Lexington

My afternoon meeting turns into dinner and drinks with several of the managerial staff and a few of the high-rolling clients who frequent the resort on a regular basis.

My father sending me here is a big deal. While it gets me out of the line of fire for Armstrong’s bullshit, it’s also his way of telling me, not so subtly, that he’d like to see me up my game. Until the past six months, he thought I was coasting.

I can attribute it in part to my mother’s illness, and it’s for that reason that my father hasn’t really pushed for more from me. Until now. But the truth is, it’s more than that. Griffin is good at what he does, but he’s quiet and the people part of the business isn’t really his thing. Bancroft shows promise in the renovation side of the business, but he doesn’t want to head the company. I’m the one my dad is relying on to keep the Mills empire running when he’s set to retire. It’s what I want, even if I haven’t been particularly good at expressing it up until now.

That’s a lot of responsibility for me since I’ve been seen as a fuck-up for most of my life, thanks to my constant battles with Armstrong. He’s done a great job of making me look incompetent, and more often than not, I’ve fed right into the games he played. It hasn’t been helpful in restoring my father’s faith in my ability to manage this business with a level head. He worries about me being reactive, which has been a valid concern.

Bancroft joining the team last year has pushed me to look at how I haven’t been doing my best. I don’t want to let my father down, and more than that, I don’t want to let myself down. This is my opportunity to demonstrate to him, and myself, that I’ll be able to take over the business when he retires. It’s not that I was a complete slacker until recently, it was more that I was used to getting great results without putting in maximum effort. That’s changed, though. I see how hard Bane works, and I recognize that if I put in the same amount of effort, we’d see even greater results. It’s not a competition, it’s a collaboration.

My father will never walk away fully, but my mother’s cancer scare has made him realize just how important she is, and that he doesn’t want to miss out on these years because he still feels compelled to work seventy hours a week. There’s some good in the bad, I suppose.

It’s late by the time I return to the resort. I’d like to check on Amalie, but her bungalow is dark. I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping. Still wired from the day, I change and head to the bar for a quick drink.

The nightlife here is always on point. Unlike Amalie’s previous resort, this place isn’t all couples and honeymooners, although there are plenty of them. Singles come here for a getaway. Families and their nannies will spend two weeks enjoying the sun and scenery. It’s a mixed group, which makes it a better option for those who are unattached.

I was born to socialize. In high school I had friends in every group. I had connections with the potheads; I spent time with the rockers and always went to dive bars to listen to them play; I was tight with the study nerds, the kids in metal shop, the drama geeks, you name it, I could find a way to relate. It’s why my father sends me on these trips. Beyond the fact that I’m unattached and he doesn’t need to worry about taking me away from someone important, I’m good at schmoozing. People like to talk to me. It’s as much a gift as it is a curse.

I make my way to the bar and watch people interact. Singles mingle and flirt, couples and honeymooners close-talk, eyes straying to the people on the dance floor. It’s loud in here. I survey the length of the bar and take note of the familiar long wavy blond hair. Amalie.

She’s not hiding out in her room. She’s angled toward the man leaning on the bar next to her. His intentions are clear in the way his eyes roam over her body when she crosses her legs. Nope. No fucking way am I going to allow some random douche to hook up with her.

As I close in on them I notice a few things. Her dress is a second skin, clinging to her toned, luscious body. I have my doubts Armstrong would approve of her wearing something like this in public. And I get why. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see her in something quite so provocative unless she’s hanging off my arm, and everyone in the room knows she’s off-limits.

I move in behind her, sizing up the guy flirting with her. He glances up at me, gives me one of those conspiratorial smiles that says, Watch me bag this one. I keep my gaze locked on his as I lean down until my mouth is at her ear. “Having a good time?”

Amalie gasps and spins around. Sweet mother of fuck. She looks like sin. The neckline of the dress plunges low, giving me an incredible view of her cleavage. And the dress, if it even qualifies as one, is white. And so very, very short. I bet when she stands up it barely covers her ass. Her lips are glossy pink and pouty, and those pretty blue eyes find mine.

She bites her lip, and then her tongue peeks out as a slow smile spreads across her face. She puts a hand on my chest. “Lexington. You’re here.” She makes a fist and taps on my chest. “I knocked but no one answered.” She turns back to her friend, her hand still on me. “Rick. Rich. Ricky?”

His smile is stiff. “It’s Eric.”

“Right! Eric.” She smacks her forehead and giggles. “I’m so bad with names. Eric, this is Lex. He’s my friend. He’s so nice to me. He punched my husband in the dick today.” She leans into me, her head resting on my pec as she looks up, smiling. “It was so sweet. You’re so sweet.” She pats my cheek. I wonder if she might be a little tipsy.

Eric’s smug smile drops. “Husband?”

Amalie waves a floppy hand around in the air. “Non-husband. Or he will be when he signs the annulment papers. He got a blow job at our wedding, not from me.”

“Eric, could you excuse us, please.” I smile, but it’s not friendly at all.

“He doesn’t have to go.” Amalie frowns and turns to Eric. “You don’t have to go. He’s being rude.”

He glances from Amalie to me and back again. He seems to realize that his conquest is over. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I move into his now-vacant seat. “Emily?”

“He got it wrong the first time and I didn’t feel like correcting him.” She sips her martini. “Why’d you send him away? I liked him. He was a good listener.” She crooks a finger and beckons me closer. “I think Eric wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh, and why do you think that?” Of course he wants to fuck her. Every guy in this room wants to, married, single, almost dead, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has a dick and it’ll get hard, they want to get in her. Myself included.

“Well.” Amalie props her chin on her fist. “He said he wanted to fuck me, so that’s how I know.”

“He what?” I scan the bar, looking for Eric, who I’d like to punch now, but Amalie fists my shirt, drawing my attention back to her.

Her eyes bounce around my face. “Do you wanna fuck me?” She drags her fingertips down my cheek. “God you’re so hot. Why’re you so hot? Did I say that aloud? I did. I can hear myself talking. That was supposed to be in my head.”

I cup her chin. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Just two? Fuck-me Eric bought me one and I had one before that on my own. Wasn’t that nice? What time is it?”

“It’s an all-inclusive resort, Amalie, he didn’t buy you anything.”

“Oh, right. Hmm. Well, now I’m less impressed.”

I laugh, because I’m not sure how to gauge her right now. She’s definitely tipsy, but not full-out drunk as far I can tell. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

“That’s probably a very good idea. I spent a lot of time in the sun today. Water might help me keep my inside thoughts from coming out of my mouth.”

“I like it when your inside thoughts come out of your mouth.” I signal the bartender and order water. A few drinks is understandable after what she’s been through. Although, I would prefer if she didn’t get drunk without me around to keep her safe. She’s far too vulnerable to be left to her own devices.

“Of course you do. All my inside thoughts about you are filthy.” She makes a face, like maybe she didn’t mean to say that.

I push anyway, because tipsy, filterless Amalie is fun, as long as her lack of filter isn’t directed at douches like Fuck-me Eric. “Is that right? How filthy are we talking?”

“I think I should take a vow of silence for the rest of the night. Talking to you is going to get me into trouble.” The bartender sets a glass of water in front of her. “Oh! Thank you.” She drains the glass in three long gulps. I wait until she’s done before I introduce them.

“Declan, this is Amalie. She’s a personal friend, here on vacation from New York. Amalie, this is Declan, the head bartender.”

“Hi.” Her hand shoots out. “Excuse my rudeness. It’s so nice to meet you.”

The bartender gives me a questioning look but takes her hand and kisses her knuckle. My expression must tell him I’m not pleased because he releases it quickly and offers her a refill.

I sit at the bar and chat with people most nights, but I don’t get involved with guests. That’s bad for business. Amalie isn’t a typical guest, though, and I’m taking it upon myself to make her well-being my priority.

Declan sets a fresh glass of water in front of Amalie.

“Thank you. I didn’t even realize how thirsty I was. Plus, if I’m chugging water it saves me from saying more incriminating things to this one.” She thumbs over her shoulder and pokes me in the chest. “He already knows he’s hot, so he doesn’t really need me to tell him. But seriously, so hot.” She raises her glass, takes a few small sips and chugs the rest. She frowns as the ice cubes clink in the bottom, then turns to me. “I don’t think the water is helping me censor myself the way I’d hoped.”

A few stray hairs stick to her glossy lips. I carefully pull them away, skimming her cheek. “I think we’ve already established that I don’t mind your lack of censor.”

Her eyes flutter shut, fingers coming up to graze the back of my hand. “When you touch me like that I feel it right between my . . .” Her eyes pop open and she purses her lip. I’m disappointed I don’t get to hear the end of that sentence. “I should probably go back to my room before my mouth embarrasses me more than it already has. I’m not always this unstable. I promise I don’t do this all the time. The drama or the martinis.”

I fight to keep my smile from turning into a laugh. “Would you like me to walk you back to your bungalow?”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s that word again. Let me make sure you’re safe, Amalie.”

Her eyes are wide and searching. “You’re so nice to me. Why’re you so nice?”

“Do I need to have a reason?”

I hold out a hand and she places her warm hand in mine as she slips off her chair. Her hands are delicate, just like her face.

Her heel catches though, so she stumbles forward, grabbing for my bicep as she steadies herself. “I’m not drunk, these heels are just new.”

“However you want to spin it.”

“Seriously. It’s the first time I’ve worn them.” She uses the edge of the bar for balance and adjusts the strap at her heel.

“I’m not judging.” But I sure am checking her out.

I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened with Fuck-Me Eric if I hadn’t shown up when I did, though. I don’t know Amalie well enough to be able to say with any certainty how compromised her decision-making is when she’s been drinking and under stress apart from at her wedding, and those were extreme circumstances.

I nod to the staff as we make our way through the lobby and outside into the warm night air, my arm threaded through hers to help keep her steady. She’s watching her feet, her steps deliberate as we descend the stairs.

“Hold on.” She pulls me to a stop and pets my arm. “This is pretty. I mean the tattoos, not your arm, well that’s pretty, too, but the art is nice. I like it. It’s sexy just like the rest of you.” She blinks up at me with a grin. “Sexy Lexy.”

“That’s the only time you get to call me that.” I think I like her with her guard down.

“Really? I thought it was a great nickname.” She shakes her head. “Oh! Sorry. I’m a little distracted tonight.” Her breasts press against my arm as she lifts her foot and takes off one shoe and then the other. “These are giving me blisters.”

“Probably safer this way, considering the hazards of the deck boards. The last thing you need is a twisted ankle.”

“God, that would be awful. Thanks for this. Again. I’m going to owe you so many favors.”

My mind makes every single one of those sexual in nature. “Your company is favor enough.”

“Does it get lonely, being somewhere so beautiful, surrounded by all these couples? Especially since you’re here on business and not just for fun?”

“Most of the time I’m too busy to think about it, but downtime can be a challenge. I can’t really go to the bar just to have a drink and unwind. I’m always on, unless I’m in my suite, and then I’m on my own.”

“That sounds depressing.”

“It’s not really that bad. Most of the time it’s all work with a beautiful backdrop.”

Amie stumbles and I tighten my hold on her.

“Ow! Shit! I stubbed my toe!”

“You’re having a rough night, aren’t you?”

“Seems to be a trend for me.” She hobbles the last few feet to her bungalow. It takes her a few seconds of rooting around in her purse to find her keycard and open the door. She drops everything on the floor and makes her way cautiously to the bed. Spinning around, she flops down on the mattress, her skirt riding obscenely high, her legs parted enough that I have a very, very clear view of the scrap of fabric between her thighs. It’s pale pink. Lacy. I’m assuming it’s probably a thong since I didn’t notice panty lines in the bar when I was checking out her ass.

I probably shouldn’t be in here with her right now. Not while she’s under the influence of martinis, and not while I’m thinking about how easy it would be to push that tiny skirt up over her hips and yank those panties down her thighs. What I should do is go back to my own bungalow and rub one out in the shower. But it’s not really all that appealing.

“I can see up your skirt.”

She presses her knees together and tugs on the hem. “I’m wearing panties.”

“I know.”

Her eyes light up with mischief. “They’re pink.”

I cough. I have to fight with my body to stay on this side of the room. I head for the fridge and grab a bottle of water. “I know that, too.”

“Did you know that Armstrong only likes white lingerie? Or at least on me he does. Did. He liked to pretend he was conquering a virgin every time we have sex. Had sex. Because we will not have sex ever again.”

Amen to that. I can totally understand the allure of Amalie in white. She has a sweet face. Pair her delicate features and curvy, lean body with white lingerie and she would be the perfect picture of sexy innocence. I, on the other hand, can also appreciate how hot she’d look in black lace, or leather, or any other color and fabric combination the lingerie industry can come up with. I don’t say any of these things, because I think it would be a bad idea to express my opinion on this. Instead, I say, “Armstrong is an asshole.”

“That he is. And I married him. I don’t even know what I was thinking. On the bright side, at least I don’t have to fake orgasms anymore.” She pushes up on her elbows and blows her hair out of her face. “My toe really hurts.”

She really is all over the place. Although, I can’t blame her for being that way considering the day she’s had. Straightening her leg, but keeping her knees together, she inspects her foot. “Oh, wow! I’m bleeding! Check it out!”

As I move closer, she lowers her foot enough that I can see the red pooling in the nail bed of her big toe. It’s a significant amount of blood.

“I think I cracked the nail.” She brings her knee to her chest so she can get a better look, giving me, once again, an excellent view of her panties.

“Amalie.” I close my eyes. Fuck. My dick is pretty goddamn desperate to get out of my pants right now and into what’s under that pale pink satin and lace.

“Oh yeah, the nail is definitely cracked. Ooooh. It’s pretty gross. Why’re your eyes closed? Are you afraid of blood?” I motion to her with one lid half-open. “Your panties.”

“You’re afraid of my panties?”

I give up on not looking and pointedly glance at her crotch. She drops her gaze. “Oh. Oops.” Closing her legs, she reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a tissue, dabbing at her toe while she sucks in a breath.

Part of me wishes I hadn’t pointed out the panty display. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, but probably only because I can see the damage. This is like, way bad.”

“Is that your clinical diagnosis?”

She gives me the eye. “You know, you could be helpful by getting me the first aid kit instead of standing there, poking fun at me when I’m bleeding to death over here.”

“Dramatic much? And if I do that I might miss out on you flashing me your panties.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling me to close my legs. Make up your mind, Lexington, do you or don’t you?”

I can’t tell if she’s baiting me or not. This isn’t the Amalie I’ve dealt with at family functions and events over the past year. That woman is poised and controlled. She’s polite, sweet, warm and yet a bit reserved. This version is brazen, lippy, and fucking hot. I want to know which one is the real her. Or maybe it’s both. Maybe this is the Anarchy Amie she was referring to on the plane. The one who wears obscenely short dresses and picks up guys named Fuck-me Eric at bars, then flashes her panties.

“I’ll get the first-aid kit.” I toss the bottle of water on the bed and cross through to the bathroom. There’s one in every linen closet for such emergencies. I pause for a moment when I cross the threshold. It’s like a woman’s makeup case vomited all over the vanity.

But that’s not where my attention goes. It’s the glass dildo with the spiral of pink through the center, one end round, the other torpedo shaped, the length of it textured, sitting on a hand towel. A small travel bottle of cleaning solution sits beside it. Did she clean it because she used it recently, or because those security guards put their hands on pretty much everything in her carry-on?

My hard-on is raging now, and requires adjusting. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next ten minutes without doing something I shouldn’t, let alone the next two weeks. But God, do I ever want to. And if I’m reading her correctly, she would like very much to show me what’s under those pretty pink panties.

Sex with Amalie is probably a bad call. Picking her up from the other resort will inevitably cause more problems. Armstrong—paranoid dickwad that he is—will definitely believe that this was planned and he’ll likely convey that to Gwendolyn, who will inevitably say something to my mother. The reality is, I’ve done just as many reprehensible things to him as he’s done to me over the years.

But this is different. I’m not stealing something he thinks is his. He fucked this up. He ruined the good thing he had. That’s not my fault. And if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t want the Fuck-Me Erics on this resort to get anywhere near her again. If she keeps pushing I’m likely to break, and I think I might be okay with that.

“Did you find the first-aid kit?” Amalie calls from the other room.

“Yup. Got it.” I bring it back to the main room, along with a towel so she doesn’t get blood on the sheets. Amalie’s sitting on the edge of the bed, inspecting her big toe. I notice the water bottle has been opened and most of the contents have disappeared, which is good. I drop the case on the bed and flip it open, plucking out the things I need. I tap her hip. “Scoot back and let me take a look.”

“I can handle it.”

“So can I.”

She smiles wickedly. “Is this your way of getting in bed with me?”

I slip an arm under her knees and one behind her back, lifting her until she’s settled against the pillows. I edge a knee between hers, holding myself above her. What the fuck am I doing? Her eyes are wide, full of surprise and heat. Longing and maybe just a hint of uncertainty follow. “Is that what you want, Amie? Me in your bed?”

She bites her lip, teeth pressing gently into the skin as she regards me. “What if I do?”

“That’s the martinis talking,” I whisper, trying to make it a joke when what I really want is to just give in.

“It’s not the martinis talking,” she whispers.

“What if tomorrow I’m a mistake you can’t take back?” I sit back on my heels and press her knees together. I run my hands down the back of her calves. Her skin is so smooth, soft, warm.

When her eyes drop I know I have my answer. I might want her, and she might think she wants me, but I don’t want to be her regrettable decision. Not the kind she wants to erase like the last year of her life. I lift her foot and set it on my thigh, taking in the damage.

“What’re you doing?”

“Taking care of your toe, like I said I would.” It really is a mess. The nail is cracked in half and there’s a piece missing. It needs to be disinfected, clipped, and bandaged.

I pick up the antiseptic spray and Amalie tries to jerk her foot from my grasp.

“You can’t use that! It’ll hurt.”

“It’ll be fine. This needs to be cleaned.” I give it a couple of quick squirts.

Amalie shrieks like I’ve just sprayed her with acid and then her mouth turns down. “Oh. That wasn’t so bad.”

I chuckle at her chagrined expression. “I told you it would be fine.”

“Yeah, but fine usually means the exact opposite, so I expected it to be not fine.”

“In this case fine doesn’t have an alternate meaning. I’m going to clean up the nail so it’s not so jagged, okay?” This is easier to deal with. The taking care of her part I can manage, when there’s a task to focus on, so I’m distracted from the other, less acceptable things I want to do to her.

“Okay.” She exhales quickly, then pulls her other leg up to her chest, tucking her toes under her knee, obstructing any view I might have of those damn panties.

I get out the little pair of scissors, and the first snip is fine, but she jumps at the next one. “Amalie. You need to hold still.”

“It hurts!”

“Stop looking and it’ll hurt less.”

“I hate you right now.” She flops back on the bed and grabs a pillow, pulling it over her head. It’s pretty entertaining. She stretches out her other leg and tucks it under mine, her toes digging in as I keep clipping the nail back as far as I can, smoothing out the rough edge.

I have a feeling she should probably have this looked at, but we’ll know better in the morning when the bleeding has stopped. Or she’ll know, since I won’t be here by then.

Once I’m finished, I wrap it in gauze so she doesn’t catch it in her sleep or bleed on the sheets. I pat her knee. “All done.”

One eye peeks out from under the pillow. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” I put everything back into the first-aid kit and move to the edge of the bed.

“Where’re you going?”

I pause. “To put this away.”

Amalie starts to pull her knees up to her chest, but thinks better of it. “Are you going to leave after that?”

I should. Definitely. “Do you want me to?”

With a shake of her head she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I was alone all day. I don’t want to be alone again. Yet.” And there it is, that innocent look. I wonder if she even realizes the kind of power she has, or if she’s oblivious to it.

“I’ll stay for a while on one condition.”

Her tongue peeks out and a small smile curves those luscious lips. “What’s that?”

“You change out of this dress.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“Absolutely everything.”

She looks down at herself with a frown. “I thought it looked . . . nice.”

“Nice is not the word I would use to describe this.” I motion to the dress.

Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut in irritation. “It’s sexy!”

“Ya think?” Before I really consider my actions I slip my hands under the backs of her knees and bend them, giving me an incredible view of those motherfucking panties. I hold her knees tight together, otherwise I’m going to find myself between her legs. “I’m human, Amie, I can only behave myself for so long.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to behave.” I can feel pressure on my palms, as if she’s trying to push her knees apart.

“Amie.” It’s as much as warning as a plea.

She places her hands over mine, keeping them there. “Did you really mean what you said?”

“Probably, I don’t have a reason to lie to you, but it would help if I knew what exactly you’re referring to.” I’ve said a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t have tonight, on the plane, the night of her wedding.

“That ‘no was the last thing you wanted to say.’” She drops her head. “Or were you just being nice? Is that what you’re doing now?”

“You think this is me being nice?”

She lifts her shoulder and lets it fall. I don’t know how to read her, one second she’s pushing all my buttons and the next she’s timid and uncertain.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Her face falls so I elaborate. “About ‘no being the last thing I wanted to say.’ That wasn’t fair to you.”

How badly had I wanted to say fuck it and get in her then? It feels like a lifetime ago, not days. But the memories, the sensations, they’re all still vivid; the feel of her body on me and under me. The taste of her tongue, bathed in champagne and desperation, her pleas, her tears, her humiliation, and her anger. God her fury was stunning, but her devastation was sobering.

Her blond hair falls, covering her face. She tries to pull away, but I’m still holding on to her legs.

“I meant it. I didn’t want to say no. But I would’ve been an asshole if I hadn’t. I would be an asshole right now if I didn’t at least attempt to control myself.”

Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth for a moment. “You’re just being nice again.”

My laugh is dark. “I’m really not that nice.”

She traces the edge of my fingers pressed against her skin. “You’ve been nice to me.”

“It’s very self-serving, Amalie.”

She tips her head up, defiance in her gaze. “How?”

“Look where I am right now.” I motion to her bed. “I don’t want anyone else to be invited back here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re vulnerable and you’ve been drinking.”

“I had two martinis and too much sun. I’ve consumed a gallon of water in the past half hour. I know what I’m doing right now.”

I don’t know why I’m being such a pussy about this, why I can’t commit one way or another to a decision. Do or don’t. Give in or get out. “Regardless, I can’t knowingly take advantage of you, not when you’ve been hurt the way you have.”

“I don’t need you to protect my poor heart, Lex.” Anger makes the words sharp. “I’m not about to let anyone else get near it after what Armstrong did to me. The least you can do is stop chasing guys away and let me get laid while I’m here instead of sending all these mixed signals and messing with my head. It’s already messed up enough.”

“I’m not letting some random douche take advantage of you.”

“What if I want to be taken advantage of?” She heaves a frustrated sigh. “That didn’t come out right. I’m on an island, on what’s supposed to be my honeymoon. I should be fucking my brains out, having the best sex of my life, but instead I’m hanging out at the bar alone, getting hit on by questionably sleazy guys who can probably sense how messed up I am, and then I’m forced to come back here and get myself off. Also alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to think about how fucked up my life is. I just want to get laid. I just want to feel something other than this goddamn emptiness that’s sucking all the fucking fun out of this trip.”

“You just wanna get laid?” Out of everything I could’ve taken from that, this is a bad question to lead with. The worst and the best question ever. But fuck it. There’s no way I’m letting another nameless Fuck-me Eric have her. If anyone’s going to get to put their hands on her it’s going to be me. She has two weeks left here. She should enjoy it. And if she wants me to, I’m going to make sure that happens, and that it includes lots of orgasms. And toys if she’ll let me into her tickle trunk.

“Yes, I want to get laid!” She throws her hands up in the air. “I’m tired of seeing all these happy couples, knowing they’re all going back to their little huts to fuck their faces off and I don’t get to.”

“Do you want me to fix that for you?”

Amalie’s eyes go wide as I move in closer.

“If you’d like some assistance with the fucking your face off part, I’d be happy to help out.” I loosen my tie.

She pushes on my chest. “Don’t play with me!”

I grab her hand and fit myself between her legs, pressing my hips into hers. I’m hard. I’ve been hard since I walked into the bar and saw her in this skimpy little nothing of a dress. Her mouth drops open.

“I’m assuming you can feel that.” I roll my hips, just to be clear what that is.

“Yes.”

I lower my head so my lips are inches from hers. “What does that feel like to you, Amie?”

“It feels l-like—”

“—like I’m playing you?” I skim the length of her throat with my free hand.

“No.” It’s the softest whisper.

“Does it feel like I’m being nice?” I rest a finger under her chin and tip it up so she meets my gaze. “I assure you, there’s nothing nice about the things I want to do to you, the ways I want to have you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good to know.” The wide eyes and innocent stare morph into the same wild look I caught a glimpse of in her bridal suite. “Because I’m pretty sick and fucking tired of nice, polite sex.”

She grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers. It’s not a soft, gentle kiss. It’s sure as fuck not polite. It’s tongues battling, her nails digging in to my skin, lips fusing, fire in my veins invoking. Her tongue finds mine, aggressive and searching. She slides her hands down my chest and works on my belt buckle. Jerking hard on the clasp, she whips it through the loops, tossing it on the floor.

Amie yanks my shirt free from my pants, then pushes on my chest, breaking the kiss. For a brief moment I think maybe she’s decided this is a mistake. But then she says, “Sorry about your shirt.” Instead of unbuttoning it, she grips the sides and pulls. A couple of buttons pop off. She does it again, and this time the rest of them come free apart from the two at the top since my tie is still around my neck. “Hmm. Didn’t work as well as I’d planned.”

I laugh and sit back on my heels, loosening my tie enough that I can unfasten the remaining buttons. Before I can remove the tie, Amie’s there to push my shirt over my shoulders.

“Look at you.” Her tongue peeks out as she drags her manicured nails across my chest and down my stomach.

The muscles jump under the lightness of her touch.

Her eyes flip up to mine. “Are you flexing?”

I shrug. Maybe a little.

“God. You’re so . . . Look at all these ridges.” She sighs when she reaches the waist of my pants. Eyes flipping up to mine, her smile is anything but innocent as she pops the button and drags down the zipper, chest rising and falling faster with each breath. I need to get her out of this dress.

Amalie keeps her gaze focused on where her hands are. She drags my pants and boxers over my hips. My dick, which is already really fucking hard, springs free.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Wow.”

I chuckle.

Her fingers flutter to her mouth and she lifts those wide, shocked eyes. “That’s, um . . . God.”

“If that’s what you want to call him, go right ahead.” I shove my pants and boxers off the rest of the way, leaving them in a heap on the comforter.

She brushes her fingers along the length. “I wasn’t sure if I’d exaggerated to Ruby when I told her about this, you know, when you flashed everyone at the Halloween soirée? It’s good to know I didn’t.”

She rises up on her knees, her dress hiked to her hips, those pretty pink panties totally on display now. Amalie pulls the cuffs of my shirt free from my wrists, then pats the pillow behind her. “You come here.” She takes me by the shoulders, encouraging me to lie where she was a second ago.

I don’t argue. She’s had little control over the things that have happened during the past week, so if she’s looking for power, she can sure as hell have it. As soon as I’m reclined on the pillows she lowers the zipper on her dress and lifts it over her head.

She’s braless, which I should’ve expected with the cleavage she’s rocking, and my cock jerks at the sight of her nipples. All that’s left is the pink lace panties with pale gray satin ribbons woven at the edges. Everything about her is fucking perfect.

Her expression is the tiniest bit uncertain until I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a slow stroke. “How long are you planning to torture me from over there?”

That gets a grin out of her. She hooks a finger under the lace band around her waist and drags it slowly over her hips and down her thighs.

This woman is a goddamn vision. She’s tanned and toned, long legs and sexy curves. And that sweet, bare pussy. I bet she tastes as amazing as she looks. “Fuck, your body,” I mutter.

“That’s the plan,” she says as she drops a knee beside my thigh and straddles my hips.

She traces my lips with her fingers and whispers, “Open.”

So I do, without thinking, because she’s gorgeous and naked and looking to ride my cock.

She slips her fingertip into my mouth. “Suck.”

I chuckle, but do as she asks, watching her teeth press into her lip. She trades her index finger for her middle finger, so I suck that, too. I don’t know why it takes me until she drops her hand, ready to hit the sweet spot between her thighs, to clue in to what she’s doing.

“Oh, hell no.” I grab her hand and latch onto the other one, too, just to be safe.

Her irritated confusion is fucking adorable. “What’re you doing?”

“If I’m fucking you, I’m prepping you. I get to do that.” She’s all delicate bones and narrow wrists, so I can easily hold them with one hand.

This time I’m the one slipping a finger into her mouth, telling her to suck. And she does. Her cheeks hollow out, and I think about what her mouth will feel like wrapped around my cock. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to get to that later. I drag a single finger along her slit, circling her clit a few times before I go lower and find her hot and wet. Easing in, I watch her mouth drop open and her lids lower.

After a few slow pumps, I add a second finger, and curl forward, getting the sweetest moan in response. I release her hands and lean in to suck one of those pretty little nipples of hers into my mouth while I rub on her clit with my thumb.

She breathes out, “Oh God,” and threads her fingers through my hair, keeping my mouth locked around her nipple.

“You still want me to fuck you.” It’s mostly a statement and not a question.

“You better not be thinking about stopping now.”

I chuckle and fumble around for my pants, which are thankfully still on the bed and search for my wallet. I still have my fingers inside her and I’m trying to maintain some kind of rhythm since every pump and curl causes her to moan. Flipping my wallet open, I find a pair of condoms. Amalie tears one free. Using her teeth, she rips it open and then rolls it on. She nudges my hand out of the way so she can run the head over her clit. And then she sinks down.

Her sharp inhalation and the way her eyes widen are a good indicator she’s taking it too fast.

I grab onto her hips to keep her still and steady. Sweet mother of fuck, she feels incredible. “Easy. I don’t want to break this perfect pussy.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t fight my hold. I lower her slowly, watching my cock disappear inside her until her ass rests on my thighs. Amalie’s nails dig into my shoulders and she makes a delicious, needy sound.

“See, I’m not broken,” she says, all soft-sweet.

“You’re fucking incredible.” A perfect, snug place to keep my cock buried.

She lets out this breathy little laugh.

I trail my fingers over her breast, gently skimming her nipple. “You ready to be fucked?”

Her cheeks flush, and then her lip curls up at the corner. “Are you?”

“Fuck yeah.” I lace my hands behind my head and lean back against the pillows. “Have at it, baby.”

She snorts. “Could you be any more cocky?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who’s full of mine, you tell me.”

“You should shut up and just lie there and look good so you don’t ruin this for me.”

I’m about to give her some of that sass back, but she clamps a hand over my mouth. She leans in close, until her nipples brush my chest. “Shh. The only thing you should be doing with that mouth is kissing me.”

She drops her palm and sucks on my bottom lip while she rolls her hips. “Oh God.” She does it again, her tongue sweeping my mouth at the same pace as she rocks in my lap. She goes slow at first, but it doesn’t take long for her seek more friction, swiveling faster, rocking harder.

“Jesus. That just . . . oh God. I can feel that right—” She stops talking against my lips. Gripping one shoulder, she pushes back enough so she can see me clearly and I can see her. She grabs my jaw with the other hand, her eyes are wide, shock and desire making them bright. “I can’t—every time, you’re hitting that spot every damn time.”

She makes this noise as she shifts again—if pleasure was a sound, this would be it.

“Are you gonna come?” I ask.

“I-I-I—” She trembles violently.

I grab her hips on the next roll and shift as she grinds down.

“Oh, fuck,” she groans. “Do that again.”

“Do this?” I lift her up a couple of inches and drop her back down.

“Again,” she orders.

I’m all about pleasing her, so I comply.

Her mouth is less than an inch from mine. “Harder.”

I grip her hips, feel the tension in her body, the way she’s fighting against me. “Harder?”

“Fuck me like you’re supposed to,” she grits through clamped teeth, her frustration obvious, but it’s more than that. She’s so close to coming.

I stop holding her back. Instead, I help pull her down as I lift my hips.

Her eyes go wide. “Yessss.”

“Again?” I ask.

“Just like that.”

And so I do. And she comes. Violently. Her nails dig in, cutting my skin. She has absolutely no control over her body, so I keep pumping while she shakes and chants oh God, oh God, oh God. She’s gorgeous when she’s falling apart.

I grab her chin. “Look at me.”

She struggles to open her eyes, but eventually she manages to lift her lids and meet my gaze.

“Who’s fucking you?”

She shudders. “You are.”

“Who made you come?”

She blinks, slow and hazy. “You did.”

“Wanna come again?”

Her eyes go wide again. “Oh God.”

I grab her ass and flip her over so I’m on top. “He’s not gonna save you from me, baby.” And I make her come again. So hard she bites my shoulder to muffle her scream. I’m close, but I want to see if I can get one more orgasm out of her. I slow it down, grinding against her. Amalie’s hands are in my hair, and then her nails rake down my back and dig into my ass.

“I’m gonna come soon,” I tell her. “You getting close again?”

“I don’t know if I can have another one.”

“You sure as hell can.” I hook my arm under her knee and draw it up, getting another sweet groan out of her when I roll my hips. I keep up the rhythm, slow and steady, watching her face. Her head is thrown back, lips parted, eyes closed tight. With my mouth beside her ear, I whisper, “I can feel you squeezing my cock, you better make it happen soon, baby, ’cause I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“Don’t stop doing what you’re doing,” she pleads.

“Want it harder?”

She nods.

“What about faster?”

“Please.”

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tilt her head down, holding it still as I give her what she wants. I’d say I have about six more thrusts before I’m done for, but with the way she’s started shaking again, and the whimpering moans I’m getting, she’s about to come anyway. I make it to thrust five before the orgasm kicks me in the spine.

I crush my mouth to Amalie’s, swallowing her scream, because she’s coming, too. It’s not a very coordinated kiss. It’s messy and teeth-clashing. It’s want and need. It’s possession. Hers and mine.