Hot Maui Nights

“Because I have the urge to strap a vibe on you and walk away for fifteen minutes.”

My eyes flare open, and I draw in a breath. That’s a fucking visual, isn’t it? And now I wish we were back home with all of our playthings within reach. My headboard is perfect for tying, and I have an embarrassingly large collection of toys, most of which I’ve never pulled out of the package.

I used to have a neighbor who did those sex toy parties, and I always liked the idea of all of it, but I had no one to play with. Men are so weird about that stuff sometimes.

Of course, Tate is completely down—because of course he is. Just another example of how he’s absolutely perfect for me in every way, except one.

“I guess I’ll make do with what we have available to us.” He walks out of the room only to return a minute later with ice water. Staring down at me, he takes a gulp of water and then kneels between my legs, placing his cold tongue against my pussy and slipping an ice cube inside of me.

My thighs clamp shut around his head as I scream. “Fuck, that’s cold.”

“Keep your legs open or I’m calling down to the concierge and having them buy me rope from the local hardware store,” Tate says. He pushes them wide and then slides his fingers inside me, finding the rapidly melting ice cube and lazily stroking my g-spot. “How many times can you come in one night?”

Moaning, I throw my head back and roll my hips, riding his fingers. “I don’t know. Two, maybe three times.”

“Hmmm,” he hums against my clit. “The goal for tonight is at least five.”

“Five?” I gasp as the pressure to climax builds. I’m sopping wet, his fingers coaxing so much arousal out of me, I’m gushing.

“Fuck, I love how wet you get for me. Sticky sweet—I just want to eat you up.”

I flex my finger around the scarves securing my arms above my head. Part of me loves the restriction, and yet part of me wants to fist his hair and ride his face like I did earlier. The anxiety warring in my brain because of the different things I want amplifies the pressure building low in my belly, and all it takes is for Tate to suck my clit into his mouth to send me over the edge.

“That’s it, Sariah. Give it to me.”

“Oh, fuck, Tate. That is so good.”

He raises up onto his knees, pulling his fingers out of me and bringing them to my mouth. “Suck.”

I draw his fingers in, swirling my tongue around them, my come just as sweet as he said.

“I told you, you taste like honeysuckle.”

And then he lifts my knee with his shoulder, spreading me wide, and slides into me in one possessive, dominating thrust. There is nothing soft about Tate in this moment. He claims my mouth, his tongue delving deep and in rhythm with his hips as he drives his cock into me over and over again.

He fucks me hard and with purpose, like in the bathroom last night, sneaking a hand into my hair and clenching his fist, a shot of pleasurable pain wrenching through me.

“You understand you are mine, Sariah?” He pulls back and pins me with the same look he threw me in our reflection last night. It screams pain. It screams frustration. And it screams absolute possession. “All fucking mine.”

Yes,is on the tip of my tongue because deep in my heart I know it’s true. I’ve been his from the moment he walked into our office and asked me to come to Toledo. It’s like we both knew the moment our eyes met, and after that night, I knew he would one day break my heart. Or maybe I knew I would break my heart by denying myself what was right in front of me.

Either way, my heart aches for something I want and can’t have.

He slows down, gentling his thrusts, and lets go of my hair to reach above us and untie my wrists. “I need your hands on me.”

I flex my fingers, sliding one hand into his hair, the other down his back and to his ass. The muscles flex tight as he works himself in and out of me.

He nestles his face into my neck, his breath tickling my ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Yes,” I pant as he pulls my leg up, hitting me at a different angle, intensifying my pleasure tenfold.

I can’t believe it, but I’m going to come again.

“That’s it, sugar. I feel your pussy milking me, begging for my cum.”

“Oh god,” I groan, forcing his face against my neck and locking my ankles behind his back as a full body tremor takes over. I break into tiny pieces, Tate growling as he speeds up to join me in my orgasm.

His body weight collapses on me as we lay there struggling to catch our breath.

“Wow,” I mumble, because what else am I going to say?

He chuckles and rolls off me, pulling my leg over his hip so I have no choice but to turn over and face him. Brushing my hair out of my face, he strokes my cheek with his fingertips, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. His gaze bores into mine, his eyes searching my face for an answer that I’m desperate to keep from him. I know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too. Three crazy-ass words poised on the tip of my tongue, craving to be spoken.

But I can’t. I can’t say it, nor can I hear it.

So, when he opens his mouth, I shake my head and put my fingertips over his lips. “Please don’t.”

“Unspoken words change nothing, Sariah.”

“I know, Tate. But please, just for tonight, let’s not muddy the waters and enjoy ourselves.”

He breaks eye contact, and drags his gaze down my body, his eyes heating as I’m sure a myriad of dirty thoughts run through his head. His fingers are light as they skate over my skin, bringing up goosebumps, my nipples pebbling into hard little peaks as he swirls circles around them. “I love your body. It’s the perfect little playground.”

And I giggle, thankful he’s willing to change the subject and the mood. “And my playground loves to be played on by you.”