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She climbs onto the mattress while I lie back, hands behind my head. The water warms, and it’s all too easy to imagine it’s her body heat sliding on top of me, her silken skin making every nerve come alive. My head rolls back, and my hand wraps around my shaft—fuck.
Once I start, I can’t stop. I work my dick, picturing her teasingly above me, slinking up and down my body, pressing her lips to my hot skin as her stomach just barely brushes over my hard cock.
Fire burns in my abs, and my teeth grind. Even in my fantasy, I can’t wait. I sit up and flip her over, roughly slide my hand down her spine to pin her by the back of neck. My dick jerks as I imagine her ass high and round. For me. Eager. Willing. Mine.
I could plunge inside her like this. I could take her pussy and pound into her until she screams. Instead, I worship her in my mind, kneeling behind her and digging my fingers into her full cheeks, spreading them and diving in to lick her from hole to hole.
Heat zips from my balls to my tip as I groan at the imaginary taste of her. The sweetest fucking fruit. The most intoxicating drug. I want to consume her. Ravage her.
“Fuck—” My orgasm swells in my balls, and I hold back, ignoring the water that is now scalding hot. I’ll take the pain. I’ll take anything to stay with this version of Stella a little longer.
“Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” I demand to the empty room, my voice harsh and grizzly.
But even in my imagination, she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t say what I want to hear because I need to hear it from her lips, not some sloppy shower fantasy.
“Goddamn,” I growl as my cum spurts on the tiled floor. My body shakes with its physical release, but it doesn’t provide an ounce of relief. I angrily slam the faucet off.
Still rattled, I get dressed for the pool and go to fetch Stella. I find her atop her bed, still hard at work. She looks up. “Going to the pool?”
“Yes. With you,” I insist.
“Hmm, maybe later.” She shrugs noncommittally and goes back to her task.
I cross the room to the bed and fist the comforter tightly in my hands. “You have three seconds before I’m throwing you out of this bed.”
“One more thing,” she protests, hammering at her laptop.
“No, it’s time to relax for once and enjoy vacation.” I only push because I know how hard it is for her to unwind.
She doubles down. “This isn’t a vacation. It’s a business trip.”
“You haven’t had a day off since you were sixteen.” She rolls her eyes at my exaggeration—not by much—and returns to her computer. She doesn’t think I’m serious.
In one big, swift movement, I fling the sheets, sending her tumbling and catching her laptop midair. “Jesus Christ, Lochlan!”
“Listen, it’s basically a done deal. We’re just here to get the lay of the land and make sure everything is as they said it was.” The overheard conversation from last night nags in the back of my mind, but I don’t want Stella to worry about that now. “And the best way to do that is to enjoy this place to the fullest extent.”
She scowls, unconvinced, so I add in with a wiggle of my eyebrows, “You can show me a spreadsheet for every hour we spend at the pool.”
She offers a small, pleased smile and plucks a swimsuit from where it was drying. “They’re color-coordinated, you know.”
I laugh. “I would expect nothing less.”
I’ve stayed at some pretty amazing places when I’ve managed to get out of June Harbor, but this Summerland is next level.2 The tropical landscaping is something straight from the gardens of Babylon, lush and overflowing with greenery and exotic flowers. In contrast to the dark exquisiteness of Libidine, the pools and beach bar scream endless summer, like sunshine and happiness are limitless resources here.
Unlike the ocean, the pool water is the perfect temperature. Cooler than a bath, it’s refreshing under the island sun but not so cold it takes time to adjust. I glide over to the swim-up bar where Stella is talking to a raven-haired woman. I join them, sitting on the other side of the woman. The stool, like the bar, is tiled in an iridescent blue that reminds me of an abalone shell.
“Loch, this is Juliette,” Stella introduces us. “She’s going to be performing tonight at the club.”
I look at her, impressed, and she laughs bashfully. “It’s not so much a performance as a . . .” She quirks her mouth as if looking for the right word. “A display.”
“The dais.” I nod knowingly, giving her a conspiratorial grin.
The bartender comes over. “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”
I eye the colorful drinks decorated with flowers and garnishes in front of the women. “What are you ladies drinking?”
“Want to try?” Juliette holds out the glass to me.
