Hot Island Nights

What was she doing, racing after a virtual stranger because he’d looked at her a certain way and said certain things? He was obviously going home for the evening. Whatever fleeting notion he’d had where she was concerned was long gone. She needed to turn around and go back to her room before this became embarrassing.

She turned away.

“Betty?”

She glanced over her shoulder. She could see Nathan silhouetted at the bottom of the path, a tall, broad shape.

Her heart kicked against her chest. She wiped her damp palms down the sides of her skirt. Then she walked down the path, into the darkness.

She stopped when she was standing in front of him. They were both silent for a beat.

“Were you going home?” she asked when the silence became excruciating.

“Getting some fresh air. Pretty warm in there.”

Which meant she’d chased him out here like some sort of teenage desperado for nothing.

“I just thought. You asked me to dance before,” she said lamely. “Maybe when you come back in we could …?”

His eyes glinted in the dim light. “You want to dance, Betty?”

She felt incredibly foolish and transparent. This was too, too humiliating. There was a reason why her first instinct had been to shy away from having anything to do with this man and this situation. She’d never done anything like this in her life before and she had no idea how to handle herself or him. For all she knew, she’d misread everything entirely and he really had been simply asking her to dance before.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

She turned away but his warm hand slid down her forearm and circled her wrist, stopping her from leaving.

“Come here,” he said, very softly.

He tugged her gently toward him. For a moment she resisted, her last doubts digging their heels in. Then his other hand slid around to cup the nape of her neck and she lifted her face as his head lowered toward her.

His lips were very soft as they found hers. She was surprised by how gentle he was, how sweet he tasted. His tongue flicked along the closed seam of her mouth, demanding entrance, and she found herself opening to him. And then he was inside her mouth, stroking, tasting, teasing. Sensation swamped her—her breasts flattened against his chest, the hard muscles of his arms pulling her closer, the avid hunger of his mouth. She made a needy sound and he pushed her head back farther as he delved more deeply, more greedily.

His hand left her nape to slide down her neck, across her shoulder and onto her breast. Liquid heat surged between her legs. She was so turned on it almost hurt. She pressed her knees together and dug her hands into the strong muscles of his shoulders and matched him kiss for kiss.

His thumb grazed her nipple through the fabric of her dress, then his warm hand slid beneath the halter top, making her gasp as he pinched and rolled her nipple between his fingers.

She had never felt like this in her life. So hot. So wet. So damned desperate to have a man’s weight on top of her, inside her.

Nathan pressed his hips against her and she felt his erection against her belly. She slid a hand between them and traced him through the soft fabric of his well-worn jeans. So big, so thick.

He muttered something against her lips, then he ducked his head and kissed and licked a trail down her chest into her cleavage. He turned his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, fabric and all, as both his hands found her ass. He squeezed her, hauling her closer, rubbing himself against her. His fingers curved beneath her butt cheeks, delving into the dark warmth between her legs. Teasing. Taunting. She shuddered and groaned.

“Please,” she groaned, her head dropping back. “Please.”

He lifted his head from her breasts and she heard him pull in a ragged breath. “Come on, Betty,” he said, taking her hand.

He led her down to the beach. Her feet sank into the sand, and grit slipped between her feet and her sandals. She struggled to keep up with his long, urgent stride as he drew her away from the bright lights of Main Street and into darkness.

When the lights were a distant glow, he stopped and pulled her close again.

“Betty.” He kissed her, and she could feel the smile on his lips.

Probably she should correct him—her name was Elizabeth, after all, and it looked as though they were about to have sex. But she didn’t care. All her thoughts, all her focus were on one thing—the needy, desperate throb between her legs.

She slid her hands down the muscles of his belly to the waistband of his jeans. He wasn’t wearing a belt and the denim gave easily as she tugged at one stud, then another, then another. She slid her hand inside his jeans and found the heat and hardness of him. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked.

He started kissing her neck and she felt a tug behind her neck, closely followed by the coolness of the night air on her bare breasts as the untied halter of her dress dropped to her waist. He made an approving sound and cupped her breasts in both hands, his thumbs grazing her nipples over and over.

She started pulling at the waistband of his jeans, peeling them down over his hips.

“Easy, Betty,” he whispered against her skin. “Easy.”

“I want you,” she said, the boldest words she’d ever spoken. “Inside me. Now.”

He squeezed her breasts tightly in response. “What the lady wants.”

As one they sank onto the sand, she on her back, him on top. Elizabeth opened her thighs and welcomed his weight as he pressed over her. He lowered his head and sucked first one nipple, then the other into his mouth. She arched her back and cried out. She was so close, so close. He hadn’t even taken her panties off yet and already this was the most fulfilling, exciting sex of her life.

His hand skimmed up the inside of one of her widespread thighs and she gave an excited little gasp as his fingers found the damp silk of her underwear.

“Mmm,” he said against her breast, clearly savoring her arousal. He stroked her through the damp silk before slipping his fingers beneath it to slide into her slick heat.

She closed her eyes and started to pant. His erection pulsed in her hand and she stroked her hand up and down more urgently, feeling the gentle velvet of the head, the silky steel of the shaft, the soft springiness of his hair.

He thrust a finger inside her. She bit her lip and lifted her hips, wanting more. A second finger slid inside her. She started to circle her hips.

So good. So good.

He pulled away from her for a moment and she felt him tugging at his jeans. She lifted her hips and pulled her panties down her legs, tossing them heedlessly to one side. She heard the faint crinkle of a foil packet and barely had time to register that he was using a condom before his weight was on her again and she was rising up to meet his penetration.

He slid inside her in one slick, powerful thrust, stretching her to the point of almost-pain. She sucked in a breath, her fingers clenching into his shoulders. She sucked in another as he started to move, pumping in and out of her, hot and hard and so good she couldn’t believe it. His mouth was on her breasts, biting and licking and sucking her nipples. She slid her hands down onto the round, firm muscles of his backside and held on for dear life.

This was what she’d wanted. Mindless need. Heat. Slick wetness. This pressure building inside her. This wildness.

She could feel her orgasm approaching. She both craved it and feared it. She didn’t want this to end. This was all her fantasies rolled into one, everything she’d ever dreamed about in the dark quiet of her bedroom while she pleasured herself with her own hands—no gentle words and respectful, considerate, careful caresses, just his hard body slamming into hers, the suck of his mouth on her breasts, the rasp of his hairy, hard body against hers, the rise of her hips to meet his, her hands, urgent and demanding on his body. This was almost everything she’d ever wanted, except—