Page 20 of The Southern Thirst Trap

“You’re a shark,” I accuse, blinking saltwater out of my eyes.

She laughs, the sound a bit scratchy from the ocean, but still drilling straight to my cock and getting me to smile despite feeling a little bitter over her now obvious deviousness.

“I never said otherwise. I told you I swam competitively and was confident. You could have taken it for the heads up it was, but you underestimated me.”

“If I did, even unconsciously, I certainly learned my lesson. I will make you the best bath you’ve ever had tonight. You’ll be so relaxed you’ll sleep like a baby.”

“Mmm, that sounds good, but I’ve been sleeping fine. Maybe it’s because I’ve been woken up at dawn more often than not by you impatient to start the day with something sure to get the heart rate up.”

“If I do recall, you’re just as likely to be the one to wake me up. Just yesterday, your mouth was on me before my eyes were even open.” I start lazily swimming back toward the beach, and Harlowe follows.

“Only because your giant dick pressing into my ass woke me up first. I had to do something about it.” She smirks as she side-strokes next to me.

“So you put it in your mouth? Hey, I’m not complaining,” I say when she gives me an exasperated look. “It was an incredible way to wake up. Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about your sweet mouth on me.”

I swallow a mouthful of seawater as a wave hits me in the face while I’m thinking about her waking me up with her incredible brand of head that makes my eyes roll back every time she goes down on me. I cough and sputter, remembering we’re still a hundred meters or more from shore and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking Harlowe’s mouth while survival is on the line.

Harlowe laughs and mutters, “serves you right,” before she starts swimming toward shore with her powerful strokes. I can see how she beat me. Her long, lean body is built for swimming, the water seeming to bend around her as she cuts through it. Fuck, she’s sexy. Another wave hits me in the face and I realize I better get my shit together before I drown unintentionally.

After dinner, I send Harlowe to relax while I work on her prize. I go all out, collecting every flower I can find to fill the huge bathtub in our villa so Harlowe can have the luxurious, relaxing, sexy bath she requested as payment for winning her bet—rigged as it was. Bath oil and bubbles were part of the toiletries set included on the table next to the tub, so in they went, as well. I don't remember the last time I took a bath, but joining her for this one doesn't sound like a bad option. I make sure there are several condoms within easy reach on the table before I leave the bathroom in search of Harlowe to let her know it’s ready.

She’s stretched out on her side, her head propped on one hand while reading one of the romance novels she brought with her in a cushioned nook on the little deck overlooking the darkening water off the back of the bedroom portion of the villa. The ocean is beginning to churn, the sky a mass of clouds streaking across the horizon with an approaching storm.

Harlowe is oblivious to the weather and looks sexy as hell in a loose slip of a dress that hits her high on her thighs, the breeze lifting the hem and showing me there’s likely nothing else underneath as the sun sets along the horizon behind the deep gray clouds. I give myself a moment to appreciate her like that, completely relaxed, unguarded, and not putting on a show for my benefit.

I know she’s been playing a role. I never asked her to, but I’d be stupid to assume she would agree to this trip without some level of expectation, especially for what I asked of her. She likely thinks she needs to be a certain type of character to satisfy me. She has no idea that all I wanted was to get to know the woman behind the photos, the one who captivated me so much I had to break my own rules for her. I just wanted to know who she was off-set, out of the images that grabbed me by the balls and made me chase her. To know her like this.

I couldn’t tell her that and risk her thinking I wanted anything more than just this trip. I can't promise her more. I can't promise her me, not off of this island, in the real world where business comes first and she would get the leftovers. Not when she deserves something so much better.

But tonight, I can offer her this piece of me that no one else has, or will ever have. She gets the real me, the whole me. The me that is in over my head and absolutely fucking crazy about her.

“Your bath awaits, my goddess divine,” I say, bowing low to her at the doorway to the deck.

She smiles at me over her book. “Your goddess divine, huh? Really laying it on thick tonight.”

“I’ve been humbled by your athletic prowess in the sea. How else should I address you, my queen?”

“Oh, I could get used to this,” she says, humor bubbling through her words. She sets her book down and rises from the cushion-strewn nook, stretches, and walks to me. “Remember, it’s ten minutes of shoulder rubs before the fucking.” Her eyes narrow into a look of pure feline seduction, and I feel my balls tighten in response.

“Yes, my great and mighty deity of power and grace, I’m your willing and humble servant,” I say, dipping my head in reverence as she passes, making her laugh loudly.

“You’re too much. I definitely like your crass, demanding ways more than whatever this is. What would you call it, anyway?” She stops and turns toward me, waiting for my answer.

I straighten up, considering her question seriously, because I could just as easily stay in this role, worshiping her forever. “Acolyte is probably a good term.”

“Drop the acolyte act. I want my Zander back.”

My Zander.Fuck, I want to be hers so badly.

She grabs the neck of my shirt and pulls me to her, crushing our mouths together, and I react instinctively. My arms wrap her against me exactly as I have come to enjoy the last week, one hand low on her back, the other along the column of her neck, my thumb and forefinger angling her jaw for my mouth to claim hers. She moans into my mouth, her body going soft where mine goes hard, and I thrill at the responsiveness she has to my touch.

“Don’t start something I can’t finish for at least ten minutes.” I nip at her bottom lip and take her hand to walk her through the villa.

“It’s part of losing the bet. You have to control yourself,” she says playfully.

“No, Wildcat,” I chastise. “It’s you that will have to control yourself.”

With that, I lead her around the corner to the bathroom and she gasps at the sight of the tub, full of bubbles and flowers, candles glowing around the edges of the windows and along the floor, illuminating the darkening bathroom. A soft rain begins to patter against the windows, creating a soothing soundtrack for our evening.

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