“Yeah, an object to worship.” I start, then, as we take turns answering, our voices sound so much alike I doubt she can tell the difference.
“To adore.”
“To take.”
“To fuck.”
“To own.”
“To love.”
“To ruin.”
“To care for.”
“To possess.”
“Jesus,” she gasps.
But no sooner have I started to lose myself in another kiss than she slips from between us. She steps back, takes a breath, and raises her hands.
“I’m gonna need a minute,” she says, absently slipping her feet back into her flip-flops.
Such a good girl, cheeks red, hair messy, lipstick smeared and her scent, her fucking scent, is on the ocean air, making me salivate, ready to roar. But she’s smart and she’s fucking right. Because the room is spinning and every cell in my body is pounding out the chant, fuck her here, fuck her now.
But she deserves better than a hard fuck on a patio table.
For the first round, at least.
Dad and I step back, giving her space, taking a breath, too. His eyes catch mine for an instant, I can tell what he’s thinking.
You okay, son?
I nod and he nods in turn.
This whole fucking thing is so hot, so intoxicating, that it’s like an out of body experience. My mind zooms out to look at the three of us. Dad and me, all muscle and power and desire. And her, holding us off, somehow, so fucking precariously close to two wild animals letting themselves loose on her now. So close to being devoured. To letting the rutting begin. So close to every hole being destroyed.
She walks away, her skirt fluttering in the breeze. She doesn’t say anything at all, and my heart fucking sinks. Because I know this is a lot. So fucking much to process, to accept. To allow.
But if I lose her, I’ll lose my fucking mind.
I count the sound of four crashing waves in the distance. Then the hem of her dress gets caught on a gust, and we get a perfect view of the place where her ass meets her thighs, those tight folds and valleys. The fucking promised land.
Dad and I groan in unison.
She doesn’t turn, but I hear her exhale a little laugh. She shakes her head, scoops her hair up in a little twist off the back of her neck, revealing the creamy line of her throat, the soft curve of her shoulders and arms.
“Hang on. That boat down there. Is it called Baby or am I seeing things?”
“It is called Baby, and I bought it—and named it—for you,” Dad says.
Fuck the boat. I’m spending money with the pros now and I want her to know it.
“And I bought this fucking place for you, for us,” I tell her.
Now she turns, looking more comfortable, more confident. She looks from him to me and back again. She shakes her head, like she just can’t fucking believe this.
I know the feeling.
“Don’t keep your thoughts locked up in that pretty little head,” Dad says.
“Yeah. Say what you’ve got to say, Babe. Don’t leave us fucking hanging.”
She nibbles her lip, and her eyes get narrower and more intense. She lifts her toes off her flip-flops, wiggling them in the sunshine. And then she says, tipping her head slightly, all sweetness and hotness and every good thing, “Remind me. What’s that saying? Double the trouble…”
Fuck yeah. I run my eyes over the valley between her legs and another hot pulse of pre-cum wets my boxers. “Double the trouble, double the fun.”
Isabel’s eyes dart back and forth between us, and land on her bare toes for a split-second. She twirls a curl around her fingertip and then looks up at us, smiling. “Double the fun? Sold.”
My dad lets out a primal growl. “Then it’s time to get down to business.”
Isabel’s eyes widen, a little fearful almost. Fuck. “So soon?”
Dad laughs, glances at me. God, this fucking woman. And I slide my eyes up her body once more as he says, “Patience, little girl. First, it’s time to fucking spoil you.”
CHAPTER 5
Hale
First stop, lingerie and bikinis. We take her to a high-end boutique, the kind of place with leather chairs near the dressing rooms and champagne while you wait.
Stepping inside, I size the place up, considering the racks of swimsuits and dresses and the back corner filled with lace and frills. I slip my arm around Isabel. “Go wait in the dressing room, Baby.”
She looks up at me, wide-eyed, her cute little fingertip trailing over the spaghetti strap of a flower-printed dress. I can’t fucking wait to see that finger tracing the veins of my dick.
“You’re going to dress me?” she murmurs.
I shake my head at her and get in close to the soft shell of her ear. “We’re going to dress you.”
She melts against me. “God.”
Flint steps in closer, gives her ass a little swat. “Go on. You heard him. Go get naked and wait.”