48. Sloane #4
“Your big fancy director’s position?” I manage a whistle, even as I’m about to choke on my pounding heart. “You’d risk that for this ?”
“For you ?” His breath skates. A heavy sigh sails into my ear. “Apparently, yes, seeing as I can’t keep my hands to myself whenever I’m around you.”
Something sparks in my chest—an odd, warm feeling that hasn’t existed there in a long time, not since Cody killed it.
“I need to know something,” Ronan murmurs.
“What’s that?”
I’m expecting a question, so I gasp with shock when instead of words, Ronan’s hand slips under the seam of my bikini and between my thighs, his fingers tracing my slit with a gentle stroke.
“Thought so.”
All other thoughts vanish as Ronan’s middle finger slides deep into me, to discover a truth I can’t hide there—that I’m insanely attracted to him.
His capable hand moves at a languid, teasing rhythm, his thumb drawing lazy circles over my clit.
It takes every effort for me to pretend I’m simply standing here, observing the merry band of revelers as they splash and drink and toss the football while Ronan finger-fucks me.
I cannot believe I’m allowing this to happen out here in public, with people all around us.
And within ten minutes of being left alone with him.
“Relax. No one can see anything,” he purrs.
“You think I’d let you do this if they could?
” I’ve offered no resistance to his invasion because he’s right.
The tiki bar walls surrounding us are high enough to hide what Ronan is doing.
There’s a swinging section to fully close off the bar—not like Tiki Two , which has a wide-open passageway between the two sides.
The thatched roof hangs low, providing ample protection from the helicopter flying above.
Out there, everyone and everything is on display, but in here, it’s a shady, protected refuge.
As long as his friends don’t climb back up for a drink, or they’ll get a show they didn’t pay for.
All these thoughts are flying through my mind and yet, I can’t find the words to tell him to stop.
Because I don’t want him to.
“I wish I could fuck you right here,” he whispers, voicing the words that were just flittering through my overloaded brain.
A rush of warmth floods me. “Yes, you’re so disappointing.”
His deep chuckle somehow travels down to where his fingers touch me. “At least let me make you come.”
“Okay.” I sound helpless, shaky.
Wedging his foot between mine, he shimmies my legs farther apart, giving him better access that he takes full advantage of, sliding a second finger in. Each stroke is fluid and easy and deep, my body responding like it’s been starved for a man.
Not just any man.
Him.
“You’re soaked.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And swollen.”
“So are you.”
He presses himself against the crack of my ass in answer, and I whimper. Swollen isn’t the right word for what Ronan is. Ramrod, fire-poker hard. I roll my hips in response.
Ronan hisses and shifts behind me.
Material rustles.
The back of my floral captain’s shirt lifts .
And suddenly, his hot, velvety-smooth length is pressed against my bare skin.
“Ronan—”
“No one can tell. I promise.” He adjusts his stance to lower himself and, with his free hand, he angles himself. His tip prods, then slides between my thighs from behind while his thumb keeps stroking my clit.
A casual glance over my shoulder confirms that he’s so discreet about it, he may as well be standing still.
All the work is happening at his hips, as he pretends to watch the horizon while he slowly guides his cock, the slickness making each casual thrust easier.
There is nothing clumsy or inexperienced about this guy.
All it would take is a shift of my pelvis, a tug on my skimpy suit, and he could be inside me. Just the thought stirs an unbearable ache.
I look around. Still, no one pays us any attention.
My body vibrates with need, and it is so tempting.
On his next pass, I rise to my tiptoes and arch my back.
“Careful,” he growls, but he tugs my bathing suit material aside and presses his head against my opening.
“Oh fuck,” I hiss.
“Not quite. Stay still, or I will fuck you right here and I won’t care who watches.” There’s an edge of warning in his tone. “Let me finish you off.” His hand regains its rhythm, and my core hums with anticipation.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
“I’m not … It’s probably sunscreen.” It could be his skill or my desperation, or it could be the insanity of allowing this, but the orgasm he’s promised me is already there, drifting along my spine, just out of reach.
“No, you smelled like it before too.” He inhales deeply. “Pineapple and coconut.”
“My shampoo.” I bite back a moan, my hand reaching for his forearm, to feel the corded muscles strain beneath my fingers as he plays me like an elegant instrument. Hell, I’ve never been touched so thoroughly.
“I love it.”
This is getting out of control, fast. I scan our surroundings.
Katie and Rachel are busy flipping their hair as they chat with a group of guys who look barely legal, Kyle and Ryan have swum off to investigate the floating jungle gym, and Connor is chatting up Beige Thong.
Even Jeremy is suitably occupied with his flock of ladies. No one is paying us any heed.
Ronan and I are in our own little world.
And I am desperate to come.
Maybe that’s why I adjust my stance more and demand, “Faster.”
Ronan slides in a third finger. “You don’t need faster, babe. You need deeper .” He hooks his middle finger to hit a spot inside. “That’d be a lot easier to reach with my cock.”
Which is right there , its tip anxious to slide in. My left hand fists the steering wheel. “I wish, but you’re doing fine.”
“There’s that word again.” He chuckles, but it sounds strained. “How many hours left in this cruise?”
I close my eyes, willing everyone around us to disappear as I do my best to remain calm, unflustered, heading for my climax. “Too many?” I admit on a desperate moan.
“Definitely too many.”
He changes his stance and suddenly his tip is no longer nudging but prodding, pushing in, teasing sensitive flesh that is desperate to feel more than his fingers.
“You know what I’ve thought about since that day?” Ronan’s uneven breaths skate across my cheek as he leans in.
I think he might kiss my neck and I tilt my head, welcoming his lips on me. “What’s that?”
“What you’ll taste like when you come in my mouth.”
A stark visual of Ronan’s face between my thighs hits me then, and I climax, my legs shaking and my nails digging into his corded flesh as I struggle not to make a sound .
It takes me a moment to come back down and when I do, I feel disoriented.
And sticky.
A quick glance around reassures me that we haven’t earned an audience. Ronan just brought me to orgasm in the middle of Mermaid Beach’s tourist sandbar, and no one is the wiser.
“That was fucking hot,” Ronan whispers.
I can only hum in agreement.
“Look down.”
After a deep, steadying breath, I do as asked and regard his coated fingers and palm. “You did that, babe.”
That couldn’t have been all me. “You came too?” I was so overwhelmed with focus over my own climax, I didn’t realize he was having one too.
“As if I could stop it.”
“Hey, Ronan!” Connor booms. “Come meet Sasha and Mira!”
My jealousy flares as I spy Beige Thong’s equally curvy and beautiful friend hovering around them now. Ronan’s hand is literally still halfway inside me, and Connor is trying to set him up with someone else. Something tells me that’s a never-ending day’s purpose for his friend.
“He’s such a toddler today,” Ronan mutters. Behind me, I sense him tucking himself into his shorts. Finally, his hand slips free.
I feel the absence instantly, but I play it cool, fixing my bottoms. I’ll need to jump in the water to clean up. “Better go give him what he wants, then, before he throws a tantrum.”
“It’s like you know him.” Ronan’s slick hand crawls under the hem of my shirt to squeeze my ass cheek.
“Ugh. Seriously ?”
I jolt at the sharp slap against my bare skin.
Ronan follows it up with a soft stroke before leaning forward to whisper in my ear, “If you think that’s messy, wait until I come all over your face.”
My mouth drops with his filthy words, even as my heart rate spikes with excitement over a next time with him. I’ve never had a guy talk to me the way Ronan does. I never thought I’d like it.
He backs up, adjusting his shorts in the process.
The move draws my gaze down. Even though he came, he’s still hard. “You’re going to your friends like that ?”
“They’ve seen worse.”
Where to even begin with a statement like that?
“How many hours left in this cruise?” He asks again.
“Three, give or take.”
“Until then.” He reaches over the counter to grab the Solo cup.
With a knowing smile, he pops his index and middle finger into his mouth and drags them back out, his eyes locked on me the entire time.
It’s a promise that I feel like an electric current rippling through every intimate spot on my body.
He downs the tequila with one swig and then hops into the water to join the others.
And I finally allow myself a deep exhale.
What is it about this man that compels me to behave so recklessly?