The Trouble With Paradise Read online

  Truth was, he had her halfway to orgasm without doing much more than kissing her, which made her as pathetic as her last date. She’d be mortified later, because right now her body had taken over and was demanding the rest. “Hurry.”

  God, again with the out loud thing, but he didn’t make fun of her. Instead, he slid a big, warm hand up her back, his fingers encircling her ponytail so that he could lightly tug, better angling her mouth to his. His other hand curled around her breast, his fingers rasping over her camisole-covered nipple, coaxing another gasp out of her. “Hurry,” she said again.

  “Why? Is there a race?”

  “My body thinks so,” she managed as he dragged his mouth along her jaw, to her ear, which he sank his teeth into, yanking yet another gasping moan out of her.

  “Shh.” He laved the spot with his tongue, then shifted, bending his head to her throat, her collarbone. “Unless you want to be rescued by the others.”

  She shook her head wildly. She did not want to be rescued, not from this. He glided his tongue over her skin, heading toward her breasts, licking her through the cotton, and she couldn’t help it, she made a noise of sheer lust.

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his own dark, so dark with heat, his mouth wet from kissing her.

  “Don’t stop,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very, very sure.”

  He nodded with intent, a wicked, naughty intent that made her go damp. Or damper. “You still have that box of condoms?”

  Oh, God. “In my purse.”

  “I’m beginning to like that purse.”

  She fumbled to get to it while he went back to what he was doing. She’d been holding on to him for all she was worth, but at the first touch of his tongue, she cried out. Damn it.

  A man of his own means, he took her hands and gently pressed one finger to her mouth. She nodded. Shh. She really was trying, but—“Ohmigod,” she whispered when he tugged the spaghetti straps off her shoulders so that his clever, talented mouth could have more freedom. “Ohmigod.”

  Without a break in the wet, open-mouthed kisses he was trailing over her, he pressed her fingers to her lips again.

  Right. Quiet. She was doing her best, but she was only human here, and her body had shifted to high, hopeful alert status, quivering with it, in fact. She peeked down at his dark head, at the direction he was heading with purposeful intent—which were her nipples, covered only because her tops had snagged on them.

  Then he tugged again and her breasts were bared to the night air and his hot, hot gaze.

  She had to close her eyes. She slapped her hands to the tree trunk on either side of her hips, needing the handholds. “Christian.”

  Again, he stroked a finger over her lips, then his hand covered her mouth, because apparently she wouldn’t possibly remain silent with him now crouching down before her, her camisoles gathered at her waist, his fingers slowly pushing up her skirt. Her hands dropped from the tree to his shoulders and dug into the muscles there, and when he’d bunched the entire skirt up past her hips so that he had an eyeful of her panties, she went utterly still, torn between wondering why she’d put panties on today at all, and what would have happened if she hadn’t.

  Then he slid his fingers beneath the elastic edging at her hip, tracing it down . . . His knuckles brushed her center and she jerked at the touch. “Um—”

  He tugged and words failed her. Then her brain failed her as well when he leaned in and kissed her.

  There.

  Oh, God. All she managed was a squeak.

  He grabbed both her hands, having to peel them off his shoulders, and reaching up, again put them to her mouth. He pressed gently, silently encouraging her to shut the hell up.

  So she held her hands over her own mouth and panted for air while he stroked her with his tongue, her head thunking back against the tree. She saw stars, felt the earth move, heard fireworks going off in her brain, the whole shebang, and it was most definitely not from hitting her head, though she did spare a second to think that next time she had wild tree sex she should really wear a helmet.

  But then he added his fingers to the mix, and she completely and totally burst right out of herself.

  An orgasm.

  With a man.

  Without working at it, she was having a mind-blowing orgasm. This time when her legs gave out, he let her fall, though he caught her, yanking her onto his lap, covering her mouth with his, his hands urging her thighs open, wrapping them around his hips.

  Then his pants were somehow open . . . okay, she opened them . . . and she straddled him right there on the bank of the natural pool, on the soft, still warm sand beneath a skinny moon. Gripping her hips, he slowly pushed up inside her.

  “Ohmigod!”

  He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and pulled her head back to his, kissing her hard, ensuring her silence as he arched up, seating himself deep within her, oh God, so deep.

  She’d never felt such a bone-melting heat, never, ever, and starting from within, working its way out, making it almost impossible for her to do the quiet thing. “Christian—”

  “I know.” He whispered this against her mouth, moving in and out of her with a heart-stopping sensation that was not only unexpected, but suddenly as necessary as air.

  Her eyes were open, locked on his as he rocked his hips in a glorious, maddening, perfect motion. She stared at him, thinking he was so beautiful, all hard angles and intense heat. She’d never kept her eyes open during such an intimate moment before. Never thought to, but this felt so real, so real she almost couldn’t stand it.

  “Okay?” he whispered.

  “So okay.”

  His smile was reward indeed. Lifting his head, he glided his mouth along her jaw to her neck, tasting her as he slid into her, over and over, until she tightened her legs around him, until she, unbelievably, felt herself begin to go over again.

  Two orgasms in less than ten minutes.

  She couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t even have time to marvel at it because he shifted, gripping her legs as he subtly changed the angle to thrust even more deeply inside her. A soft gasp escaped her at this, mirrored by his own rough breath. Her name was on his lips when he groaned and came, and she spared the second to think that it was the most lovely sound she’d ever heard, before she exploded all over him, giving herself up completely to the mesmerizing, sweet, hot, glorious sensation of being lost.

  Even as she felt found.

  Christian didn’t know how long he and Dorie clung to each other by the lagoon, breathing like crazy, serenaded by the island, which pulsed with life around them.

  That wasn’t the only thing pulsing.

  He could still feel her body twitching, contracting around him, milking him dry, and the sensation kept him hard.

  She was something, so much so that he was going to be ready for round two if he wasn’t careful. Normally at this point of the evening’s festivities, his mind would already be wandering, but his brain remained solidly on task—do her again.

  Focus.

  From his vantage point of being flat on his back, he could see the two cliffs high above the lagoon. Closer, hanging from the rock just above them, was a cluster garden of poinsettias, oleanders, and an assortment of fruit trees: papaya, sour sop, tamarind . . . “We’re not going to starve to death.”

  She didn’t respond. Or, for that matter, move. That couldn’t be good. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he lifted her face from where she’d pressed it into his shoulder.

  She was wearing those sweet, drown-in-me eyes. In spite of himself, his heart rolled over and exposed its underbelly. Her mouth was soft, and just a little swollen from his kisses. And her hair . . . all over the place, more than usual that is, including a strand stuck to his jaw and another stabbing him in the eyes. Her two camisoles were still shoved down past her ribs, her skirt rucked up around her waist, exposing her mouthwatering breasts and the treasure between her legs, which made