got inside, letting the heat soak into his muscles. Eyes closed, he thought about her as his hand went to his thickening cock. He rubbed lightly with his forefinger and thumb, but teasing wasn’t going to cut it. Not with the possibilities of what lay ahead, a jumble of erotic pictures flashing one after the other in his tired head.
One image surfaced and stuck. It was from a conversation they’d had ages ago. He’d accused her of being a prude for some reason he could no longer recall, and she’d laughed at him. Of course it was typed, but he could tell it was real. Then the line came that had been his companion until the wee hours of that morning: I’ll admit I haven’t had the most experience in the world, but there’s not much I wouldn’t be willing to try.
If she’d told the truth, if she truly was as adventurous as she claimed, then this week could be the most exciting of his life. The things he wanted to do to her. With her.
The images grew more vivid, and okay, so maybe the whole white panties thing was an obsession, but he’d feel bad about that later. For now, it was Meg and she was naked, and holy shit.
His balls tightened and his head hit the shower stall as he shot, pure and hard, and Jesus, what was it going to be like when he was actually with the real, live woman?
Slumping against the cold tile wall, he waited until his legs were steady, then he washed, wondering where he was going to get the patience to let her call the shots. Because, dammit, he wasn’t going to screw this up.
Whatever happened here on the island, the friendship had to be maintained. Nothing, not even his untrustworthy cock, was going to get in the way.
MEG TURNED OVER, trying to find the perfect spot on the luxuriously soft bed. She was exhausted, especially after her swim, but she couldn’t get her mind to shut the hell up.
All she could think of was what was going to happen over the next few days. Not the fun-time activities at the hotel or in the water, but between the sheets.
She’d liked Alex from their first conversation online. He’d been funny and sweet, and he knew how to spell. It was incredibly snobby, she knew, but if someone couldn’t spell or had lousy grammar, she simply couldn’t get into any kind of lengthy discussion. That he was a writer had come as no surprise.
As they’d gotten to know each other, they’d talked about everything, not just jazz, and she’d found his opinions erudite, witty and compelling. Not that she’d agreed with everything he’d said, but he’d kept her on her toes.
It reminded her of college, and her classes in philosophy, the discussions at the dorm that went way into the night, when the topics ran the gamut from the social significance of The Simpsons to the emerging European Union.
While Meg didn’t regret her decision to become a vet, she often wondered what her world would have been like if she’d followed another path. She’d thought about being a teacher. Her love of the language had begun early in life, and her hunger for books had never abated. Part of what killed her about her situation on the mountain was that she rarely had time to read.
Chatting with Alex had given her a great deal of the stimulation she needed, in addition to doing something books couldn’t—he kept her awake. In the past few years, every time she opened a book, she’d fall asleep by page ten. It wasn’t fair.
She shifted again, this time plumping the pillow. Dammit, she needed this nap. Tonight was going to be wonderful, but not if she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Knowing he was just upstairs wasn’t helping.
Meg sighed. She knew a surefire way of getting some peace. Not that it was unpleasant, but she’d wanted this week to be about real, live sex, not vibrator sex. She’d brought her vibe along just in case, but now that she’d met Alex…
Which kind of brought up the next big topic. If she jumped him before dinner would he get the wrong impression? The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was a tramp. On the other hand, the subtext for the whole trip was that they were going to hump like bunnies, so what was the big deal?
She opened the bedside drawer, reached behind the condoms and found her virtually silent bed buddy, then got comfy again. He’d said an hour. He wouldn’t surprise her, and even if he wasn’t asleep, he couldn’t see her bed from the loft.
She held her breath for a moment, straining to hear if he was moving around upstairs. Nothing. At least not from the loft. But there were definitely sounds, and they weren’t tropical birds.
A woman’s voice came through Meg’s window. An argument, from the sound of it. Meg couldn’t hear the other side; the woman must be standing near an open window.
It wasn’t the fantasy soundtrack of Meg’s dreams, but it wasn’t so loud she couldn’t deal with it. It did make her feel bad that anyone could fight in such a wonderful place. She turned to the small clock radio on the nightstand and turned it on to what was evidently the only station on the island. Instrumental music of the tropical kind. It did the trick. She settled back on her pillow, closed her eyes and went straight for the good stuff.
A bounty of fantasies awaited, and all of them took place in paradise with the man sleeping upstairs. The exotic won out over the mundane, and she pictured them in a cove, with the ocean as a melody, him taking off her clothes until she stood naked on the pale sand.
The look in his eyes was hungry, ravenous, as if he’d never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. His touch, oh my. Electric, knowing just where, just how.
Her muscles tightened, her head went back as she tensed, and almost before it had begun, she was there. Gasping, clenching. Letting the orgasm flood through her body like honey, all the while making no noise at all, but thinking, yes, yes, yes.
Her eyes closed as sleep descended, so quickly she didn’t even bother putting the vibe away. She simply shoved it under the comforter on the other side of the bed, seconds before she was out.
AT FOUR THIRTY-ONE, Alex thought about going downstairs. It might be a bit soon, considering they’d parted at three-thirty, but she’d been very clear about the one-hour thing. The fact that he couldn’t think of anything but being with her had nothing to do with it. Okay, it had everything to do with it.
He’d crashed hard and fast after the shower, and awakened surprisingly refreshed. Because they wouldn’t be back before dinner, he’d put on jeans and a button-down shirt. He’d thought about wearing trunks instead of shorts but decided if they were going to go swimming tonight, it was going to be somewhere private, and it was going to be naked.
He went to his window and looked out over the ocean. Just staring at that wide expanse of water and sky relaxed him. He thought about his office. It was downstairs, in the back of his town house. There was one window, which overlooked a forlorn little park. It didn’t matter because he never looked out. He was a panic writer, always waiting until the last minute to get his column done, and when he wasn’t working on the column, he used his laptop either upstairs or on the kitchen table. Mostly, though, he was on the phone or at a restaurant. His contacts were everything. At least, they had been. He doubted he would have any by the time he got back. Which wasn’t the end of the world, right? Jesus, he hoped it wouldn’t be.
After making sure his wallet was in his pocket, he stood at the top of the stairs, listening for signs that she was up.
He heard footsteps, so he went down. She smiled as she saw him, and the look of her in her snug blue dress, with her hair cascading in waves around her face and onto her shoulders, almost made him groan. God, the dress was strapless, and it emphasized the length of her neck, her toned arms, to say nothing of her long, slender legs.
“I was just coming to get you,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “It’s so beautiful out there.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “A perfect time for a walk to the hotel.”
“I brought a wrap. Do you think it’ll get much cooler?”
“I don’t think so, but this is my first time here, so…”