22 - Ripley
RIPLEY
“Oh my God, right there. Right… fucking… there…”
I came hard, pulsing inside her. Pumping her full. Filling her all the way up, until there wasn’t an ounce of room for anything else.
“Fuck, Ripley…”
My eyes were only half-open. Somehow they still managed to register the beautiful sight of that perfect ass, screwing tightly back against me. It continued rolling and grinding, milking me dry as she gripped the railing in front of her. Draining me of every last bit of what I had left.
And after going twice already this morning, I didn’t have much.
“Go slow, now.”
My hands were curled into claws, gripping those lethal hips. Still, I did as she asked. I continued rolling forward and back, still embedded in that warm, wonderful place I’d learned to love so much over the past eight days.
“Mmmmm…”
They’d been eight beautiful, sun-soaked days.
Eight sinful, devilish nights.
“That was ridiculous.”
She reached back to grab my head, and kissed me over one bare shoulder. Her sweet tongue swept through my mouth, leaving traces of rum and lime and something else, equally delicious. The feel of her lips re-ignited the fire inside me, as they had every single time we’d done this.
“Are you—”
“Still hard,” I sighed. “Ready to keep going.”
I began the slow, familiar push and pull. We’d developed quite a rhythm, Peyton and I. Shit, we’d developed a lot of things over the past week.
“We can go again,” she sighed, breaking the kiss with a roguish smile. “Just… give me a minute.”
I stepped back and tucked myself away, as Peyton rolled her bikini bottoms back up. Watching them climb those supple, curvy thighs was almost worth the cost of her putting my favorite new toy away. Even temporarily.
My hand lingered on her smooth brown ass, which was getting browner every day. My fingers wandered, all on their own. She couldn’t be more soaked if she’d just come out of the ocean.
Come to think of it, she did just come out of the ocean.
“Careful,” Peyton chuckled. “Remember, there are three of you, and only one of me. If you boys want to keep playing with this,” she patted herself, “you’ll need to be gentle.”
She turned to face me, putting her back to the sea. With the sun setting behind her, she’d never looked more beautiful. Especially all blonde and tan, the sun-kissed skin of her soft, open face dotted with playful freckles.
I’d never been this relaxed. This far removed from anything even remotely resembling an issue, or a problem. We were in hiding from one of the most dangerous, resourceful men on the entire planet. We should be huddled together, preparing for every contingency.
And yet all I could think about was those full pink lips, and how incredible it felt to keep kissing them.
For more than a week we’d shared this incredible woman, body and soul, like some cherished prize we’d all been awarded.
We took her in the morning, or at night, or anywhere in between.
I’d had her in the plunge pool, with those smooth legs wrapped around me.
In the hammock, cuddling after breakfast. I’d had her with Theo, together in the grass, right next to the garden path.
I’d even shared her with Colson, in that giant, four-poster bed she slept in, after we’d bumped into each other in the hallway at two in the morning.
Peyton giggled like a schoolgirl that night, because it turned out she’d told us both to visit her room at the same time.
We’d punished her by snapping her G-string in half, shoving her into the pillows, and holding her down for each other for the next hour.
As far as punishments went though, it was probably not that effective.
The entire time we worked her over, the smile never disappeared from her face.
And yet as much as we had a toy in Peyton, she had three toys of her own.
She exploited our down time in the most tantalizing ways possible.
Like now, for instance, on the balcony at sunset.
She’d been the one bent over the railing, before calling me over.
She’d been the one who’d rolled her bathing suit down, and wriggled that beautiful ass my way.
I was just the victim, here.
“What the hell are you thinking about?”
I blinked, and Peyton’s beautiful face came back into focus. She was pulling her hair back into a ponytail, her lips curled in a sardonic smile.
“Nothing,” I told her.
“I dunno,” she squinted, skeptically. “Looked like something.”
“Trust me, you mind-wiped me just now.”
Her blue eyes dropped playfully to the front of my shorts. “That’s not all I wiped.”
Fuck. I was getting in deeper water, here. Stepping up and protecting Peyton felt amazingly good; so much better than it had any right to be. I hadn’t protected anyone, in a long time. Not even myself. Not since Adam and Brayden.
Not since Natalie.
Fifteen years…
It had been a long fucking time since I’d dragged our abusive foster father into that alley behind his bar, and abandoned him at the very threshold of death. I’d left him there broken and battered, in a puddle of his own urine. Reduced to a shattered, sobbing, heap.
It was far more than the asshole deserved.
But yeah, I’d been fighting for so long now I couldn’t even remember anything else. I convinced myself it was for my own best interests, but that was barely even true anymore. It was mostly for other people, now. Criminals. Killers.
Evil pricks, like Donovan Prescott.
I looked down at my hands, as I so often did. The scars were still there. Maybe they weren’t fresh, like they used to be. But each one told a story. Each one reminded me of who I really was.
“Ripley…”
A warm hand slipped into mine, soft and unblemished. It was a hand unmarked by the past. Unburdened by the stigma of having committed heavy, unspeakable acts.
“I want ice cream,” Peyton declared, pulling me in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s get some.”
“Okay.”
I would’ve given her anything right now. This fearsome, motorcycle riding badass who’d kicked me in the balls, now had my heart in the palm of her hand.
“After that, you can drag me into your bed for round two,” she smiled. “And if you promise to go slow, I’ll let you do anything you want…”
That part was promising, especially since I already had some ideas.
But then Colson burst in, with an even graver expression on his usually grave face. Unfortunately, it was a look I knew all too well.
“Come on,” he barked, already in motion. “We’ve got a problem…”