Hula Girl Page 6

  “Oh, honey,” he murmurs with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “we can’t let this go to waste.”

  Before I can respond, he’s slid to his knees on the floor in front of me, casting aside his glass in favor of reaching out to hold my hips with his hands. He lowers his face to my lap, flicking his tongue against the spill of tequila and sending a shiver through me. Heat fills my body and my core tightens in anticipation. The way he licks, sucks, and nibbles at the tender skin of my thigh, slowly making his way inward and upward, has me panting for more.

  I’m still sitting upright, still holding my glass, though. I want nothing more than to surrender to what he’s doing to me. What he’s going to do to me. It’s a very bad idea, but I gulp down the tequila just so that I can put down the glass without spilling any more. And then I fall back onto his bed, just as he peels off my thong and pulls one of my legs over his shoulder.

  It’s such a vulnerable position to be in, especially with someone I just met. But I’m too turned on to be worried about that. Besides, I’ve felt oddly comfortable with him since this morning when he snuck up beside me to say that doing hula moves might get me a better signal on my phone. Despite the fact that he makes me salivate with desire, he also somehow manages to set me at ease. He’s just so relaxed, taking everything at its own pace. That easy demeanor has a way of rubbing off on you.

  Not that we’re exactly in the calmest state at the moment.

  It’s impossible for me to be calm. It’s impossible for me not to writhe against the firm strokes of his tongue as he alternates between teasing my clit and probing deep inside me. And when he greedily trails kisses along my entire slit before concentrating on the throbbing bud of my clit once more, I give in to the sensation of his warm tongue sweeping over me in motions that send me closer and closer to the edge. It’s when he ever so gently nibbles before sucking hard on my clit that I lose it, my body racked with the most intense orgasm I can remember. It goes on and on as he doesn’t let go until he’s gotten everything he can out of me coming for him. I finally have to pull his hair as I go slack because I can’t take it anymore.

  “What have you done,” I say with a laugh, covering my eyes with my hand. “I’m destroyed.”

  I can hear him retrieve his glass before taking a swallow. Then the bed shifts as he joins me. I let my hand fall away and open one eye, looking at him. He’s on his side, still dressed, and very relaxed.

  He does that sexy thing where he squints slightly and smiles his crooked grin. “You’re not destroyed. You’re alive and you are, without a doubt, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he says.

  “If that’s what me flailing around while having an insanely incredible orgasm seems like to you, then I’m good with that.”

  “Flailing? Nah, those were the hula moves I was looking for.”

  I laugh and pull him to me. “I want more of you,” I say and kiss him.

  We kiss until we’re so needy that we have to break apart to remove our clothes. He takes the initiative to grab a condom and after he’s rolled it on and turns to me, his back against the flimsy headboard, I waste no time, climbing onto him while he’s still sitting. But I don’t rush the part where I guide him into me. I do that slowly, wanting us both to feel every inch of sensation. He’s long and thick and fills me so completely that I never want to stop riding him this way, even if doing so means we’re creating a rhythmic knocking noise as the bed pushes against the wall. Then he takes the words out of my mouth.

  “Ahh,” he moans, “fuck, you feel good.”

  He’s got his eyes closed, savoring our connection. But when I pull my upper body away from him, so I can angle my hips even closer to his, he watches me through a lust-filled gaze, his mouth slightly open. I reach out and touch his bottom lip and he grabs my wrist, pulling me to him again so he can devour my mouth with his while deftly changing our position. On top of me now, he works his hips in a slow grind while toying with my nipple and has me building toward another orgasm. Raising himself on his arms, his muscles flexed, he watches me for that sign that I’m close.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. “Come for me, honey. I love having my face between your legs, but I want to watch you come this time.”

  His words and movements have the intended effect and soon I’m doing as he asks, completely shameless in my pleasure, crying out with each wave of ecstasy.

  “Hell, yeah,” he says approvingly as I slowly come back to myself.

  I should be depleted after the heights he’s brought me to, but all I want is for him to have his own mind-blowing experience. I raise my legs up, my knees against his ribs.

  “It’s your turn,” I say. “However you want …”

  That’s all the permission he needs to now do as I ask, plunging deep inside me, one hand on my ass and the other on my breast as he raises himself up on his knees for better leverage. He’s pumping so hard that I can feel his balls slap against me and he’s on the verge. But then he lowers his hand once more to my clit and I automatically try to move it away, certain I’ll be too sensitive to allow his touch.

  “No,” I moan when he won’t let me push him away.

  “Yes,” he counters. His touch is light, more a tease than anything else.

  To my surprise, it generates that aching desire all over again and now I press his hand down where it is, wanting him there. Needing him there as he thrusts in and out of me from tip to root, his motion slower now but no less satisfying.

  “Yes,” I moan, my eyes half-closed as I build up once more.

  As soon as I come, he returns to more forceful fucking and I go along for the ride, now the one watching as he comes with a deep, satisfied groan.

  When he collapses on top of me, the weight of his body against mine feels so good that I wrap my arms and legs around him to keep him there. Slowly, we both regain our normal breathing and beyond that, I can hear the waves outside his door. It might be that the tequila is finally hitting me, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a more thrilling, magical experience.

  8

  Ava

  That thrill and magic is nowhere to be found when Surfer Boy gently wakes me in the morning with a kiss on my temple.

  I groan and squeeze my eyes closed, not wanting any light to assault my hungover senses.

  “Definitely too much tequila,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “I’ve got some coconut water right here for you,” he says, amusement in his voice. “Sit up a little and drink it down. You’ll be glad you did.”

  I do as he says, barely opening my eyes and wondering if he’s doing this to get me to leave. He probably has to get on with his day and hadn’t bargained on the tourist still in his bed.

  “Good,” he tells me when I’ve had the last of the coconut water. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’m going to catch some waves. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  He presses a kiss to my lips and is gone before I can muster a response. I drift off to sleep once more, taking refuge in this stranger’s bed whether he likes it or not.

  * * *

  Though I can’t be certain, it feels like I’ve been asleep for a couple hours when he wakes me again. This time, there’s no tender kiss on my temple. This time, he presses his naked, damp, and salty-from-the-ocean body on top of me and I automatically open my legs to make room for him.

  The pounding in my head has receded enough so that when I open my eyes, I don’t cringe at the natural light coming in through the one window covered by a thin strip of fabric.

  “Good morning,” he says, grinning.

  “Morning,” I reply, feeling slightly less comfortable being this intimate with him without all that tequila to buffer things. The calculating lawyer in me realizes I may have gone overboard in my efforts to enjoy this vacation. I resolve to extricate myself from this scenario quickly.

  “Don’t do that,” he says.

  I raise my eyebrows, wondering for a moment if I had said my thoughts out loud. “Don’t do what?”

>   “Retreat. Put up walls. I’m the same guy you were with last night.”

  That he could read me so well catches me by surprise and I laugh.

  “What?” he asks, smiling and game for getting in on the joke.

  But I’m not about to confirm to him that he’s right in seeing my walls go up. Instead, I deflect, saying, “You’re naked. Between my legs. I wouldn’t call that retreating.”

  He tilts his head to acknowledge my point. But then adds the obvious observation. “There’s a sheet between us.”

  I watch him for a beat. He’s definitely the same guy from last night. The same sexy, gorgeous, playful guy. It’s a good reminder that I don’t need to cut things too short.

  “Don’t let that stop you,” I tell him.

  His brown and amber eyes light up and I figure one more—one last—time with him couldn’t hurt. In fact, I know it will feel just the opposite because when our bodies come together, it is a spectacular feeling.

  * * *

  The bathroom of this little shack is tiny and purely functional, with a sink right next to the toilet.

  And no shower.

  There has to be a shower somewhere. Maybe one of those outdoor showers? I didn’t notice one last night when we came in. But then again, I wasn’t paying much attention to anything other than the man I was about to go to bed with.

  Sighing, I clean up the best I can before noticing that my hair has that mussed up I-just-got-ravaged look. There’s no use in trying to comb through the tangles with my fingers. Instead, I smooth my hair back as best as I can and tie it in a top-knot.

  My dress is still somewhere on the floor in the other room. There’s a robe on the back of the door and by the look of the faded Sheraton logo on the chest, it was appropriated quite a while ago. Still, it’s clean and I slip it on.

  Surfer Boy isn’t there in the small space, but the front door is open and I can hear music. When I poke my head outside, I find him sitting in a beach chair, acoustic guitar in his hands as he plucks at the strings. Sitting there in just swim trunks and a bare chest, his hair tousled, he’s a vacation fling fantasy come to life. I watch him without interrupting, enjoying the way he handles the instrument. There’s something almost masterful in how he plays. He makes it look easy, even as I can see his fingers making complicated adjustments that belie that impression. The music itself has a sort of rock-swing vibe with an undeniable hook. I don’t recognize the song but I feel like I should. It has the feel of something proven, something I must have heard on the radio.

  He strums the last few notes and then lets the guitar go quiet. I applaud softly and he turns to me in surprise.

  “Hey, you. Join me?” He cocks his head toward a second beach chair.

  I sit next to him. “That really impressive. What was it?”

  “Nothing really. Just something I like to play around with.”

  “You wrote that?”

  He rests the guitar on his lap and gives me a noncommittal shrug. “How’s your head?”

  “Not too bad. That coconut water must really work.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Retrieving a travel mug from the beverage holder of his beach chair, he holds it up. “Coffee? All I have is black, so hope you don’t need it to be sweet.”

  “No,” I say with a playful grin, “I don’t need it sweet. But I don’t mind some sweetness now and then.”

  “Shit,” he says softly.

  “What?”

  “You’re a romantic, aren’t you, Hula Girl?”

  Though his tone is light, I can’t help but feel defensive. “Um, if I was a romantic, I wouldn’t have gone home with you last night after a few drinks.”

  “What?” He puts on an incredulous expression. “I thought last night was incredibly romantic. Come on, the beach under a full moon?”

  I start to reconsider. “Well—”

  “And me between your legs? That’s the very definition of romance.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re right. It was just like a fairy-tale.”

  “Exactly. You’re my Hula Princess and I’m your—”

  “Surfer Prince? Wow, our relationship seems to have escalated quickly.”

  He smiles appreciatively at me and we go quiet as I sip his coffee and enjoy the morning ocean breeze.

  “Seriously, though,” he says, “I had a really good time.”

  “Me too.”

  He takes a deep breath and regards me, clearly hesitating with what he’s going to say next.

  I realize that I truly have overstayed my welcome now and he’s trying to figure out how to get me out of here. Me sashaying out here in his robe as if I might never leave probably put him on edge.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” I say and start to stand.

  He grabs my hand. “I hate to cut this short—”

  “It’s no problem. I, um, I have things I need to do, too.” I start toward the front door.

  “It’s just that I have to go to work in a bit,” he calls after me and I stop.

  “I understand. Really, I know all about work obligations.”

  I move inside and quickly grab my dress, taking it with me back into the bathroom, and dressing quickly. I don’t have any makeup with me but that’s the least of my worries. I stow my thong in my purse, stare at my reflection in the mirror for a second, and then take a deep breath. I just want to move on from this vacation fling. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s clearly over now.

  When I step out of the bathroom, he’s leaning in the doorframe, taking up most of the space with his fantastic build. God, he’s gorgeous.

  “I’ll walk you back to your car,” he says.

  As if he needs to pull out the gentleman card after he spent the night and morning ravaging me.

  I smirk. “That’s okay, Surfer Boy. You don’t need to do that.”

  “Oh. So, you remember exactly how we got here last night? Don’t think you’ll need any help getting up at that little inlet?”

  Oh, that.

  Great, now we’ll have to have an awkward walk of shame together.

  “I guess I could use a little help with that,” I say.

  He nods, amused. Holding out his arm gallantly, he asks, “Shall we?”

  I laugh softly but walk right by him, starting out on the sand.

  “Hula Girl? That’s the wrong way.”

  Great. I turn around and see him watching me, his arms crossed over his still bare, still ripped, chest. I suddenly feel so awkward. Where did all that easiness with him from last night with him go? It’s likely the feeling that I’ve somehow allowed myself to read more into this little encounter than what it really was. It felt so good, so natural that I forgot I’m probably just one of the many, many, tourists he sleeps with.

  The awkwardness slips away when we start trading notes on the view. The morning light is achingly beautiful. The air is in that delicious in-between state of still cool with an undercurrent of the humid heat sure to edge its way to dominance. Gentle waves ebb and flow. I walk on the dry side of the sand while he lets the water slosh over his flip-flops.

  “See that spray of water out there?” he asks, pointing to some middle distance in the ocean.

  I just catch the remnants of the spray he’s spotted.

  “Is that a whale?” I ask.

  “Sure is. Oh, look a couple more that way.”

  “Where?” I put my hand over my eyes to create a shield from the sun, trying to find the other humpback whales.

  He moves behind me, puts one arm around my waist and uses his other arm to create a line of sight. His body pressed into me like that causes flashbacks from this morning. From the way he pushed deep into me from behind. From the way he held me tightly to him, one arm around my hips and the other cupping my breast.

  “I see them,” I say, forcing my thoughts away from the way his confident hands had touched me all over earlier.

  “Amazing, aren’t they?”

  Slowly, he pulls away from me, but not
before I feel him drag his lips over the shell of my ear. The heat of him sets me on fire. He’s made me feel something I haven’t felt in as long as I can remember: insatiable. I have not-so-fleeting thoughts of him taking me one more time right here on the sand.

  “I really wish I didn’t have to get to work,” he murmurs.

  That he’s feeling the same reluctance to part sends a tingle through me. I turn to face him but he’s got his eyes in the opposite direction, looking at the rocky inlet we had climbed down last night.

  I take it as my cue to keep moving and when he follows after me, his fingers brush mine, our tips lacing. It’s sweet. And intimate. More intimate than a one-night stand should feel.

  He navigates his way up the rocks and holds his hand out to me, helping me up the precarious path.

  “Makai’s is just down the way,” he says, nodding at the road.

  Everything looks different in the light of day. I don’t really recognize where I am and am glad he’s willing to walk me all the way back to my car. It’s parked right where I left it the night before, thankfully.

  “Listen,” he says as we stop in front of the rental, “my name’s Ford. I’d love to know your name.”

  “Ford,” I repeat. I like it. I like knowing him as something other than Surfer Boy. Even if there’s no need to know it now, not when we’re saying goodbye. “My name’s Ava.”

  He smiles widely. “That’s beautiful. Suits you.”

  The compliment makes my heart swell. Like seriously, it feels too big for a moment. I have to silently admonish myself for taking any of this too seriously. We are in the process of saying goodbye forever, after all. “Thank you,” I tell him softly.

  “Could I get your number, Ava?”

  “Um.” I hesitate. As much as I’m drawn to him, I fear that if we push this thing beyond our one-nighter, it’ll get weird. I mean, what if our connection last night and this morning was based mostly on the fact that we knew we were never going to see each other again? Shouldn’t we just end it here?