At some point, he stripped off his clothes, and the new sensation of skin upon skin makes sparks skitter all over me. “I should draw this out,” he says. “I should tease you until you’re close to breaking. But dammit, Sylvia, I’ve wanted you all day. Imagined you at that damn party with your cunt slick and hot and waiting for me. Had my mouth on your cunt. Held you naked in my lap on the deck. I’ve imagined fucking you so many times today, that I can’t wait any longer.”
“Then don’t,” I say, bending my arms so that I’m right there, open for him. Wet for him.
“Oh, Christ, Syl. You’re going to destroy me.”
I feel him move. Feel his hands grip my hips. And then the sweet pressure of his fingers teasing me, opening and stretching me before he takes me. His cock is thick, but I’m so ready for him, and when he thrusts into me, at first slowly, and then with increasing wildness, I cry out in welcome and abandon.
I am bent over as he pounds into me, from this position unable to match his thrusts, and so I am at his mercy, letting him hold me still and use me to find his rhythm, letting his fingers reach around to stroke my clit in time with his thrusts. I’ve never been fucked like this before, and I like it. It makes me feel open and wild. It makes me feel like I’m his.
And when he explodes inside me—when he continues to tease my clit and urges me to “let go, baby, just let go”—I find my release, too, and explode so violently that my body goes limp and I collapse onto the bed, still blind, but thoroughly and completely sated.
I feel him withdraw, soft now, then use a tissue to clean me up before spooning against me. He gently removes my blindfold and I roll over to face him. I start to speak, but he cuts me off with a kiss that is so wild and deep and passionate that it fills me as much as his cock had before, and is at least as sensual.
“Now,” he says softly when he breaks the kiss. “This time you really do have to get under the covers and sleep.”
“Only if you’re with me.”
“Sweetheart, you couldn’t kick me out if you tried.”
He pulls the covers down, but I’m so wasted and limp that he has to help me under. And then, when he gets in beside me, I curl up against him, our legs twined together, then fall asleep content in his arms.
I wake hours later to the scent of coffee and cinnamon. “I could get used to this,” I say as I sit up against the pillows and accept the tray that has coffee, cream, and a warmed up cinnamon roll.
“I could, too,” he says, then kisses me softly.
I take a sip of my coffee, enjoying it, but enjoying more the view of Jackson changing into a pair of khaki slacks and a casual linen shirt.
“Shall I hurry?”
“Take your time. I’ve got some work to do on the computer, and the island’s not going anywhere.”
He squeezes my hand, then heads out. I lean back against the pillows again, relishing this sense of belonging. Of being part of this space. His space.
Once I’m done with breakfast, I shower and change into the same yoga pants and shirt I’d borrowed last night. Then I head up top to find him in his office. He has three huge computer monitors and there is drafting software open on one, a topographical map of the island on another, and a word processor open on the third.
I glance at the map and see that it’s one of the naval maps that Nigel sent over upon acquisition. “How’d you get that?”
“Aiden,” he says. “I called while you were in the shower and he sent it over. He also said it should be in your area on the Stark directory, but that I would understand that he couldn’t give me access to your files.”
“You’re very efficient,” I say, squeezing in beside him so that I can access the company website and then the private, secure area. I’ve got my files open in under five minutes, and I transfer all the various maps and surveys and photographs of the island to a folder on Jackson’s computer.
“And now you know what I know.”
“This is good information,” he says, opening files and sending them to the printer. “Let me just pull this stuff together and we can get going. I packed some snacks already, but if you’d grab some water bottles, that would be great.”
Since that’s a good idea, I do that. I consider taking a bottle of chilled wine, but decide against it. This may be a romantic, secluded island, but it’s also work. And probably best if we keep the line from getting blurred.
We leave the boat and walk down the floating dock to the helipad and the section of the island that’s been earmarked for storage and staging.
I point to the same path I’d followed to find Nikki and Damien just a few days before. “So I figure we can head that way and follow the island’s perimeter. It’s not huge, but it’s not tiny. It takes about three hours to make the full circle, more if we’re stopping to take notes or photos.”