Page 86 of Xavier

“Not that one.” He points in the opposite direction. “This one.”

The one he’s pointing out looks like a lifeguard's house and not just a stand for someone to sit on.

“Come on. We don’t have all night.” I pull him by his hand, eager for another round.

“But we do have all night.” He teases.

“Not here. I want to enjoy the hotel room and the hot tub. And the shower. And the balcony. And-”

Xavier picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, cutting me off. “And hopefully the bed for a time or two.”

“Xavier! My ass is in the air. People will see.”

He slaps my ass, hard, before saying, “They are about to see a lot more.”

I feel as giddy as a horny teenager and giggle as he places me down on the chair inside the lifeguard hut, and kneels before my legs.

I scoot closer to the edge, needing him to be closer to my aching center.

His fiery gaze burns into mine as he slips one finger in me, then another. My walls tighten as he pumps in and out of me.

Looking down, I watch as my juices cover his fingers.

I lean my head back and close my eyes as I moan out, “Fuck, Xavier.”

His warm mouth covers my clit before his tongue laps at the tiny bud.

Pleasure shoots through me and I know I’m already close. I should be able to last longer.

I should be able to resist the orgasm that is threatening to explode inside me, but I can’t.

Xavier’s attention on my clit mixed with his two fingers pummeling my pussy is too much to bear.

I scream out loud as stars burst behind my closed eyelids.

“God, yes! Fuck!”

Xavier doesn’t relent. His fingers still fuck me, not letting me come down from my high as his tongue circles my clit, bringing me higher and higher.

“Xavier, please. Oh God, please. I can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me.” Anything to get him to let me come down back to earth.

“You can and you will.” He growls out before standing in front of me.

I think I just died and went to heaven. How else can I describe this weightless feeling?

Chapter Twenty

XAVIER

Fuck. I’m a dead man. Deader than dead, if that were possible. The clock on the end table reads 11:43 in its glaring red color that’s like a giant neon sign saying you fucked up.

I missed my daily morning check in with John this morning.

My phone continues to vibrate on my end table like it’s a vibrator turned on high. Grabbing my phone, I glance at the screen and let out a long groan.

Six missed calls and twenty unread text messages.

I stare at my phone as more text messages come through.

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