Page 24 of The Southern Thirst Trap

Zander’s storm cloud gray eyes are more than interested, relief flitting through those fathomless depths that I’m willing to play along. “You like to cook?”

“That’s like saying you like to make money when you mention you’re in business. I’m brilliant in the kitchen. If I wasn't modeling, I would absolutely make a run at being a chef.”

“I’m intrigued. I have always been told not to trust a skinny chef. It seems like a model would be the last person I would think of as a good cook.”

I keep the fun smile fixed on my face. He absolutely does not want to hear about the last six years of disordered eating, of hating my body for not being what casting directors were looking for on shoots or campaigns or catwalks. He doesn’t want to hear that I cooked wonderful meals and only let myself eat a bite of each dish and threw the rest away for fear of the caloric density and what it would do to my figure.

“Just because I’m a model, and I can’t eat as much as I’d like, doesn’t mean I can’t cook. Let me sweet talk the chef at the restaurant. I’ll make my way into that kitchen and we’ll see what he has to say about my skills, and you can see for yourself, Zander, that I can blow your mind with another taste of my remarkable talents.”

“Well, consider this challenge fucking accepted. I’m ready for you to blow my mind yet again, little Wildcat.”

Before I can do that, we have to catch the damn lobster.

Zander and I take a boat out to a reef and he gives me the briefest crash course in spotting lobster among the rocks and reefs, how to use a tickle stick to herd them out of their hiding spots, to grab them with my hands. Then it’s just putting on a mask, snorkel, and gloves, and we’re in the water on our hunt. It takes no time at all for my competitive streak to get going and of course, I’m looking for the juiciest creature to win some imaginary contest against Zander.

Once I figure out what I’m looking for, the task becomes fun as I push the spiny lobsters out of hiding, hunting for a perfectly sized catch in between breaths. Finally, I make my selection, grabbing the lobster and swimming for the boat just as Zander comes up with his own catch.

“Look at you, a natural, as usual,” he says, tossing his tickle stick and lobster into the back of the boat. He fluidly hauls his beautiful body up onto the small deck at the rear of the boat and turns to help me in next.

I push my mask and snorkel off and wipe water out of my face. “That was fun. I got an extra lobster for something I have planned.”

He looks over his shoulder and spots the second lobster I found on an earlier dive and whistles. “Overachiever,” he laughs.

“Shall we go back to the island and I’ll really wow you with my overachiever abilities? We have hours before dinner. I’m sure we can figure out a way to fill them.” I walk my fingers up Zander’s bare chest until my hand is flat against it and I’m looking up at his lips, saltwater still clinging to his skin, reflecting the sunlight like jewels.

He closes the distance and captures my lips, his tongue slipping into my mouth and twisting with mine. He tastes like salt and heat and storms and I’m pulled right back into the feeling of belonging to him, of being his, that I forget to play. I just am. My arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers winding up into his wet hair and digging in, keeping him close, here, mine.

He answers in kind, fingers threading into my own salt-slicked waves and pulling tight, making me moan into his mouth. I feel him harden against my thighs and my core clenches in need, wanting to have him inside of me right now. His chest rumbles against me, an answering groan of longing, and I know neither of us wants to stop whatever we’ve started, though a small boat full of lobster isn’t the easiest place to act on our desires.

“Back to the villa?” I ask, barely pulling my mouth from his.

“Back to the villa,” he agrees.

We return to the island and drop the lobster off at the restaurant with a promise from the chef that I can use his kitchen, and he’s quite intrigued by my challenge of awok off. We walk hand-in-hand to our side of the island, shoulders bumping, talking about the rainbows of fish, the coral, and current from our dive. I offer to stow the snorkel gear while Zander heads inside.

When I walk up the stairs into the villa, I hear the shower and wander into the bathroom, where I let out a sigh of appreciation at the sight that greets me of Zander’s powerful body under the spray of the showerheads. I don't even stop to take off my bikini. I just open the glass door and join him under the spray of warm water, untying the strings as I go and letting the skimpy pieces fall to the floor at our feet.

“I hoped you’d find me in here.”

He pulls me to him immediately, his lips on mine, his hands on my skin feeling hotter than the water that sluices over our bodies. He drags his teeth along my neck and I shiver, feeling my body going molten, heavy. This is exactly where I need to be.

I wrap my arms around his toned shoulders, my hands finding his back, anchoring myself against him and let out a sigh of pleasure as something clicks into place. I blink in brilliant awareness, then the shock subsides to the feel of Zander around me, his lips on mine, our bodies together.

This moment in Zander’s arms, in the middle of the Indian Ocean, feels more like home than anything has since I left my mom’s house in Atlanta at eighteen to start my career in modeling. I’ve led a nomadic life since then, traveling the world for jobs, and not feeling settled in any one place. This place, specifically, isn't home, but this person, this man, feels like he is. And I had missed him in the moments that we were apart. I pull away from his lips and stare at his face in wonder, and he gives me a questioning look.

“I missed you. Isn’t that stupid?” I say, a little embarrassed to speak the vulnerable, errant thought out loud. It had been minutes. That’s all it took for me to feel needy for him, to want his touch and crave his eyes on me. To feel this sense of homecoming now.

“No. I missed you, too.”

His admission, whispered against the shell of my ear as he palms my breast, is unexpected, so unlike his rules and no attachments mentality I wonder if I misheard him, but I couldn’t have. His fingers between my legs thankfully stop the thoughts I know will only get me into trouble and instead, I’m focused on the feel of him slipping two thick fingers inside.

“That’s my girl, nice and wet for me already. I’m going to fuck you with my fingers until your legs are shaking. Will you be a good girl and come for me?”

I let out a shaky whimper of need as he pumps his fingers harder, his thumb finding my clit and taking up a lazy circling path that is in stark contrast to the movement his other fingers are making, pressing in hard against the sensitive spot inside me. My eyes close and my head tips back. Zander’s mouth closes over my nipple and his teeth graze the sensitive bud while he licks after the slight sting. I feel the orgasm building, Zander working up the tension and stealing my breath as he continues to pump his fingers. His tongue flicks over my sensitive nipple again just as he crooks his fingers and pushes hard and I shatter, my cry breaking free as my pussy clenches and my knees sag. Zander catches me, pinning me to the wall and letting me ride his hand until my pussy releases his fingers, until I can open my eyes and stand on my own again.

“Zander,” I say, pulling him closer, needing him inside of me, a need so great it’s unintelligible. “I need you, please,” I whisper, my fingers in his hair, on his face, my lips on his skin.

“Tell me what you want, what you need.” He brushes water off my face with his thumb, his eyes bright, intense as he stares into my face. “Or you have to tell me to stop, because I'm going to fuck you and make you mine, and I won’t be able to let you go, Lowe. This is it. You’re mine, baby.”

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