Chapter 9 Ava
AVA
The night air kisses my skin as we approach the perimeter of the hotel. The temperature has dropped, and though there aren’t any visible stars in the sky, the moon is full and round.
Who cares about the moon when a gorgeous man wants to take you back to his hotel room?
A thrill races up my spine, and I steal a glance at Flamingo Boy. He has a nice profile. Chiseled jaw, straight nose, a Goldilocks forehead that’s just right for his strong features.
Focus, Ava.
Right. Am I actually considering his offer? For sex?
It’s ridiculous. I hardly know the man. Heck, I don’t even know his real name. Which is probably for the best. No need to complicate the issue. Not when it’s just sex.
It’s never just sex.
Not for me.
But it could be. Just this once. A wild night I’ll never forget.
If Kayla and Lexie were here right now, they’d tell me to go for it. So why am I hesitating?
Flamingo Boy’s hand brushes mine, electrifying every nerve ending in my body. Desire stirs low in my belly, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are. Personal space is nonexistent. The faint scent of coconut sunscreen clings to his skin, and I can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.
God, how I want to touch him. To feel his lips pressed to mine. To feel those massive hands on my body.
It’s been so long—too long—since I was intimate with a man, but it’s more than that. There’s something magnetic about Flamingo Boy, and I’m tired of resisting.
Tired of always doing the right thing.
Tired of doing what’s expected instead of what I want.
Tonight, I want to be the one who has sex with a hot stranger and damn the consequences.
“Yes.”
Flamingo Boy turns to me with a puzzled expression. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I want to come back to your room.” He smiles, revealing those perfect dimples, and my pulse quickens. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think I have an unhealthy obsession with your dimples.”
“Is that so?”
I nod. “They just look so lickable.”
“Yeah? Then maybe we should take the shortcut.”
“I’m not usually a fan of shortcuts, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.” Need has short-circuited my brain, hurling all the usual rules out the window.
It feels good.
He grabs my hand, and we cut across the manicured lawn. “For the record, I’m very open to having my dimples licked, among other things.”
I huff a laugh. “I’ll bet you are.”
We turn the corner and the opening notes of “Let’s Get It On” fill the air.
Flamingo Boy smirks. “That seems just a bit too on the nose.”
I giggle. How can I not? It’s ridiculous. “I don’t think they’re playing it for— Is that a photo booth? I freaking love those things. We have to take a picture.”
He looks around, taking in the scene before us. “I think this is a wedding.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a wedding.” Most of the guests are on the dance floor in the center of the courtyard. The entire space has been transformed for the celebration with clusters of tables draped in white linen and towering floral arrangements. “And we’re crashing.”
Flamingo Boy gives me the side-eye. “I didn’t take you for the crashing type.”
“I’m not. Except apparently today, I am.” I pat his arm. “We’ll just take one picture and then we’ll go. They’ll never even know we were here.”
He shakes his head, but he’s grinning as he follows me into the booth, which has a variety of beach-themed props.
I grab one that looks like a coconut drink with a tiny blue umbrella and hand him a pair of hot pink sunglasses.
He slaps them on and strikes a pose, not missing a beat. “How do I look?”
“Good enough to lick,” I tease, though my cheeks warm, reminding me it’s been hours since I chugged that beer. Any boldness is entirely my own and can’t be blamed on alcohol.
His large hands circle my waist, and he pulls me close. We smile for the camera, frozen in time as the screen counts down to one.
“For the record,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear, “you look good enough to eat.”
Oh. My. God.
Tension crackles between us, and the instant the flash goes off, I turn to face him, our eyes locking. His thumb traces a small circle on my lower back, and my knees go weak as his lips brush mine.
The kiss is firm yet gentle, but it’s not enough.
He’s holding back. I can feel it in my gut.
Desire blazes under my skin, every part of me craving contact with this man. I press my body to his, stretching up on my toes to deepen the kiss. My tongue slides along the seam of his mouth, and his grip on me tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my backside.
Yes, please.
A sound halfway between a moan and a groan rumbles out of him, and a ribbon of pride unspools in my chest. I did that.
I part my lips, and his tongue plunges inside, sweeping seductively against my own.
He tastes like beer and salt, and there’s a hint of heat, probably from the habanero.
Honestly? It’s working for me. My core clenches, and I squeeze my thighs together, desperate for the kind of friction that will send me spiraling.
I don’t know how long we go on like that, but when Flamingo Boy pulls back, I gasp at the loss of contact. “Let’s grab our pics and get out of here.”
I’m far from done kissing him, but he makes a valid point. The sooner we get our pics, the sooner we can head back to his room.
To my surprise, there’s a strip of images on the printer. There are four in total. We’re smiling in the first, embracing in the second, and making out in the third and fourth. We make a cute couple, but that’s not what this is about.
When we get to his room, Flamingo Boy opens the door and the instant we’re inside, he lifts me up, pressing my back to the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, and his mouth crashes down on mine, devouring me like a man starved of touch.
He peppers kisses along my jaw, and down the column of my neck.
I lose myself in the feel of his mouth on my skin.
It’s hot and wet, and when his teeth close over the tender flesh of my collarbone, I’m slow to react.
Before I can protest, he bites me. Then his tongue darts out, massaging the tender flesh.
“Oh.” Desire coils low in my belly, and I roll my hips, unable to ignore the growing ache between my legs.
Flamingo Boy sucks in a sharp breath. “Goddamn, Tink. You feel so good. I need to be inside you right-fucking-now.”
The man has a filthy mouth, and I’m here for it. I’ve never felt so sexy—so desirable—in my entire life. I want this night to last forever.
But that isn’t an option. We’ll just have to make the most of the time we have together.
“Take off your clothes.” Flamingo Boy stiffens, and I can’t blame him. I’m not exactly the forward type. “Please.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
The room is dark, but I can hear the smile in his voice just fine.
He lowers me to the floor and then switches on a lamp. A soft white glow fills the space, casting shadows in the corners. His room is virtually identical to the one my roommates and I share, with one notable exception. Instead of two queen-sized beds, he has a king.
The bed is massive, but he’s a big guy, so he probably likes having space to stretch out. At five-three, I’d be lost in a bed that size.
Not if you had company.
He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, revealing an honest-to-God six-pack, and my mouth goes drier than a cotton ball.
Sweet baby Jesus. The man is perfection. Not only are his abs rock-hard, his chest and shoulders appear to be carved from marble, with thick, ropey muscle covering every inch of him.
His eyes meet mine, and he crooks a finger. “Come here.”
I do as instructed. I couldn’t resist if I wanted to.
“Need some help with this?” he asks, hooking a finger in the collar of my swim coverup.
“I wouldn’t say no.” I can’t think of a single reason I’d ever refuse his touch.
His hands skim over my hips and thighs, and then he’s sliding my dress up, revealing my black bikini bottoms. I’m no stranger to showing skin, but I feel exposed in this moment, as if he can see right through me.
Has he figured out that I’m a phony? That I’m playing the role of a carefree twenty-four-year-old tonight?
It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, it’ll be back to the real world.
He pulls the coverup over my head and drops it on the floor. I reach for the ties on my bikini, but he stops me.
“Let me. You don’t want it to get caught on your bandage.”
I spin around to give him better access because I really don’t. The pain of the tattoo has subsided to a dull ache, and I have no interest in causing a flare-up.
He unties the laces, and my top drops to the floor, leaving my breasts fully exposed. My nipples harden, the skin pulling taut from the combination of cool air and arousal.
Then his hands are on my shoulders, his calloused fingers gently massaging my shoulder blades. I close my eyes and tip my head back, relaxing into his touch.
His hands move expertly over my body, and when they snake around to my belly, a shiver passes through me, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs.
Flamingo Boy slips his right hand into my bikini bottoms, and my thighs slam closed.
He freezes. “Is this okay?”
I swallow, silently cursing myself. “Yeah. It’s just…it’s been a while. And even though I’m really into this—into you—I don’t always….” God, this is humiliating. “So you don’t have to…you know, wait for me.”
Beau certainly didn’t. He got so mad when I couldn’t orgasm, like something inside me was broken.
He made snide comments about it all the time, using it as an excuse for endless quickies since I wasn’t going to come anyway.
The thing he didn’t understand was that I enjoy sex—enjoy the physical connection—even if I don’t reach orgasm.
“I want to make you feel good, too.” Flamingo Boy kisses my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’ve got all night. Show me how you like it.”