Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“A ll right” is a bit of an overstatement, at least until a few hours later—after we’ve been dredged from the water, taken to the Mackinac Island Police Station, put into borrowed dry clothing, given food and warm drinks, and questioned for several hours by the police, rehashing every single detail about the kidnapping again and again. By the time we’ve finished, it’s almost midnight, and I’m completely exhausted after the entire ordeal. I wouldn’t say we hit “fine” until they take us to a local inn and set us up in adjoining rooms. That last part was at Kimo’s insistence, and I didn’t fight him on it. With the kidnappers still at-large and no idea as to who was behind the crime, I feel a whole lot better having a huge, possibly crazy Hawaiian millionaire in the room next to me.
“Not as good as I feel having a black belt in the room next to me,” Kimo says with a wink when I express this (slightly censored) thought to him.
I can’t help but smile, though I roll my eyes so the moment doesn’t get too mushy.
Mackinac Police have been more than accommodating and have stationed a few officers around the inn to make sure we can rest in peace tonight. I’m guessing they don’t get a lot of kidnappings on a quaint little island like this, which literally has no cars and no public transportation, so...we’re kind of a big deal. They even asked if we’d be willing to be interviewed by the Mackinac Island Town Crier , the local newspaper, in the morning before we leave. And, naturally, since Kimo has made best friends with every single cop we’ve spoken to since arriving, and one of those cops is married to one of the newspaper reporters, we have an interview scheduled after breakfast. Delightful.
Normally I might put up more of a fuss about this, but honestly, I’m so ready to shower the lake water off me, collapse into bed, and not move again for at least ten hours that I’d agree to just about anything.
“Fine, yes, interview, great,” I say brusquely, trying to move things along. “See you in the morning.”
Kimo lingers after the officers have left, motioning to the hotel phone next to my bed. “If you want to call your family, friends, whoever, tell them you’re okay, I’ll pay for any charges, so don’t worry about that.”
Oh. Right. That’s what most people would want to do right away in a situation like this, I’m guessing. Kimo must be itching to call his own family, reassure them that he’s okay. I honestly wonder if anyone will even notice I was missing. The thought produces an unexpected lump in my throat. I clear it away. “Great. Thanks. I’m sure everyone will have been very worried.”
With that, Kimo leaves me to make his own calls. At last, I’m on my own in the hotel room. I do a quick, cursory search of the closet and under the bed to make sure there are no bad guys waiting to snatch me up, then relax once I realize I’m truly alone. Still, just to be safe, I turn on the television and flip through the channels to find the most wholesome show I can. Unfortunately, Full House isn’t playing, but there’s an old rerun of Sister, Sister , and that’ll do. Nothing bad has ever happened to anyone while Sister, Sister was on.
I don’t realize until I’m out of the shower that I don’t have any clean clothes to change into. My lake-drenched clothes are being temporarily held as evidence by Mackinac Police, and the clothes I was given to change into at the station already feel a bit grimy after I sat in them for hours, still covered in dirty lake water. I guess I can always just sleep in the robe that came with the room...
As if on cue, someone knocks on the adjoining door between my room and Kimo’s. I tense, but his voice follows shortly: “It’s just me, Mattie. The innkeeper brought us some clean clothes.”
I throw open the door to find Kimo holding up a neatly folded stack of items. “Nothing too fashionable,” he warns me. “Just stuff from the gift shop down the road, but they’re comfy.”
I barely process the words. I’ve been tied up next to Kimo all day, then at his side in the police station, so I thought I was immune to his physical presence by now. But seeing him freshly showered, freshly clothed, his uniquely Kimo essence hits me all over again. It isn’t that his gift-shop clothes are especially sexy. He’s in gray sweatpants and a tank top, his hair pulled into a messy bun at the top of his head. And of course, he’s barefoot. But something about his look is weirdly intimate . It’s like opening the door and stepping into an alternate reality where this is a normal night and we’re getting ready to Netflix and chill. Emphasis on the chill, if I have any say in it.
Kimo is staring at me, too, but that one’s easier to explain. I’m in nothing but a towel, still glistening and rosy-cheeked from my shower. And, well, he’s a heterosexual man.
I watch as he peruses the length of my body, swallowing slowly. He looks like he wants to push me onto the bed and tear this towel off me...or maybe that’s just me projecting. He gives another slow swallow.
Nope. Not just me projecting.
Kimo clears his throat, dragging his eyes back up to mine. “Need anything else before we turn in?”
Two minutes ago I was ready to collapse onto my bed and never move again, maybe take up permanent residency on the mattress. Now, suddenly, my whole body is awake and alert, ready for a few rounds of naked sexy times. A few orgasms would be nice , I want to say, but even I have a bit of a filter. Sometimes. Occasionally. “Do you need anything else before we turn in?” I ask instead.
We stare at each other for a long moment, before Kimo abruptly clears his throat, all but shoving the clean clothes into my arms. “Well, I’m beat. Night!”
He retreats back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
I stare after him, my jaw hanging open in astonishment. That is, until I remember his rejection of me in the men’s bathroom earlier today. And last night, too. Then I remember what he told me in the bathroom. That whole pesky wants-to-have-something-serious nonsense. чертовски дно . For the record, I, too, would like to have something serious—some seriously hot, no-strings-attached sex, please and thank you.
But consent is important, I have to respect his wishes, etc., etc. Dammit. I don’t even have my vibrator here...
The laugh track to Sister, Sister jars me out of my funk. Right. No sex for me tonight. With a sigh, I put on the gift-shop clothing, an outfit which is pretty similar to what Kimo was wearing, except I get a pale pink I Love Mackinac Island! T - shirt and gray sweat-shorts. There’s also a packaged toothbrush and comb with the clothing, so I furiously attack my teeth and hair, perhaps venting some of my sexual frustration into my personal hygiene.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I lament anew that I have all this pent-up energy and nowhere to channel it. The gift-shop outfit isn’t anything I would have ever chosen for myself, but I look cute in it, with my fresh face and still-damp hair. The girls are looking good in the snug-fitting tee, if I do say so myself. And shorts have always been my friend, because my toned legs are my greatest weapon.
Maybe if Kimo saw me in this, he wouldn’t be able to resist me, personal rules be damned. I look just the right balance of cute and sexy—and cute is not usually a term I’d apply to myself. I’m usually too aggressive, too intense to ever be labeled cute, but the pink T-shirt is just innocent enough to say, I’m not a threat! while also simultaneously saying, But look how perky my boobs are, aren’t they nice?
Not bad for a $12.99 T-shirt. I may have to pick up a few more before we leave...
The question now, though, is how to get Kimo to see me in this outfit so he realizes just how irresistible I am. To be clear, I would never force anything on him, but if he sees me and decides he wants to override his own rule, who am I to say no? But we’ve already said good night, and I already have everything I need—clothes, toothbrush, comb. What else could I possibly use as an excuse?
I meet my own gaze in the mirror, widening my eyes for dramatic effect. “Kimo, I’m so scared. Terrified. I can’t sleep.”
Pfft. Terrible. Wooden, unbelievable. Nobody would buy that. I pout my lower lip, batting my eyes. “I’m so scared, Kimo. Can I sleep with you tonight?”
Hmm. That was maybe too sultry. The key is that this needs to be innocent , like I have no idea the effect I have on people with my deliciously sexy body. Ah, I know. I’ll channel Helen. She’s all sexed up now, but before the Bounty Hunter, she was totally oblivious to the men who would be ogling her ginormous breasts, pretending to need help with the library catalog system or whatnot. I try my best to summon her guilelessness: “I know it will probably repulse you to have our bodies pressed up together all night long, but would you do me the favor of letting me sleep in your bed tonight? I hope it won’t be too shocking or disgusting, but I might not even wear any clothes—I’m just so scared!”
Okay, that probably won’t work, but it was fun.
Before I can brainstorm any other ideas, I hear a knock at the door adjoining our rooms. My pulse spikes, and I rush out of the bathroom to answer it. “Kimo?”
He looks like he’s been to war—or, at least at war with himself. His hair is even more messily chaotic than usual, his face set grimly. “I was wondering if maybe you have any extra soap?”
I stare at him blankly. “Soap?”
He clears his throat, nodding just a bit too forcefully. “Yes. I seem to have lost mine. And I need more. Soap. Urgently.”
Oh. Soap . I smile at him, taking his hand and tugging him into my room. “Yes. You can have my soap. You can have all the soap you want...”
Obviously, soap is not soap. The man was already showered and dressed when he dropped off my clothes a few minutes ago. So unless he’s the cleanest man alive, who uses up multiple bars while washing himself, he doesn’t suddenly need more. I’m not great at social cues, but even I’ve picked that up. Soap is a reason to come into my room. Soap is a reason to be near me again, to maybe lower his defenses, change his mind.
I guide him into the bathroom, searching for the extra packet that came with my room. After a moment of searching, I find it, and hold it up to show him in the reflection of the mirror. “Here you go. It’s all yours.” There may or may not be some suggestion laced in that statement.
Any subtext turns out to be unnecessary, though, because when I meet Kimo’s gaze in the mirror, I see he’s standing right behind me, smoldering intently at me. My breath catches in my throat. I watch his eyes move down to my breasts, swallowing as my nipples harden visibly under the thin fabric. Our eyes meet again.
“Is that all you wanted?” I ask breathlessly.
Bracing his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me in, he presses into me from behind with a low growl. His erection is already firm and hard against my lower back. “Not all I want,” he grits out.
“Don’t tease me,” I warn him sternly. “If you’re going to run away again, you should just leave now.”
“No running,” he promises, rubbing himself slowly against me and making that low, growly sound again. “I’m in no hurry at all.”
It’s just what I want to hear, but I find myself frowning at him nonetheless. “Earlier today, you said you didn’t want a no-strings thing.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I curse myself. Лох! Why am I trying to talk him out of this? Luckily, though, Kimo just shakes his head and continues to grind up against me. “Those rules don’t apply after a kidnapping. What happens on the island stays on the island...”
That sounds promising. I bite back a triumphant smile, moving toward the bedroom. “Well, then let’s get started?—”
He grips my hips, guiding me back into place in front of the mirror, so the front of me is pressed up against the edge of the counter. “Not so fast, legs. I know how much you like bathrooms...”
I watch our reflections, my breath catching as he dips his head to kiss my neck, my jaw, my ear. His hands rub up and down my sides, keeping things PG with where he’s touching me; what isn’t PG is what his tongue and lips are doing to my ear, swirling and sucking in a way that is positively indecent. My breath catches in my throat. Heat spikes down my lower belly.
The thing I love about sex is it’s a dance. I may not always know what other people expect out of me in conversations, or how to play the role of a sister, a friend. But in sex, you follow your partner’s lead. If they’re moving forward, you’re moving back. If you change position, they shift to match you. The rules are so much more clear-cut.
So if Kimo is going to tease me, I have to tease him right back. I begin a slow rub of my ass against his crotch, unable to hide my smile at his little grunt of pleasure. His eyes lock on mine for a moment in the mirror before sliding downward. My smile widens.
“Are you looking at these?” I tease, thrusting out my breasts a bit. This shirt, I’m telling you—they look like a million bucks! Hell, even I’m staring at them, and they’re mine. “Do you want to see them...?”
I take the hem of my shirt and slowly, tauntingly, begin to raise it, bit by bit. Kimo’s eyes burn into mine through the mirror’s reflection. He gives a little caveman grunt and bites—not too hard, but not too soft either—down on my earlobe.
At last, with one final tug, the girls are free. Kimo gives a low rumble of approval from deep in his chest that almost sounds like a growl. I wait eagerly for him to touch them, but it’s his turn to tease me now. His hands trail slowly from my sides, agonizingly slowly up my belly, then linger underneath the swell of my breasts until I whine and protest. Chuckling low in his throat, Kimo finally engulfs my tits in his big, strong hands, stroking, massaging them, his thumbs sending lightning bolts through my hardened nipples.
As if this sensation weren’t intense enough, he lowers his mouth back to my neck again, licking, sucking, biting, while his hands knead my breasts. And if those sensations combined weren’t enough, the erotic picture that it makes in the reflection of the mirror has my core already aching, my thighs beginning to tremble with want. When one of his hands releases my breast, I almost command him to put it back, until I watch it snake down my torso to cup my pussy and begin stroking me there through the fabric of my shorts.
“Oh, God,” I groan, my head sinking back against him. I can’t take it anymore—the sight of us, the things he’s doing to me with his hands. He’s stopped kissing my neck, at least, but I can see he’s looking in the mirror now, watching what he’s doing to me, and that has me almost frantically writhing against his fingers. I’m shocked to find I’m almost there already. I need him inside me, I need, I need?—
“ Fuck ,” Kimo says abruptly, and it’s not a sexy fuck, this is so hot , but an oh shit, we have a problem fuck.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice shaky with want.
“We don’t have a condom.”