Blame It on the Bikini

chapter EIGHT



IT MIGHT have been one of the best nights of her life, but Mya wanted the fireworks to finish it off. She didn’t want to be the wallflower walking home alone tonight as she had all those years ago at that miserable prom.

She glanced around. Lauren was flirting with yet another guy—she’d been collecting them throughout the night. Several other friends were propping up the bar getting outrageously hammered with her lethal cocktail mix. Others were up on the catwalk having a dance-off to the hits of their teen years. It was a crazy-fun night.

But Brad had quietly slipped off into the dark—alone. He hadn’t said goodbye to her or anyone. He’d flipped a wave at Lauren but he hadn’t even looked at Mya.

That wasn’t good enough.

Did he think he could do this for her—send her insides into such a spin—and then walk away?

Tonight had been her one night off in months. And didn’t she deserve pleasure in it—pleasure for all the night? Didn’t she deserve a treat? It wouldn’t be like that mess-up last year when she’d thought she could handle a night of nothing but physical fun and had failed. This time she knew what she was doing—and she knew Brad. She even liked him. But not enough to cause confusion. She’d read the rulebook, was certain she could handle herself on the field. This time she already knew the score. And while there was that hint of insecurity about her performance, she figured Brad wouldn’t be all that bothered. Ultimately all she’d be was another notch to him, right? But she would have the best sexual experience of her life. He’d teased that it would be, but she knew to her bones he’d follow through. She simply couldn’t resist—not for one night.

So she blew Lauren a kiss and waved.

Her feet moved of their own accord, fast, determined, sure. She was stone-cold sober but in a blink she was there already—standing at his front door. Before she could take a breath and think better of it, she hammered the door so hard her knuckles hurt.

He opened it sooner than she expected. He’d lost the jacket but was still in the black shirt and trousers and, oddly, a cleaning cloth in his hand. He stared at her—saying it all with just that wild-eyed look—surprise to desire in a heartbeat. Only then he closed his eyes and bent his head. Sudden nerves paralysed her. Insecurity drowned her moment of boldness.

‘Are you going to let me in?’ she asked, her voice pathetically breathy even to her own ears. So much for chutzpah.

He looked up and she saw nothing but raw emotion in his eyes—not just desire, but torment. It was reflected in his stance too as he blocked her entry, his hand gripping the door. ‘You know what will happen if I do.’

Relief shot into her belly, bursting into flame on impact. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘But—’

‘I don’t want a relationship, and I don’t want a fling. But I’ve changed my mind about the one-night thing.’

He swallowed and then stepped to one side. She walked in, holding her head high while her blood fizzed round her body. She went straight to the place she’d fantasised about for weeks. The cover was stripped back, the light switched on—the brightness harsh on her eyes after the moonlit walk here.

‘What happened to the vase?’ The mess on the floor surprised her.

‘Accident caused by frustration.’ He watched her as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he blinked.

‘You’re not usually clumsy.’

‘I’m not usually frustrated.’

She paused. If he was ‘frustrated’, why wasn’t he happy to see her here now? ‘Why are you feeling bad?’ she asked softly, stepping closer. ‘It was a great night. I loved every second of it. Everyone else did too.’

‘This isn’t why I did it.’ He spoke low and rough. ‘I just wanted you to have some fun.’

‘I did,’ she answered. ‘And I’d like some more.’

‘Lauren said not to mess with you. That you’re fragile.’

Shock hit, embarrassment soon followed and both burned. What else had Lauren said? ‘Do I look fragile to you?’

‘Not on the outside, but that vase didn’t seem that fragile either and it still broke when I dropped it.’

‘You’re not going to get the opportunity to drop me,’ she said. ‘I only want what’s left of tonight. I don’t want anything more. I’d never expect promises from you. I understand that.’ There were only a couple of hours of darkness left. A couple would have to be enough. ‘And you know I can’t give more either. This isn’t going to be anything more for either of us. This is just tonight.’

He walked nearer. Intensity sliced into her as she saw the look on his face, the raw, unrestrained desire honed in on one focal point—her. Excitement swept over her and she backed up until the backs of her thighs hit his bed and she sat on the edge of it.

She gazed at him—unashamed in her admiration. He was so much taller, stronger. And looking at her like this? So lethal.

She realised that until now he’d kept a leash on his desires, letting her think she’d controlled this thing between them. But he could have pulled her to him any time he’d wanted. His potency was strong enough to render her will useless. She wanted to be his. But just as violent was the desire to have him ache for her in this same extreme way. Impossible, of course. Hence the one night.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked as he moved to within touching distance.

‘Yes.’

‘I like you.’ He frowned as if that wasn’t a good thing. ‘I want the best for you.’

She just wanted to enjoy this attraction—and end up free of it. ‘Then give me the best.’

He smiled, his eyes lighting up.

‘Don’t tease me any more,’ she begged. She needed him to come nearer, to stop talking, to make her feel as if she wasn’t about to make a massive fool of herself.

‘But it’s all about the tease.’ A glimpse of humour.

‘You know what I mean.’ She wanted it to be fast. She wanted to get the release, to be freed from it. For it to be over.

He stepped close. The brilliant thing about the height of his bed was that she didn’t have to crane her neck too far to look at him. With a single finger he traced the hem of her dress—now rucked up to just over her knees. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t moving faster already. But instead he put his hands on her pressed-together knees and exerted the smallest pressure.

‘Let me in, Mya.’ His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘Let me in.’

Mya trembled at the cool command. He seemed to be asking for more than access to her body. ‘I am.’ She swung her legs wide.

‘No.’ He bent and his lips brushed her neck. ‘If we’re doing this, then I want everything tonight.’ He ran two fingers down her cheek; the slight pressure made her turn her head. He whispered into her exposed ear. His words a caress, an intimacy. As if he’d somehow accessed her soul. ‘How much do you want this?’ His lips brushed the whorls of her ear. ‘It better be as much as I do because otherwise you might not be able to keep up.’

‘You’re that fabulous, huh?’

‘I just want to be sure we’re on the same page for this evening. Because it ain’t over.’

‘I’m not fat and I’m not about to sing,’ she said with a hint of her old defiance.

‘What about screaming?’ He leaned closer until there was nothing but a whisper of air between them. She could feel the heat radiating from him, and her own emotions burned.

Tired of talk, tired of waiting, Mya wanted action.

She lifted her chin and laid one on him.

For a moment Brad lost control of the situation. For someone who supposedly suffered extreme sensitivity, Mya could give a blisteringly hard kiss. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him there while beneath his mouth hers was lush and hungry. Startled, he gave it to her—the full brunt of the want that had burdened him these past weeks. He dived deep into her sweet mouth, tangling his tongue against her equally ravenous one. He pressed harder until he felt her trembling and moaning already.

He eased it back a bit, put his hands on her face, cupping those beautiful cheekbones with gentle fingers and pulling back just enough for their lips to barely be clinging. ‘I have no intention of bruising you,’ he said quietly.

That nagging feeling that she was holding back wouldn’t leave him. What held her so reserved? While she smiled and joked with the bar patrons and Lauren’s boys, there was that distance that he’d seen no one breach. He wanted to be the one who broke all the way in.

So while there was a time and a place for hot and hard, quick and rough sex, this wasn’t it. She wanted it that way. He knew she did. She was desperate to have him to have the release. And for it to be over. Because there was that part of her that was mad with herself for wanting him as badly as she did. She didn’t want to be another of his conquests. She didn’t understand yet that she wasn’t.

Because there was his own confounding desire for her to come to terms with. He hadn’t realised it was possible to want a woman this much. He’d craved sex before. Of course he had. But that had been sex. That had been about getting the pleasure and the release. This was about her. This was about seeing her shaking and out of control and filled with ecstasy. This was about seeing her weak with wanting him, with her unable to stand—only being able to lie on a bed and beg for him to come to her. Oh, yeah, the submissive fantasies were a first.

And now he had her—lying back on his bed with that dress even more rucked up, giving him a glimpse of lace-covered treasure. He tensed every muscle to fight the urge to dive straight in. Heat tightened his skin; he felt as if he were on the rack—stretched well beyond his usual limitations. And now she forced him closer than he’d like. Pushed him to intrude deeper than he normally would. Yes, he wanted it all from her.

He quickly stripped himself and then straddled her on the bed and let the ribbons slide through his fingers as he loosened them enough to pull the bodice of the dress down to bare her beautiful, bountiful breasts.

She shivered before he even touched them. He let his fingers trace near to their precious peaks, so slowly and gently—watching to see how she coped. She moved restlessly beneath him. He bent closer, traced his tongue around the tight, rosy nipples and blew warm air over the tips of them.

She shuddered.

‘Too much?’ he asked softly.

She shook her head, her chest rising and falling quickly. He carefully cupped her soft flesh, let the centre of his palm touch her nipple. She shuddered again and arched her back, pushing her breasts deeper into his hands. He pushed his hands together, pushing her breasts together, letting her nipples peep over the top of his cupped hands. Beautiful. Big and beautiful and so responsive. He blew on them again. And then so carefully bent to brush his lips over them.

‘Oh, no,’ she whimpered.

‘Okay?’ he murmured, caressing them ever so softly.

She nodded and arched towards him again so he kept up the slow, wet caresses.

Her hips rocked now and he smiled at her giveaway reaction. Did she want the same treatment down there? He sure as hell hoped so. He stripped away her small briefs and then kissed his way down her flat stomach, his own excitement uncontrollable as he neared her most intimate curves. He’d dreamed of this for so long, he could hardly believe it was real now. But she was warm and writhing and tasted so hot. Her response deepened, her movements wild.

The pleasure of seeing her so wanting was more satisfying than anything in his life. He peeled her legs further apart, tasting her glistening femininity, holding her hips firmly so she couldn’t escape him as she stiffened and then began to convulse. He sucked on her most sensitive nub and then buried his tongue inside her, quickly reaching up to cup her breasts and cover her nipples—diamond hard now, they pressed into his palms. He applied more pressure and tasted the reward as she came hard and loud, screaming for him.

He breathed hard, flicking his tongue to see her through the aftershocks and then he moved quickly. But his fingers were all thumbs as he tried to get the condom on.

‘Damn,’ he muttered. Desperate, the need to drive deep within her the only thing circling in his head.

Now. Now. Now.

His lungs burned, his heart thumped—and he’d not even started. He was going to embarrass himself at this rate.

‘Can I help?’ she teased.

‘No,’ he snapped hoarsely. Instantly feeling bad about biting her head off.

But she laughed. A throaty, sexy laugh as if she knew just how he was feeling.

It was all right for her—she’d had her first orgasm. Finally he was sheathed. He knelt and gazed at her. His gaze fixed on the cherry-red, too-sensitive nipples, lowered to her pink, glistening sex and then he looked up into her glowing eyes.

His heart seized.

Her laughter faded. ‘Brad?’

Her voice lifted a notch, the return of excitement even though she perceived the threat. Oh, yeah, he had plans. He leaned over her, relishing using his size to dominate her. But she wasn’t intimidated. Not her, no—her smile returned. Those wide, uneven lips parted and revealed that sexy-as-hell gap. All petite, fragile, strong woman.

Take. Take. Take.

So he did. Peeling her legs further apart, he took position, his aching erection pressing against her slippery, sweet entrance. So hot for him. Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, her breasts rising and falling fast as she waited for him to finally take her.

And he did—surging forward to encase himself in one swift movement. But he was almost obliterated as he felt her clamp around him for the first time. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, locked still to stop the instant orgasm before he’d begun any kind of rhythm. That just wasn’t happening.

He breathed hard, pushing back the blissful, delirious fog, refusing his release until he’d seen her too strung out to scream any more. And finally he moved, slow, back and forth, circular. Stopping to caress her breasts, her neck, her lips. Teasing, nipping, sucking—savouring every inch of skin he could access while locking himself inside her. And it was good. So damn good.

‘Please let me come, please let me come,’ she begged him, writhing again, her face flushed and her skin damp.

Victory sang in his veins as he slowly claimed, withdrew and reclaimed his place right in the core of her. Her clenching, soft heat offered unutterable joy as much as it did wicked torment. And he was too ecstatic to care about the implications of the one thought hammering in his head.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Breathless, pinned beneath his marvellous weight, Mya called to him. How could he bear it so slow? Wasn’t he dying inside for the release? How could he hold back from coming inside her so long? Didn’t he want to drive himself into her the way she ached for him to—furious and fast and hard?

Oh, hell—was it her? Was she not good enough at this for him? She certainly didn’t know any tricks or anything much beyond the basics. And this was sex at its most basic, with him above her, no fancy positions or toys. She knew no tricks—was probably the most apathetic lover he’d ever had. All she’d been able to do the past half-hour was lie there and moan.

He slipped his palm beneath her bottom, pushing her closer so he could thrust even deeper into her, and all self-conscious thought was obliterated in the ecstasy of his onslaught. There was nothing she could do but absorb his decadent attention.

She tensed as that unbearably tense pleasure rebuilt in her. He pushed closer, closer. Her body tautened, her muscles, nerves, heart all strung out, locking onto every part of him she could. She was no longer begging, no longer coherent. Just gasping, grasping for that final step into oblivion. And then screaming. He tossed her into that river of delight. Sensations tumbled over and over—bliss shuddering through her in spasm after spasm. And she clung to him through it all as if he were her life raft as well as the source of the surge.

She gasped again as the last tremor shivered through her and she regained enough strength to sweep a hand down his sweat-slicked back. His skin burned, the muscles beneath flexing and rigid. She turned her face into his neck, wanting to hide how raw her emotions were. How close she felt to him in this moment.

With a feral grunt he pulled her head back so her mouth met his. A hungry, uncontrollable kiss. His tongue pummelling as fast and relentlessly as that other part of him was. Something broke free within her, that desire to hold onto him. To hold onto him so tight because he’d given her something so precious. She sucked on his tongue the way her sex was—tightly squeezing. Not letting him go. Stroking him back. A slick friction that set fire to her senses again.

He tore his mouth from hers, arching and shouting as his release ripped out of him. Her body quaked as she received it, intensifying her own pleasure to the point where she could bear no more.

It took a few moments for Brad to realise he’d blanked out and was slumped over her. Their bodies were stuck together—hot skin, locked limbs. Hell, could she breathe? He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her.

‘Wow.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I can see why.’

It wasn’t quite the comment he’d wanted. That hadn’t been his usual wham and bam and ‘let’s do it three times again, ma’am’. Physical and fast and fun. He didn’t know what had got into him with this so-slow-you-think-you’re-going-to-die-from-bliss intensity.

‘You sure proved your point.’ She swallowed.

He might have managed to laugh that off if he weren’t so winded. Slowly, reluctantly, painfully, he withdrew from her warmth and rolled to lie beside her. He kept his eyes closed, holding back the exposed feeling. Because that had been so far from his usual behaviour that he couldn’t comprehend it.

That hadn’t just been sex. He didn’t really know what it had been, but he knew it was not just sex. Part of him wanted to flee the scene immediately. Another part of him was stirring back to life, hungry for a repeat. How could the gnawing ache be worse now than it had been before?

‘I’m sorry for being so useless,’ she murmured.

He flashed his eyes open and lifted his head. ‘What?’

To his amazement she’d gone bright red, more flushed than when she’d been in the throes of passion and about to come. ‘I just lay there.’

He really did laugh then—and it was all genuine. ‘No, you didn’t.’

She’d sighed and moved in subtle, uncontrollable ways that had nearly driven him out of his mind. And she’d held him. He’d had the most incredible feeling when she’d held him.

He pulled her close. But sleep didn’t claim him as quickly as it did her. Instead he lay still fully attuned to the signals of her body, his embrace tightening as her body relaxed into sleep. He’d never struggled to get to sleep after sex before. But he’d never had sex like that before either. He tried to process it, his body humming, his mind replaying fragments, sending flashes of memory to senses already overloaded and struggling with oversensitivity. Almost an hour later, still nowhere near sleep, he slipped away from her. In the moonlit kitchen he poured a glass of water. He drank, trying to wash away the fever and regain his laid-back, carefree attitude. But the cool water didn’t dispel the growing sense of discomfort and confusion.

The best moment of his life might also have been the biggest mistake.