept our bodies on high alert whenever the other one was near. We fought it for years, but those last few days when we tried to deny what we felt were the hardest. When we finally gave in, I swear, we heard the angels sing. It was that euphoric.
Our villa was wonderful, but nothing compared to the overwater bungalow Dalton secured for us this time. It was downright magical. We could step out of our bedroom and into the water in only a handful of steps. A few stairs were all that separated us from the clear blue Caribbean Sea. There was a huge section of floor in our bedroom made of glass so we could see down into the ocean without ever going outside. The tub on our deck was more luxurious than the one we had before, and there was an infinity pool. He’d gone all out this time.
A little part of me felt pleased that he’d booked us a nicer place than he had for himself and Gianna when it was supposed to be their honeymoon. Rarely did I think of his ex-fiancé these days, and no longer felt insecure about not measuring up to her, but it was still satisfying to know he did more to impress me. Especially since I was far more easily impressed than she’d ever been.
Dalton often remarked on how low maintenance I was when we first started officially dating. It always surprised him when I opted for a low-key evening at home with him, a bottle of cheap wine, and a movie opposed to a fancy dinner and cocktails at the ritzy clubs downtown. He was shocked when I wanted to hit up Target for a new pair of jeans instead of Saks, and loved it when I went to the home improvement store with him in yoga pants and no makeup.
He was content. More than that, he was happy. He was the most relaxed I’d seen him in more than five years. It was a wonderful feeling, knowing I had something to do with that. Our love was effortless. That wasn’t to say we didn’t have disagreements on occasion, but it was rarely ever about anything major. Still, we always jumped at the opportunity for hot, semi-angry make up sex. That night in my room at my parents’ house was just the beginning. When I moved in with him four months later, I’d pick a fight with him over leaving the toilet seat up just to stoke that fire.
It only took him a few weeks to catch on before he started doing it to me. Makeup left out on the bathroom counter? He’d find me sitting on the couch with my schoolbooks spread out over my lap and start pestering me about it. I’d get annoyed and try to push him away, and he’d have me on my back with my arms pinned above my head in seconds, punishing me with his thrusts. He’d make me wait to orgasm, drawing out the pleasure until I was ready to cry. I couldn’t wait to pick a fight with him here. The aftermath would be so very satisfying.
The only serious fight we ever had was the day he confessed his role in getting the school off my back over the affair with my professor. He’d confided in his and my brother’s friend Travis about what happened with Jason, and later, the meeting I’d had with the dean and his crony. Dalton and Travis decided to pay them a visit, setting up a meeting with the two of them under false pretenses. Travis was waiting on his results from the bar exam at the time, but he walked in there with the bravado of a seasoned attorney. Together they enlightened the scoundrels on how monumentally the two had screwed up and threatened legal action if they interfered in any way with the completion of my education. My account was unfrozen, and I had full access to register for classes shortly after, something I’d wondered about but was too excited to question at the time.
I was furious that he’d meddled in my business with the college. Even worse, he involved Travis, thus revealing my dirty little secret to yet another of my brother’s friends. We didn’t talk for two whole days while I seethed at my parents’ house. When I finally gave in and answered his call, he explained why he did it. He was afraid they’d continue to sweep tenured professors’ indiscretions under the rug and bully students into keeping quiet. Dalton dug into Dean Crawford’s past and discovered he was Jason’s mentor when he first began teaching at the university. He apparently instructed him on more than just how to teach at the college level. There were rumors of him engaging in affairs with students back in those days, but there was never any proof and no one willing to come forward. Jason carried on his legacy as Crawford worked his way up to dean. How he managed to secure that position, I’d never know.