Page 106 of Whirlwind

“You deserve to feel this way all the time. I want to make you come right now.”

“I want you to,” I whispered.

His hand slid down my bare back, inside the silky jumper, around my hip, down to my core. Two fingers thrust inside my wet. “Fuck my fingers.”

My hips moved as my body pressed back against his, the two of us staring at ourselves in the mirror. A low moan escaped my throat.

“Shh.” His other hand went around my torso, anchoring me.

He always made me come hard, and with him I was loud. That had never happened to me before, maybe because an orgasm had never felt like it did with Beck, an uncontrollable on the loose freight train that only gained momentum as it flew down the track. His fingers churned, his thumb hitting my clit. I ground down on the hand in between my legs.

“I love watching you come, Violet,” he whispered in my ear, his eyes gleaming in the mirror. “Your pussy feels so good on me, baby.”

I fought for oxygen, my head falling back against his shoulder. My climax hit fast and hard, and I shuddered in his arms as he murmured softly in my ear. “So fucking hot.” His wet with my cum fingers brushed my lips. “Lick.”

Oh, I didn’t need direction. Clasping his wrist, I suckled those fingers that had given me so much pleasure, that knew me so well. I worshipped them. His breath grew ragged, and he bit down on my ear lobe, the sting sparking through me.

The dizzy, blurry, throbbing high didn’t recede as he let go of me and adjusted his new clothes. He looked like the Beck Lanier I was used to, the one I saw in magazines and online. But here he was, with me, relaxed, smiling, not glowering, face not hidden by a high collar or his hair or sunglasses.

We finally left the dressing room. The tags were taken off our new clothes, and Beck paid at the register. My brain stuttered at the price.Holy fuck me silly.Of course, he didn’t even blink as he handed over his card.

We got back to our car, and the driver whisked us away back onto the main road, cutting into the mountain toward another beach resort club where Tag’s dinner party would be. I quickly applied fresh lip gloss as the car pulled up to the club’s driveway. We left our shopping bags with our other clothes and other purchases in the car so the driver could take them back to the hotel.

I didn’t know what to expect. Would this be an Instagram experience come to life? Impossibly glamorous gorgeous people having trendy gourmet food in high concept design surroundings? Probably. This was so not me.

But right now, with my hand in Beck’s, my body still thrumming with the pleasure he’d just given me, with the intensity of the connection we’d shared in that moment, I could take over the world.

He pressed our hands against his chest, brushing mine with his lips.

This whole new world.

41

Violet

Toweringpalm trees lit with hundreds of tiny lights wavered in the breeze by the almost medieval looking arched wooden doorway. A thrill raced over my flesh as we walked side by side through the open courtyard of the resort. Connection. Possession.

We were directed to the restaurant which was down below on a lagoon , filled with people and lit by what seemed like hundreds of straw lanterns hanging on thick twisted ropes from the wood and bamboo rafters. Cushions in muted colors and a variety of textures enriched the raw wood and natural materials of the walkways, the low sofas, easy chairs, and tables. Everything was designed to sing in harmony with this incredible piece of beach.

“There you are!” Tag’s voice was loud. He’d been drinking. He slid his arm around me. “Hey, Violet. You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.”

“We’re right over here.” He led us to a long table where over twenty faces looked up at us.

“Everyone, this is Beck and Violet.”

Everyone smiled, heads nodded. “Hello! Hi!”

We were seated and given tall, fluted glasses filled with—was that pink champagne? I took a sip, the dry effervescence filled my mouth. Sheer delight. The bubbles bubbled in my veins. For the first time in a long time I felt completely open to every possibility of life.

I caught Beck’s sly grin and shot him one of my own. In his eyes I saw what I was feeling. Excitement, ease, satisfaction. And hot for more.

The people next to us introduced themselves and we to them. A hunk of Italian male swagger with thick black eye lashes was seated opposite us.

“This is Alessio,” Tag rested a hand on his shoulder. “Alessio—Violet and Beck.”

“Hello, Violet.” He dipped his head as he took a drag on his thin, brown cigarette, his captivating and molten Mediterranean eyes narrowing for a second.

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