Chapter Four #2
The intention to let her win and spare her feelings only backfires when minutes into the game, I realize I’m not letting her do anything.
She’s winning all on her own, card by card, completely focused, bottom lip caught between her teeth when she’s thinking.
I find myself watching her more than my own hand.
“How about a bet?” she says, lifting those blue eyes to mine.
“That’s my second one today. What are the chances I lose this one, too?” I mutter, but shake my head before she can ask. “What’s the bet?”
“If you win, you can ask for anything.”
“Can I ask you to sleep?”
“That’s not anything,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as she discards a queen, which I pick up. “If I win, I can ask for anything.”
“That’s a dangerous bet, considering we’re all alone on this island.”
“Okay, let me amend that,” she says, picking up a card I’ve discarded. “You have to ask for something reasonable within this tent. Not outside of it. How about that?”
“You already know what I want,” I mutter.
Well, not quite. What I want is not something she will give me, but we’ll settle for what she can.
Or will when I win this game. I smirk when I look at my cards and realize I’m one card away from a run of jacks.
I discard a nine, and she picks it up, her face completely unreadable.
She studies her cards for a moment and then slams them down between us.
“Gin!” she calls, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. I stare at her cards, and it’s not often I find myself impressed. I didn’t even fucking see that coming. For the second time in a single day, I’ve lost another bet.
“I told you I’m good at this game.”
I drop the rest of the cards between us. “So you did. What do you want?”
“What? Oh,” she mutters as if it’s just occurring to her that she now has to ask for something. My eyes narrow in suspicion when she blushes, a pink flush rising up her neck and coloring her cheeks. “Well…”
“You don’t have to use the win tonight.”
“No, I want to.” She picks up a card and sets it down again, fidgeting.
“Well…” she lets out a shuddering breath, and I watch her squirm for a moment before a myriad of emotions flicker in her eyes.
“I was wondering… Well, I get cold so easily, especially at night, and we’re already sharing a tent…
Maybe I could get into your sleeping bag. Just for warmth?”
Of everything I thought she’d ask for, this was not one of them. “That’s not a great idea,” I say, studying her face and watching as the pink on her cheeks deepens. “You know that.”
“Maybe.”
“Who knows what will happen if our bodies are pressed up against each other in a sleeping bag?” I watch her expression carefully, unwilling to read something that’s not there. “What happens if I decide I want to share more than just warmth?”
Here’s her chance to back out but she doesn’t take it. Not immediately. She lets out a slow breath and inches closer until her knees are touching my hands. “Do you want to share more than just warmth?”
The tent falls silent, and neither of us speaks—we barely breathe.
A sharp wind blowing outside, the sound of waves meeting the shore, and the distant echo of birds in the skies even fade.
In here, it’s just us two, and my little sea lion lover doesn’t seem one bit scared of being inside a tent with a man most people avoid.
I look at her—really look—and what I see written on her face is not naivety. It’s a decision.
I pull my eyes from hers and track them down her body, feeling myself stiffen when I notice the slight outline of her pebbled nipples against the thin fabric of her T-shirt.
She’s not wearing a bra, and the fact that she doesn’t immediately move to cover herself tells me that perhaps I’m not misreading this.
“Come here,” I say, voice low.
Sylvie uncrosses her legs and closes the distance between us without hesitation.
My hands find her waist, and in seconds, her pert ass presses against the hard length of my cock when she straddles me.
I groan, feeling the breath go out of me.
I watch her face as I slide my palms under her shirt and drag them slowly up her spine.
Her lips part in a gasp as she shivers against me, and this time, it has nothing to do with the chill.
Not when my hands are hot against her naked skin.
Her tits rise and fall quickly as I trace the line of her back before circling to the front and cupping her breasts in both hands. She whimpers, eyes going hazy under my watchful eyes. “Is this warming you up?”
“Yeah,” she breathes when I brush my thumb over a nipple, velvet soft to the touch. “Better than gloves.”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. I lower my mouth to her chest, and suck her nipple through the fabric, causing her to rock forward over my cock.
She gasps. I let out a strangled groan, teasing the peak with my teeth before soothing it with my tongue, but it’s not enough.
Fuck, the need to taste has me shoving up her shirt and closing my mouth over her bare nipple, tugging it between my lips, circling it with my tongue.
She whines, and rocks needily on my lap as I lick at her nipples, suckling them until my own skin is burning. When I finally push back, her face is flushed, her stunning blue eyes dark like the ocean that lies just outside the tent.
Want, unlike anything I have felt before, rushes through me, and I realize that I have to have her. Now. Here. On this island where, if the world ended today, neither of us would know.
With a low growl, I seal our lips together in a kiss that’s meant to possess and lay claim. I taste the hot chocolate we had after dinner on her tongue and something sweeter underneath—her, just her—and it’s intoxicating. Maddening.
I pinch her nipple as I sink deeper into the kiss, drowning in the taste and feel of her.
In the scent that seems to linger on her and crowd my judgment.
I kiss her like a drowning man, and she opens for me like she’s been waiting.
Her arms circle my shoulders, and she kisses me back with everything she has.
With a growl, I roll us to the tent floor of the tent and cover her with my body, licking into her mouth as I rock against her, my dick begging for release. Her hips move restlessly against mine as I devour her mouth, swallowing every little sound she makes.
I break the kiss, my chest heaving as I trail my mouth down her throat, kissing her and exploring spots that make her shiver against me.
I kiss her everywhere, learning her body as I would a map.
She’s sensitive at the back of her ears and likes it when I nibble the lobe.
Her neck and collarbone, too. She likes it when I worship her breasts and trembles when I kiss down her stomach; When I slide her panties down her thighs and bury my face between her thighs.
“Wyatt!”
I didn’t think I would ever experience the desperate need to hear my name called out in a breathy sigh until she does it, and now, I want more. I can’t help but wonder how many ways I can get her to say my name.
“Fuck!” I growl against the inside of her thigh, inhaling the warm, soft scent of her arousal. She’s wet, already so slick. Practically dripping for me.
I slide my hands under her ass as I drag my tongue along her slit, from her entrance to her clit. Her hips arch up with a sob, “Wyatt… oh God.”
Does she not understand that when she calls my name, all she does is feed the beast that lives inside me. The one that wants to ignore everything and claim her for myself. Keep her on this island so I never have to share her with the world again.
With a deep feral growl, I work my tongue over her drenched pussy, circling her clit in slow, deliberate passes until the tent is filled with her breathy moans. The taste of her fills my senses.
“Wyatt, I can’t…” she sobs, digging her fingers into my hair.
She rolls her hips helplessly against my face, lifting her flesh to my mouth for me to pleasure.
I let her ride my tongue, humming as she paints my beard with her sweet and tangy arousal.
She moves restlessly under me, and it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
A woman so lost in pleasure that she can no longer control herself.
She’s close. I can feel it in the way her pussy begins to quiver against my mouth and from how her breathing becomes more erratic.
I slide one finger into her pussy, and she tightens around me.
I thrust it in and out, picking up speed as I move deeper.
I add another finger and slowly work both until I feel her hands tighten in my hair.
I curl my fingers until I find her most sensitive spot.
A few swipes of my fingers against her walls finally send her over the edge.
Sylvie screams.
Tremors roll through her body as I suckle at her clit, drawing at it as her body trembles and her pussy clenches around my fingers.
“Wyattttt!” she sobs, tugging hard at my hair. I replace my fingers with my tongue, savoring her taste as her release coats my face and beard. I continue lapping at her flesh until the rough shakes turn to small spasms.
I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and lift my head to look at her. She’s wrecked—flushed from her chest to her hairline, chest heaving, those blue eyes glassy and dark as she stares up at me. The sight of her like this does something savage to my self-control.
Then she reaches for me.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt and she pulls—not hard, not certain, but deliberate. An invitation that she has to know I’ll answer.
“Wyatt,” she breathes.
Just my name. Nothing else.
I move up her body and brace myself over her, and those eyes track every inch of my face like she’s memorizing it. Her hands slide under my shirt, and I feel her palms flat against my stomach, warm and searching, and I nearly lose my mind entirely.
“Fuck, Sylvie, I want you,” I growl.
“I know,” she says softly. Her fingers curl into my waistband. “I want you, too.”
Her hands are trembling slightly. I notice.
I tell myself it’s the cold. It’s not the cold—the tent is warm, has been warm for the last hour—and something at the back of my mind tries to form a question I don’t stop to ask because she’s pulling at my sweatpants and looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world. And I’m struggling to think straight.
I shove down my sweats. Her breath catches. She doesn’t look away.
I brace one hand by her head and use my free hand to hike her hip around my waist, then reach down to stroke my cock. My eyes are on hers, filled with heat, as I line myself with her entrance.
She reaches for my shoulders and pulls me toward her.
I slide into her warmth, feeling the resistance of her flesh as I push a bit deeper. I feel Sylvie tense, but she wraps her arms around my neck and lifts her hips. I thrust a few more times, finally sinking fully into her wet heat.
She cries out, her pussy clenching hard around me, pulsing and milking my cock tighter than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
And two things occur to me at once.
So lost in my need that it didn’t occur to me to use protection when I’m having sex with a stranger.
And the second and most important of all is the fact that I didn’t think to ask if she’s ever had sex before.
Judging from her pained expression and the thin veil of innocence I just tore through, my guess is no.
Christ above. What have I done?