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She sighs as I slip a finger higher up, dangerously close to that nirvana of wetness and heat. “Had a yummy, salted grapefruit drink.”
“I see.” I rub my thumb slowly over the side of her throat, and what I see shoots straight to my cock.
Straight to my baser instincts.
Straight to that darkness I keep pushed way down low.
Her eyes are shut and she has her bottom lip caught between her teeth, one that looks good bare or slicked with color. And I’d love to see those lips dripping with my cum.
I suck in a sharp breath.
If she was going to end up anywhere in danger, it’d be here. In the orgy room. Or poker room, as they call it. That’s where they break in girls and boys, if they think they’re ready. A sort of amuse-bouche of sex before the island.
What I didn’t expect to see was Dakota coming down on her own.
And in that dress.
Fuck my life.
“What are you turned on by?” I ask, raising my voice just enough so whoever’s listening can hear the sounds of conversation, see me grazing her ear with my lips.
I also ask because I’m damn curious.
My other hand is still between her thighs, stroking the wetness right near her cunt. She’s hot, wet silk, and I’m positive she’s not wearing fucking underwear. It wouldn’t take much to inch my finger up farther, to feel that soft pussy clench around it.
She’ll be furnace hot, unbelievably tight, and from the way she’s moving and rotating her hips, undulating like she wants me to drive into her.
I could make her come just by teasing her clit alone.
Scratch that. From the soft little mewls I don’t even think she knows she’s making, I think I could make her come just from stroking the plump outer lips.
“You.”
That one word.
It’s the size of the universe, as small as a neutron.
That one fucking word and its meaning could split an atom.
“The thing is,” I whisper, stroking up a little higher because I can’t help myself. With the height of her heels, her perfect ass rests against my cock and she grinds against it. “This boat and the island it’s headed to are lands with their own rules where you belong to anyone.”
“But,” she says. “You have me right now.”
I make myself stare ahead at the man drilling into the cunt of a woman while she sucks on the pussy of another. There’s a man fucking her ass, too. In one corner, a woman’s sucking cock after cock, and a pretty thing with her hands and legs tied is getting fucked and passed around.
It’s nowhere near as hot as the view I get from where I am, the one that shows me the lush curves of Dakota’s breast, her soft, sweet skin in the dress from vixen hell.
I have to remind myself of why I’m touching my friend’s daughter.
I want to, there’s no denying it.
But the real reason is because there’s another man in the shadows watching, the same one who followed her down the stairs. He’s some art guy from New York. I met him earlier.
From what I know of the Collectors, if Dakota looks like she’s been chosen, they’ll keep their hands to themselves. I’m good at creating that cocoon which says mine. And fuck, is it easy to do with this girl. She smells so goddamn fresh and delicious, her big blue eyes and dark-honey hair are the things that wrap around a man’s cock and pull tight.
She looks like jailbait barely grown up, and I’m filthy enough to both see it and take advantage of it.
I don’t have to fucking like her to love the feel of her, to want to sink my fingers into the pussy she’s offering me. And if I wasn’t struggling to stay on the right side of the line, I’d fucking take her right now. Here. Bend her the fuck over and plunge balls deep into what I’m betting is one of the hottest, tightest, and from the feel of the slickness on her thighs, wettest cunts around.
