The best thing about Lane and me was how much we liked each other. Even before the whole love thing happened, there was a ton of like. She was fun and good and got to me in a way no one else ever had before. So it made sense all our recent drama was about the love parts—the expectations, disappointments, and stuff that screwed every couple up—at least all the couples on TV.

Thankfully, as soon as our feet touched the island, all that reality crap disappeared. We fell back into our awesome normal. No bickering, no expectations, no bullshit. Just me making fun of her oohs and ahhs as we were guided through the hotel lobby, then to our own private hut.

The hut— Fine, most people called them bungalows, but that was a stupid word so I called them huts. Plus it made me feel less like a douche who used words like “bungalow.”

Our hut was literally beachside and beach-top. Thick wooden posts lifted the floor off the white sand under the translucent, blue-tinted water. As far as the eye could see.

As soon as the valet left us alone, I ripped off my clothes. Unfortunately, Lane said we couldn’t start my non-incestuous Blue Lagoon fantasy until after my brother’s wedding, so I put on some swim trunks.

“You win this round, babe,” I said unhappily. “But there is no way we’re not going skinny-dipping while we’re here.”

“I don’t know.” She made a face. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is for a woman to get sand in certain parts of her body?”

Huh. Hadn’t thought of that. My mind quickly jumped to where I intended a part of my body to be spending a lot of time this week.

Sandpaper. On my cock. Fuck no. But I couldn’t give up on the dream yet.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll make sure you’re clean enough to eat off of. And then you can be as dirty as you want.” As long as we were talking about the friction kind of dirty, not the abrasive kind.

Just in case she didn’t understand the kind of dirty I was talking about, I took her by the shoulders, gave her a quick kiss, and shoved her onto the bed. Getting her pants off was harder than I would’ve liked, but I made it happen. I ran a trail of nibbles and licks from her bellybutton to the edge of her panties, my body forcing her legs open.

“Stop, Carson! We can’t.” Trying not to laugh, she gripped the waistband while I attempted to pull them down. We fought for a little while before I spotted a way in.

“Fine. You win.” I lifted my hands up in submission. “I won’t take them off.”

Then, just as she relaxed her grip, I made my move.

“I’ll work around them.” One stroke distracted her and made her knees flop open. One more, and my fingers were in the perfect position to get under her panties and pull the fabric to the side. I got down on her before she’d realized what had happened.

Lane protested for about thirty seconds, until my tongue turned her “No, not right now” into “Yes, right there.”

As soon as she came, I cursed and dove for my suitcase, pissed I hadn’t kept it closer to the bed.

Now, I’m not one of those people who’s afraid to eat local cuisine—pun mildly intended—or hesitant to trust the safety of resort diving equipment. The worst thing that could happen would be death. But the one thing I refused to trust in a third-world country were condoms. Because if a condom failed, the result would last for generations. So, I’d packed enough protection to ensure no child was ever conceived on this island again. Population control by Carson Bennett. You’re welcome, people of Tahiti.

When Lane saw what took up most of my suitcase, she got off the bed and came closer. “You’ve got to be kidding. Did you bring any clothes?”

“I don’t need clothes.” I ripped open a box, pulled them apart, and sprinkled them all over the bed. “I need these.” Now I’d have one within reach no matter what position we happened to be in when the time came. Actually, before I came. Lane raised an eyebrow when I laughed at my unspoken joke.

“Don’t know why, but when you said you’d packed, I assumed you meant clothes.” She crossed her arms and stuck out a hip. “Ugh. I'm not going to have to be one of those women who pack for their man, am I?”

“We could always vacation at clothing-optional places. I'm down with that, by the way.”

“Too bad I'm not.”

“You think I'm fat, don't you?” I patted the six-pack I’d worked hard for. Not at a gym, of course. Nope, this bad boy was the result of a grueling, intensive schedule of fucking Lane in one position or another. And maybe some genetics, I guess.

“Is that really the only reason you can think of for me not wanting to go to those places?”

“Well, what else could it be?” I pressed her body backwards with mine until she had no choice but to climb onto the bed again. And I had no choice but to climb on top of her, pushing condoms away from where I laid her down. “Your body is perfect, especially when you don’t have any of those annoying clothes covering it.”

“Sure, it is.” She wiggled out from under me and scooted farther up on the bed, leaving one leg outstretched. Then she lifted it until her toes were a half-inch away from my face.

“Oh, babe. It is. It so is.”

When I bit her—like she deserved—she gasped and tried to jerk her foot away, but I held on. I could feel the vibration of her laugh through her toes, then her ankle, then her knee as I slowly worked my way up her leg, alternating between caress of my lips and brushes of my tongue.

When I looked up, she was propped up on her elbows, holding one of the condoms between her teeth.

I groaned and rested my chin on her knee. “You going to open that?”

She took it out of her mouth and held it up, waving it back and forth. “You mean this?”

Damn, she was sexy, even when she wasn’t giving me what I wanted. Especially when she wasn’t giving me what I wanted.

“I’m not sure,” she teased. As I moved up her body, she spread her legs to give me room. “I need to think about it.”

“Well, while you’re thinking”—I slid one hand behind her neck—“I’ll be doing this.” I leaned down and lifted her head until our lips met. And met. And then met again, along with our tongues and our hips. Grinding against each other so hard, if we pressed any harder, somebody would’ve gotten hurt.

Eventually we needed a breather.

Okay, enough breathing for one day. I brushed a lock of her hair off her cheek and dipped my head down to kiss her again.

“Wait,” she said, pushing me away playfully. I know she was playing because moving wood and tools around all day had given her some serious upper body strength. Plus she knew where all my most sensitive areas were. And, yes, I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“Aren’t we supposed to meet your family soon?” she asked.

I shook my head. “If I show up on time, they’ll get spoiled and start expecting it. They’re already spoiled enough and I don’t want to enable them anymore.”

“Maybe I should try that with you—not enabling you to get into my pants anytime you want to. Wouldn’t want to spoil you.” She laughed, covering her panties as if I hadn’t already gotten around them earlier.

“Spoil me, Lane. Spoil me hard.”

“If they’re mad, I’m blaming you.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

The huts were about thirty feet apart but I would have to ask how well sound traveled over water to know how soundproof they were. Unfortunately for them, our neighbors were going to hear all about how she’d spoiled me for all others.