Her eyes widen. “What?”
“You’re the first,” I say again, reaching over to her, lightly trailing the back of my knuckles along the curve where her neck and shoulder meets. It’s a barely there touch, but the contact makes her shiver and blush. “And I’ve never made a picnic for anyone before you either.”
“I, uh, I …” her blush deepens and her voice wobbles. “Really?”
She’s nervous and she takes a long pull from her beer.
“Really,” I say, letting my hand fall away, wanting to put her at ease. I reach into the cooler, grabbing a beer for myself, twisting it open.
When I glance back at her, she’s staring at me, confused, as though I haven’t answered her question at all, so I decide to elaborate.
“This is my getaway, the place I come to clear my head. The guys come out with me every once in a while, but for the most part I keep the boat to myself. It’s … special to me, sacred even. I don’t bring just anyone out here.”
“So it’s a special place,” she reiterates, surprised. “Your special place.”
I take a pull from my beer. “Essentially, yeah.”
My response relaxes her, and she beams at me as though being here makes her special, too.
It does.
She is special to me.
“Do you spend a lot of time on the water?”
“Not so much anymore,” I say. “But whenever I get a chance, I take her out. I used to have a sailboat, back before I started working with Jase and Wes. Spent the summers on it, going wherever I felt like.”
A flicker of surprise passes across her eyes, but she wipes it away quickly, giving me another small smile. “I’ve thought about getting a boat. It would be cool to spend a summer sailing. My parents did it once and I have all these pictures of them, before us kids were born, on the boat in the Caribbean.”
“You should do it,” I say. “It’s fuckin’ amazing, best experience I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, maybe someday,” she says, looking from me to her beer, then back at me, before reaching into the cooler and pulling out the roast beef sandwiches and container of potato salad.
The day speeds away, early afternoon slipping by before I know it. We eat, and talk, joking around and laughing, just like any normal couple.
It’s … odd, and completely unexpected, but I gotta admit, I love it.
Love every second of it.
Our picnic is cleaned up, all the wrappers and containers stuffed back into the cooler, and after a couple beers, Piper stretches herself out on the couch, her head in my lap, soaking up the sun.
She looks so … happy.
Relaxed.
Content.
Looking down at her, I trace lazy lines across her skin. If it weren’t so fucking hot out here, I don’t think I’d ever move from this spot. But I’m sweating, and Piper’s skin is turning pink, even though she’s been lathering on that sunscreen of hers like crazy.
“You’re starting to burn,” I say. “Let’s get you out of the sun for a bit, yeah?”
Piper smiles contentedly up at me. She says nothing as she slips off my lap, standing up and grabbing her beer off the floor, before wandering over toward the steps.
I follow her, flicking on the light and cranking up the air conditioner when we make it inside the cabin.
I expect her to cover up and throw her dress on, but she doesn’t, instead choosing to wander around the small cabin in that skimpy little bikini.
It’s torture.
The best kind of torture.
She sets her beer down on the table, and runs a hand along the tees and shorts, stacked up on the shelf. She opens cupboards, poking around, checking everything out.
Sitting on the couch, which converts into a double bed, I watch her intently, not saying a word as she openly snoops. The sun did a number on her today; her shoulders, her chest, even her nose is pink.
Eventually, she makes her way over to me, letting out a startled shriek when the boat rocks, before bursting out with laughter as she falls right into me, losing her balance. I grunt when her knee jabs into my side, and she giggles, grinning at me as she climbs onto my lap, straddling me.
Not what I anticipated her doing, but there’s no goddamn way I’m going to complain about it.
Piper wraps her arms around me, cocking her head to the side, regarding me curiously. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. Why me? Why now after all this time?”
I don’t respond to that because she doesn’t give me a chance. All of a sudden, her mouth is on mine, and her hands, shaky and nervous, are tugging at the hem of my tee, pulling it up my chest.
“What are you doing?” I sound baffled because I am, but there’s no way I’m going to stop her, not when her small, soft hands are brushing against my abs and sides invitingly.
She leans back at my question, though her hands don’t still, yanking my shirt over my head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I want you; I have for years and—” she gently grinds herself against my thickening cock, “I’m pretty sure you want me, too.”
I nearly laugh. Of course I want her.
Been wanting her for years.
But, ah fuck me, if I can’t get the damn words out, because her hands are sliding down my abs, fingertips dipping into the front of my jeans, working the button and zipper, and her lips are back on mine.
I should stop her. Make sure she’s sure about this. She’s had a few beers, and although I know she’s not drunk, she’s most likely still feeling a buzz.
But then her hand reaches between us, her fingertips smoothing over the tip of my cock, and fuck me, but I take it as an invitation.
An invitation to stop thinking.
My tongue darts out, stroking along the seam of her lips, and she willingly opens herself to me.
I kiss her deeply, single-mindedly, as my hands move from her hips to her ass, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, and then moans, digging her fingers into my hair and pressing herself closer still, grinding her core against my throbbing erection.
I groan at the pressure, rocking my hips up into her, my cock desperate for more.
More friction.
More pressure.
More of her.
I’ve never wanted to be inside a woman so much, or wanted to see a woman come as much as I do at this moment. I want to taste her, touch every inch of her body, feel her come on my hand, on my cock.
Piper breaks the kiss well before I’m ready and instant disappointment washes over me. She smirks at me, a one-sided lift of her lips, as she reaches up to the back of her neck and tugs the tie holding up her top.
I’m stunned speechless.
I watch the scant clothing fall, hanging around her middle, leaning back to stare at her as she reaches behind her back and pulls the second tie, letting her bikini top tumble to my lap.
Damn, she has nice tits. Round and perky, with tight pink nipples that are begging to be touched, licked, sucked on.
“We do this,” I say, my voice a soft, near growl, “then you’re in my bed and no one else’s, yeah?”
She tenses at my words and a bright flush paints her cheeks. “Vance, please …” she whimpers. “There’s no other bed I want to be in. Just … please …”
Shit. I don’t even know how to explain the elation that floods through me at hearing those words.
I grin at her. “Please what? Tell me what you want, freckles.”
Piper growls at me—literally growls—and cocks an eyebrow, her expression equal parts nervous, frustrated, and challenging.
She’s daring me to take over.
She’s nervous that I will.
“Jesus, you’re so damn pretty,” I say, and though it nearly kills me, I ignore her perfect tits for a moment, leaning in and capturing her mouth once more.
Piper melts, the tension evaporates, and she kisses me back, frantic and needy.
It’s … awesome.
She’s awesome.
Panting,
her hands roam my skin, tug at my jeans, as I trace my tongue along her jaw, kissing down the column, along her shoulder, before dipping my head and capturing her pert nipple between my teeth, nipping and sucking at it.
“Vance,” she moans, writhing on my lap. “Please.”
“I got you, freckles.”
I kiss along her collarbone as I move my hand between us. The warmth radiating from her core makes me shiver and she inhales sharply as I slip my fingers into her bikini bottom, groaning when I feel her arousal.
Piper dips her head, searching out my mouth and kissing me hard as I slide two fingers deep inside her.
“Oh, God …” she gasps as I stroke my thumb over her clit with each pump of my fingers. Within mere seconds, her body tightens, and her core flutters and squeezes against my digits buried inside her. She tilts her head back, arching her back and squeezing my shoulders as her orgasm rushes through her.
So damn pretty.
Piper lets her head fall to my shoulder, breathing hard as she kisses my neck. She squeaks out a high-pitched moan as I slowly remove my fingers from her center, shifting slightly, to dig out my wallet, looking for a condom. I pull it out, tossing the wallet beside us. It bounces off the couch, hitting the floor with a muted thud.
Lifting my hips, I fumble with my jeans and boxers, struggling to get them down and release my cock without letting her off my lap.
I want her where she is.
I want to watch her ride me.
I want her in control.
Pulling the strings at her hips, I tug the rest of her swimsuit away as she lifts up. She watches as I slide on the condom, her little pink tongue swiping along her bottom lip, and seconds later, she’s lowering herself onto my dick.
The first thrust is slow and deep, and I groan at the sensation. She’s so tight, so wet, I can barely contain myself, and it’s a goddamn struggle to hold still and give her a moment to adjust.
Then she starts moving, slow and steady, her hands tightening on my shoulders, and I lose myself, thrusting up, picking up the rhythm, taking as much as I can.
I can feel it coming, building inside me. I reach between us, grazing my thumb over her clit. She lets out a shriek, squeezing me hard as her body convulses with pleasure, and I can’t hold it back.
Shivering, I grunt into her mouth as I come, just as her orgasm starts to fade.
She doesn’t move away, and I don’t let her go, staying deep inside of her as I hold her against me. Her head drops back to my shoulder, her raspy breath blowing against my heated skin. I can feel her frantic pulse, the quick rise and fall of her chest, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of her skin against mine.
She’s perfect, I think, squeezing her tightly. Absolute perfection.
Chapter Seventeen
Piper
“Where are you going?” Vance asks, his voice rougher, deeper than normal, as his hands grasp onto my hips and he pulls me back down beside him. I gasp in surprise, tumbling down onto the couch, and before I can respond, his mouth finds mine and he kisses me, slowly and thoroughly.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I say when his mouth leaves mine, my voice no more than a whispered breath.
Sweeping my hair aside, he kisses the side of my neck, causing a shiver to spread through me. His lips trail along my neck and down my shoulder, pausing to place a kiss on the spot where they meet. His mouth lingers there as he whispers, “I’m awake.”
“I see that,” I say on a sigh, closing my eyes as he settles me back in his arms, maneuvering me to my side, pinning my back against his chest with no space separating our naked bodies.
It’s late, well past nine at night, I assume. I’m not really sure. There are no clocks down here, but the sunset was at least an hour ago, and it feels like I’ve been lying here, wrapped up in Vance’s arms, all sweaty and sticky, for hours.
They have been, hands down, the best hours of my life.
He chuckles in my ear as his hands caress my skin, slowly sliding down my belly, moving toward the dull ache between my legs. He trails a finger along my folds, before finding my clit, stroking and rubbing me, and it doesn’t take long for my breaths to turn into whimpers.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he whispers. “Where were you going?”
“I thought …” My breath hitches, my voice strains as my body tightens, the pressure building up inside me. I take a sharp breath, releasing it on a whimper.
“You thought …” he prompts, his voice amused, and perhaps a little cocky.
He has stolen the words right from my lips.
“I thought I heard …” I try again, shifting my hips and pressing into his hand in a desperate search for more friction. I gasp when he circles the little bundle of nerves quicker and quicker, the rest of the words slipping from my lips, a disjointed mess of sounds. A moment later, my body tenses at the release of pleasure.
He hums in my ear, his hand stilling, cupping the place between my legs. “Love hearing the sounds you make when you come, freckles.”
I’m embarrassed for a moment and my face begins to heat, but I don’t have time to dwell on it, because he is suddenly on top of me, flipping me onto my back, his weight pressing down on me as he yanks my legs up around his waist.
My back arches involuntarily and I swallow a gasp as I feel his cock pressing against me, my eyes drifting closed as it brushes against my sensitive clit, sending small shocks of pleasure shooting through me.
“Open those eyes, Piper,” he says quietly.
I do. My eyelids flutter open, my gaze locking on his. He grins down at me, kissing me quickly, before pulling back.
I make a sound of protest, lifting up as much as I can under the weight of his body, trying to reclaim his mouth, and he chuckles, shaking his head.
“Tell me,” he says, “what was it you thought you heard?”
“What?” I ask, dazed.
“You heard something,” he says, chuckling softly. “What was it?”
Oh, right. “A phone ringing.”
All at once, Vance slips away, climbing to his feet. Another sound of protest slips from my lips, but he doesn’t pay attention to it, rummaging around on the floor, scooping up his pants and tugging them on.
He leaves without even looking back, and I lay there, staring at the steps leading above deck, not understanding what the heck just happened.
Mercifully, he isn’t gone long so I don’t have time to agonize over it. I don’t even have time to consider getting dressed, because he returns after only a few seconds, slipping back down the steps soundlessly, haphazardly tossing my bag beside me on the couch, and he mutters that my phone was ringing too as he taps the screen on his and brings it to his ear.
Snagging my bag, I rifle through it, searching for my phone, listening to Vance’s grunted curses as he listens to his messages.
Oh, crap.
Something’s wrong.
I open my mouth but quickly close it, when my phone beeps with a new message. Not that I can say anything anyway. I’m too busy concentrating on not freaking out to speak.
I find my phone—finally—and I look at the screen. It’s barely after ten, and several messages came through while I’ve been down here in the cabin, so I tap the screen and scroll through them.
Kim: Where are you?
Kim: Are you with Vance?
Kim: Why aren’t you guys answering?
Jimmy: Pipes, I don’t want to do this over text message. Call me. It’s urgent.
Kim: This isn’t the time to go silent on me.
Jimmy: What the hell is the point of having a fucking cell phone if you’re not going to answer it?
Kim: Please, please, please call me.
Jimmy: I swear to God, if you guys don’t call us back right now …
Kim: You need to call me back. RIGHT. NOW.
I stare at the screen, blinking at the last message, feeling my stomach coil tight as I drop the phone onto the couch beside me, and glance at Vance. Hi
s back is to me, and he’s whispering now, talking to someone on the phone. I don’t know who he’s talking to or what he’s talking about; his responses are all short and hissed—one-word answers.
The conversation doesn’t last long, only a few short seconds before he ends the call, and as he turns to me, I suddenly feel exposed and very naked.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper as I stand up, and move across the small area to my dress, quickly slipping it on.
He blinks at me when I look back at him, and I bite down on my bottom lip, growing more and more concerned when he doesn’t respond right away, my anxiety making me feel sick.
Years pass, it seems, before Vance speaks.
“There’s a problem at your house,” he says quietly, watching me closely.
I feel my whole body tense and coil with a mix of anxiety and dread. What happened now? Oh God, is this ever going to end?
“What kind of problem?” My voice is shaky and hesitant, and my stomach and chest squeeze tight.
Vance’s eyes darken at my question. He hears my panic. He sees it.
“Shit,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, I shouldn’t have brought …” he trails off, mumbling a fresh array of curses.
His hand drops from his face and my stomach coils nervously.
“Your house …” he continues, and then stalls, hesitating for a moment. “Piper, honey, your house is on fire.”
I look up at him and a shocked laugh rocks from me. My house is on fire. I have no idea what he means by that, or perhaps it’s just my brain refusing to understand his words, but his tone tells me it’s not a little kitchen mishap, or a knocked over candle.
Oh my God.
My house is on fire.
“Jimmy …”
“No one was there,” he says quickly, before I can finish my thought. “Jimmy was out with his girl when the fire started.”