Addicted to You (Swanson Court 2)

“Fuck,” he sighs, his chest heaving as I rise back to my feet. He moves me gently so my back is against the tiles, then he gets on his knees, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder. He devours me hungrily, his tongue and lips, hot and wet against my pulsing clit. He nuzzles my inner lips, then licks my clit. The next moment his tongue is stroking the pulsing entrance to my body, pushing inside, tasting me, before going back to flick teasingly over my clit.

I’m screaming his name, wild, my back rubbing against the tiles, my legs so unsteady I have no idea where or how I’m getting my balance. His tongue flutters over my clit, teasing me until I’m close to the edge, then he closes his lips around the mass of nerves and sucks lightly on it. The pleasure is so intense that I almost pass out from the incredible climax that rocks my body.

I’m still reeling from my orgasm when he gets to his feet. His cock is hard again, shockingly erect and lined with pulsing veins. I don’t offer any protest when he lifts both my feet from the floor, wrapping my legs around his waist. He plunges into me, his cock hitting every single nerve inside me.

My hands flutter over his chest as he starts to fuck me. His face is set, his muscles bunched tight under his skin. My back rubs against the tiles as he thrusts hard again and again, and the steam from the shower mixes with the sweat misting on my skin. Pleasure envelopes me, making my blood surge. I cry out his name as another orgasm rocks through me, the powerful surge of his cock and the sweet warmth of his climax taking me over the edge.

It seems like a long while before we both recover, holding each other under the spray as warm water cascades over us. I feel languid and sensual, and totally satisfied. Back in the bedroom, we dress each other. Landon zips up my yellow patterned dress and gets on his knees to slide my feet into my heels. I help him button the long-sleeved shirt and tuck it into his gray pants.

He combs his hair, then sits on the bed to watch me blow-dry mine and brush it to obedience.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

My heart actually flutters. “Thank you.”

He gets up and takes my hand, his fingers caressing mine. “We’d better go.”

Outside, the smell of the sea is invigorating. Joe and Landon’s car from last night are gone back to New York, but there’s a car in the garage, a shiny, two-door, Italian sports car.

Landon looks at it and grins widely.

“What?” I ask.

“Alex, the guy who owns this place, he thinks the world of this car.” His grin widens. “He’s probably having a heart attack at the thought of anybody else driving it.”

Cars are not really my forte, but even I can see that it’s a splendid machine. “Then why did he agree to let you?”

Landon arches a brow at me. “Because I can be persuasive.”

I chuckle. “Don’t I know it?”

Inside the car, he hands me a small leather case with the bold insignia of a popular fashion designer embossed on the top. Inside is a pair of stylish shades. I put them on, and he does the same with his own pair. Aviators. They make him look like a rich playboy and I tell him so.

He raises one eyebrow. “I was born awesome, baby,” he says with exaggerated swagger, making me giggle.

Our destination is a three story hotel along the beach. The Regency Grace, according to the mounted sign, and even from the exterior, I can see that it’s an old building. Landon drives to the entrance and exits the car, and I watch as he surrenders the keys to the uniformed valet, once again utterly captive to how beautiful he is, how graceful, how hot.

Landon catches my stare and smiles, something carnal in his face promising me all sorts of pleasures for later.

He starts to tell me what he knows about the hotel. Originally built at the turn of the century to take advantage of the popularity of the location as a vacation spot, the architects desi

gned it to evoke the character of the gilded-age mansions dotting the area. There have been two additions and renovations, Landon tells me, with a real effort made both times to maintain the character of the building.

I can see what he means. It’s not hard to imagine the place as part of Newport in the gilded age. Graceful white columns are topped with carved moldings, the cream walls are saved from monotony by white edged windows, and balconies dot the upper floors. The landscaping at the entrance is neat and colorful, but despite everything, there is a sense of something that’s beautiful, but long past its prime.

At the main entrance doors, there’s an older couple waiting to meet Landon. He introduces them to me as the McLaren’s. Mrs. McLaren is the current owner, and she manages the place with her husband. They’re both in their seventies at least.

“Call me Lucy,” she urges when Landon introduces us. She’s a sweet old lady, with her silver hair in a low bun, and her eyes still sparkling with liveliness. “What a lovely thing you are!” she gushes at me before turning to her husband. “Isn’t she Dave?”

Dave McLaren’s face is lined, but still handsome. He gives me a charming smile as he shakes my hand. “Without a doubt,” he says, agreeing with his wife.

Landon raises his brows in my direction, there’s an amused smile on his lips, but I ignore him and thank the old couple for their compliments.

In the lobby, everything is clean and polished. It’s clear that day to day maintenance is not the problem, but the undeniable aura of age that even the efforts of the management have been unable to mask.

There’re a few guests milling about, and a few couples with children. “Dave will show you around,” Lucy tells me. “There’s a lot to see. I’m going to steal your beau for a few hours so we can talk in my office.” She smiles. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not,” I reply with a smile. I turn to Dave. “I’m looking forward to seeing the place.”