Page 13 of Drunk on You

My lips brush her soft skin, and I whisper against her ear, “I had a great night,” before I back up, wishing the night weren’t coming to an end.

As if she’s having the same thought as me, she says, “So, tomorrow?”

“Be ready to go bright and early.” I lean back in and kiss the corner of her mouth this time, before I retreat to my room, where I spend the next twenty minutes jacking off while I think about my new fake fiancée.

“You’re spoiling me,” Stacey moans as I rub sunscreen along her shoulders and back. “Keep it up, and I’m going to expect delicious, fancy dinners and day trips on your boat every weekend.”

I chuckle, moving my way down to the backs of her thighs while trying like hell to keep my cock from getting hard. But it’s hard to do when the sexy woman in front of me is dressed in a string bikini that could be used to floss my teeth.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

I finish applying the sunscreen and then climb over her, kissing her neck before I hop up. But before I make it far, she turns over and grabs the edge of my shorts.

“Can you do my front, please?” She playfully bats her lashes. “I don’t want to get it all over my hands.”

I internally groan, knowing my restraint is running thin and if I have to apply sunscreen to her breasts, I just might snap. She’s been like this all day since the moment we woke up—touching and flirting. Walking around in her tiny bikini. Thank God it’s just the two of us on the boat, or I might’ve lost my shit with jealousy. And I’m not usually a jealous guy.

“If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is say so,” I flirt back because my fiancée might be fake, but the way I want to fuck her in every goddamn hole is real.

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she lies back and closes her eyes, waiting for me to massage the sunscreen onto her. I squirt some in my hands and then start with her arms, where it’s safe, then work my way to her breasts. When I massage circles into the swells of her breasts that aren’t covered by the tiny, thin material, she releases a soft moan that goes straight to my cock.

“Fuck, woman, you’re killing me.” I rub the lotion into her smooth, flat stomach and then finish with her thighs and calves. Once I’m done, I get up, needing a drink to cool down.

I’m standing in the kitchen, drinking a beer, when I hear footsteps coming down. I turn around and find Stacey standing in front of me.

“I’m thirsty,” she murmurs, taking my beer from me and slowly, seductively bringing it to her lips. “Mmm,” she moans after she takes a sip and hands it back to me. “That tastes good.”

Without taking my eyes off her, I set the beer on the counter and then hook my arm around her torso, pulling her toward me.

“I want to taste you,” I murmur once our faces are only inches apart.

“So, do it.”

Leaning in, I start with a kiss to her cheek, my lips relishing in her creamy skin. I take a moment to inhale her scent, and even with the fragrance of lotion on her, her smell is still intoxicating. I trail kisses along her jawline and over to her pouty mouth, which is void of her red lipstick today. I brush my lips against hers, first the bottom, then the top, taking a moment to memorize how soft her lips are.

I’m prepared to end it there, but before I break the kiss, she parts her lips, welcoming me in, and I slide my tongue inside, coaxing hers, reveling in the sweet taste. A sexy little moan comes from her, and I deepen the kiss. She sighs into me, her arms wrapping around my neck, and I force myself to step back before I take her right here against the counter.

When I look down at her bee-stung lips that have formed the sexiest fucking pout, I take another step back, needing to distance myself before I do something I’m not sure I’ll regret.

“I’m sorry,” she says, misunderstanding.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I kissed you.”

“I told you to. And then I kissed you back.”

“And if I didn’t stop it, I’d be fucking you right now,” I admit.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” she states shyly.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, closing the distance I just put between us. I cup the side of her face and use my thumb to lift her chin to look at me. “Is that what you want?” I repeat. “For me to fuck you?”

“That’s up to you,” she murmurs. “You’re in charge here, Ian, not me.”

Her words are like ice-cold water being poured down my swim trunks. Is that why she’s been flirting with me all day? Does she think that’s what’s expected of her? And is that what I want? To fuck someone who is doing it because they’re being paid to do so?

The answer is no … hell no. I want to fuck her because I’m attracted to her, because she’s the first woman in … well, forever that I’m wanting to get to know better, wanting to spend more time with. For the first time, I can see myself spending the night with a woman and not wanting to kick her out in the morning.

And I want her to want to fuck me. But with her words, I’m reminded that she isn’t here for me. Our chemistry might be off the charts. Sure, we can hold a conversation easily, and fuck if being with her doesn’t feel as natural as breathing, but at the end of the day, she’s here for the paycheck. The ring on her finger wasn’t put there out of love. It’s a possession to seal the deal, to make it look legit.

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