Dylan: Ex-Bad Boy: An Ex-Club Romance Page 12

  “That’s why not everyone is filthy stinking rich.”

  “I suppose you have a point there.”

  “If you could do anything, anything at all—let’s say nothing was holding you back, not money or time or workforce or credentials, nothing—what would you do?”

  She blinks in surprise at the shift in conversation. “Anything? Well, like I said, I’ve wanted to get into photojournalism.”

  “So why haven’t you done it yet?”

  “Why?” Her eyes stare off, widening slightly. “Well, my schedule is so full with fashion that I haven’t even had time to hone my skills, and—”

  “So you’re one of those all-ducks-in-a-row types.”

  She brings her attention back to me. “Yes, I suppose so. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, except when it stops you from making the leap.”

  She looks off into the night sea, her eyes wide in thought.

  “See? that’s what separates the risk-takers from the ones who…sit on the edge of the pool still wearing their clothes.”

  Her attention snaps back to me, and she both glares and smirks at me. She kicks one foot out, splashing me, and I pretend to flinch away.

  “You are an asshole, Dylan Sexton.”

  “No,” I say, wading back to her, closer than ever. “Just very, very…bad.”

  I trace one finger up the back of her calf, submerged in the water.

  “Don’t,” she says in mild protest.

  “Why?” I say, bringing my fingertips up to her knee, circling the cap.

  “Because.”

  “Because what?” I urge, slowly working them along her thigh, all the way to the hem of her skirt, hiked up almost to her hips.

  “Because,” she says softly, her brown eyes trapped by mine.

  “No one’s watching.” My hand creeps under the dress until I find the edge of her underwear.

  “Open your legs,” I say.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” I come closer, easing myself between her knees, spreading them open. My fingers continue to trail along the edge of her underwear, sliding down to the strip of cotton between her thighs.

  “Dylan,” she whispers, leaning back and opening her legs a bit wider.

  I finger the cloth, feeling the soft lips underneath the thin fabric. I slide my fingertips over to the side to curl under the elastic. I don’t waste time playing coy, immediately seeking out that tiny nub, already slick and wet.

  “Dylan!” It’s not a whisper this time.

  I continue to pleasure her with my finger, circling and stroking her clit, until she’s too weak to protest. We both want more, and I’m just daring enough to take us there.

  But first things first.

  “Can you swim?”

  “Is that a black joke?”

  He laughs. “I was thinking more along the lines of me having made you too weak to function.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she replies with a smirk. “You’re good, but I’m not that pathetic. As for swimming, what part of growing up middle class in Portland did you miss? Swim classes are par for the course.”

  “So come in with me,” I urge.

  Instead of saying no this time, she casts her eyes toward the villa, then the surrounding area, and finally the sea.

  “No one is watching. Even if they were, you’d be wearing just as much as most people on the beach. Not much scandal there.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Don’t you want to be daring, take risks?”

  “Is this what helps my career?” She asks with a cynical smile.

  “If it breaks that need to follow the rules and play by the book, then yes. Just do it.”

  She nibbles her bottom lip, but I see the wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “Okay,” she says, then quickly lifts the dress up over her head, flicking it away before she quickly slides into the pool.

  “Oh, my God!” she laughs, as though she can’t quite believe it.

  I grin at how prudish she’s being. The strapless bra and matching underwear are hardly scandalous. Looking at the excitement in her face, I’m damn sure not going to convince her of that.

  “So, now that I have you right where I want you…” I say, coming in closer.

  She laughs, then sinks under the water, swimming away to the other side. When she pops up to the surface again, she gives me a smug smirk.

  “You’re going to have to work harder than that, Dylan Sexton.”

  “So that’s the game we’re playing? Cat and mouse? Or is it shark and…mermaid.”

  “I like the sound of that.” she disappears beneath the surface again, and I stare at the water, following the ripples with my eyes until she’s close enough to catch.

  I dip under the water and confront her in the near darkness, grabbing hold of her and bringing us both to the surface again.

  “Dylan!” she shouts with a laugh. “I guess there’s no escaping you.”

  “I do own the island. That makes you my prisoner.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Fuck romance. Let’s skip straight to the good part.”

  “Most women would find romance to be the good part.”

  “That’s because most women haven’t met me.”

  She laughs and shakes her head, then tilts it to stare at me in the glow of the lights of the villa. “You are probably the most self-confident man I’ve ever met in my life.”

  “You must not know me. I’m an expert at getting what I want.” I come in closer, pinning her to the side of the pool. “And I want you, Vanessa Paige.”

  “Apparently,” she says, her breath coming in heavier.

  With her curls now drenched, they fall in a thick mass of tendrils framing her face. She really does look like a mermaid, especially in the soft light of the moon and the lanterns surrounding the pool.

  I think about saying something smart-assed or suggestive or just plain outrageous. Instead, I put my mouth to better use.

  A soft moan escapes her lips just as I cover them with mine. The taste of mango and tequila and even the subtle hint of fish tacos only makes me want more. My hands slide down her back, falling to her ass, where I grip hard, forcing her closer into me.

  Vanessa instinctively brings her arms and legs around me, sinking deeper into the kiss. Those same lips that taunted me from beneath the camera that first night in the elevator are now mine.

  And I’m not even close to being done getting my fill of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Vanessa

  My senses are filled with Dylan. It’s overpowering, blocking out even the feel of the warm, sensual water, and the chlorine in the air…and all my inhibitions.

  Maybe there is something to be said for being daring.

  He pulls away and grins down at me. “Let’s say we take this inside.”

  “Is that your way of asking permission to fuck me?”

  He grins. “Do I even need to ask?”

  “It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  He presses in closer to me. “Whatever gave you the idea that I’m a gentleman, Vanessa? I’d fuck you right here and now, except I’ve had pool sex and…let’s just say, it would be a shame to waste that body of yours in less than perfect conditions.”

  Why does that not surprise me?

  “I think—”

  His mouth silences me, but he doesn’t stop there. The same hands that worked their magic before, making me succumb to him enough to slip half-naked into the pool, now grab my legs and bring them up around his waist. This has me pressed even closer into him. My legs are spread open so that my clit rests right against the hard ridge of his thick, swollen cock. The underwear is so water soaked it might as well not exist for how thin it is. I moan with pleasure as it’s stimulated for the second time tonight.

  Dylan seems to take this as his permission to guide me toward the stairs and carry me out, my body still clinging to his.

  Okay then…
/>
  Even in the balmy Caribbean air, I feel the chill of the slightest breeze hit my skin, giving me goosebumps. Or maybe that’s just an effect of the man my body is pressed up against. Considering how hard that body is, I shouldn’t be surprised when Dylan is able to carry me out of the pool and into his villa. The layout of his is just like mine, and I can sense him taking me to the bedroom.

  Once there, he finally releases me, and I slide down his wet body, enjoying the feel of every hard, rippling surface.

  The room is lit by the full moon glowing through the gauzy curtains, giving the atmosphere an almost magical feel.

  “Lie down,” Dylan orders.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and begin crawling back toward the headboard. Before I can, he’s on his knees, dragging me back toward the edge by the calf of my left leg.

  “Not so fast, sweetheart.”

  I know what’s coming and feel my body threaten to convulse before he even lays another hand on me. If his mouth is as proficient as his fingers were earlier, I may not last long enough to get to the finale.

  I stare up at the ceiling, watching my breasts, still covered in a bra, rise and fall in my periphery. Somewhere down below, Dylan’s fingers creep up to my underwear yet again, yanking them down my legs without hesitation.

  I inhale sharply, as the cool air of the room clashes with the warm wetness that’s just been exposed. The intensity grows exponentially when I sense the first touch of his lips surrounding my clit, drawing it out even further.

  “Oh God,” I gasp.

  “You rang,” he mutters incoherently against my pussy, and I laugh even though I could barely understand him. He chuckles against my clit, and the vibration sends a shiver through my body. My thighs quake against the sides of his head, then go stiff as his tongue goes to work like a propeller against the tiny bundle of nerves that he’s sucking on.

  Holy shit, the man is good!

  My thighs clamp against the sides of his head and my hand comes up to press him in closer. I buck my hips up to meet the bobbing of his head. When he brings one hand up, sinking two fingers into my warm wetness, my insides instantly clench around them. Dylan groans against me, and I arch my back in appreciation.

  The first orgasm hits me, and Dylan just works his fingers faster, trying to bring on another.

  “Please…don’t,” I cry, but the second climax has my body seizing, silencing all further protest.

  Now, I’m so weak that my thighs no longer press against his head. My hand falls from his scalp, flopping down to my side on the bed. Dylan gives me one last flick of his tongue then pulls away. His fingers slip out of my soaking wet depths with an audible pop.

  He pulls back and hops up into a standing position, staring down at me as though inspecting his handiwork. By the smug grin on his face, I must have a look of complete satisfaction on mine. He licks his lips as though savoring the last lingering taste of me, which turns me on much more than it should. Something about him wanting every part of me only has me wanting him even more.

  My eyes casually drop down to his underwear that is practically saran wrapped around his raging hard-on.

  His slide down to my bra, and he raises one eyebrow. I roll my eyes and smile, then reach around to unhook it and dangle it in the air.

  “Happy?”

  “Very,” he says, his eyes now crawling over my breasts in a way that has my nipples turning to hard pebbles. I’m not shy about being naked with men I intend to have sex with. But the way Dylan’s gaze devours me, like a snake, slowly enjoying its prey, has me feeling both like a goddess and a prude at the same time.

  And there he is still in his underwear. I give him a pointed look.

  “One thing first,” he says, then disappears.

  I stare after him in shock as he leaves the room. When he comes back, he’s holding up a condom between two fingers. “Compliments of the minibar,” he says with a grin.

  “Okay then, go on, big boy. Unless you’re shy?”

  “Big boy?” He repeats with a cocky grin. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “Take it however you want so long as you take off those damn underwear,” I reply with a smirk. My impatience is surprising.

  “No need to demand twice,” he says before hooking his thumbs into the sides and shoving them down his legs.

  Although I practically had a 3D visualization staring me in the face from his clinging underwear, the unobstructed version is…well, there are no words. The way he rolls the condom down the long, thick length of it is almost like an advertisement, showing off the best features, making me, the consumer, hungry for more.

  “I’ll take your silence to mean I’m acceptable,” he teases. I look up to see his eyes dancing with cocky amusement.

  “That’ll do,” I say with faux nonchalance.

  “That’ll do?” he repeats. “I think we can do better than that.”

  When he practically falls on top of me, I squeal with protest and laughter.

  “Dylan!”

  “That’ll do? That’ll do? I’ll show you how I do, Vanessa Paige,” he growls against me with a grin.

  I’m still laughing, which quickly transitions into moans as he strokes his hard cock against my thigh. He teases me as it glances across my aching pussy, only to draw away again.

  “Say you want it.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “Say it,” he growls.

  “I want it. Yes, I want it!”

  There! I’ve said it. I’ve humbled myself enough to beg for it.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” he murmurs against my ear.

  He sinks between my thighs, which spread wider for him and has no trouble finding his way into me.

  “Ohh…” I breathe out. I settle into a moan as he slides as far in as possible, hitting every damn part of me as he goes. Including that one particular spot that has me instantly arching my back.

  “That’s my girl,” he says, and though my eyes are now closed, I’m almost sure he’s grinning down at me with a look of victory on his face.

  He begins slowly, bucking his hips so that he slides in and out at a regular pace. I slide my legs up until they’re hitched against his hips, encouraging him to work harder…faster. Dylan’s energy is endless, which is fine because each thrust only makes me want more.

  His hand comes up between us, cupping one breast and stroking the hard nipple with his thumb. My head presses back into the soft yield of the bed as my body reacts to this added sensation of near torture.

  “Dylan…please.” I’m not sure if I’m asking him to stop or keep going.

  With sex, I usually have one orgasm, hopefully intense enough to make it worthwhile. With Dylan, his huge cock somehow managing to hit that sweet spot over and over again, my pussy responds with one long incredibly powerful orgasm I’m almost afraid won’t end.

  “Fuck…me,” I groan, not as a request but as a statement to what my body feels like just now.

  And just as I think it’s subsiding, at last, it begins to build again to an even greater crescendo of pleasure. This time I have no voice left to give and bear it in silent ecstasy.

  Dylan changes his rhythm, and my eyes flutter open to find him staring down at me with hard focus. My lips curl into a smile, urging him on.

  “Come on, do it.”

  When he comes, he thrusts into me so hard I gasp in shock, but I can’t deny just how damn good he feels inside of me.

  “Shit…damn Vanessa, you’re so good.”

  I’ll take that as a compliment.

  I smile as he falls to the side of me, breathing heavy.

  “Well, that was definitely worth the hunt,” he says toward the ceiling.

  “Is that what you were doing? Hunting me?”

  “I’ve never chased a woman as hard as I’ve chased you.”

  “Really?” I ask, turning on my side and resting my head on my crooked elbow to stare down at him.

  “Really.”

  “Well, I�
��m glad I wore that red dress tonight.”

  “It might as well have been a red cape waved in front of a bull.”

  I laugh and finger the hair on his chest. “Speaking of bulls, that was one damn good ride.”

  “Ohhh,” he groans.

  I laugh and lightly slap his chest. “What? Too corny?”

  “Nah,” he says, reaching one arm around to pull me down to his side. “I’ll take it as another compliment.”

  “Before you get too comfortable, I have to definitely wash that chlorine out of my hair and do something with it.”

  “That sounds like you’re ready for another ride, cowgirl.”

  “Whoa boy, I would like to be able to stand while I’m in the shower.”

  “No need to stand when you can ride me. I’ll carry you.”

  I laugh but feel my body heat up all the same.

  “In fact…”

  His eyes fall down to his dick, which is already showing signs of life again.

  “Good grief, you really don’t turn off, do you?”

  “Never…now go get that shower started, so we can get dirty once again.”

  I laugh and pop up off the bed, skipping to the shower, and definitely ready for another ride.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dylan

  “So you can be romantic after all,” Vanessa says, eyeing the tray of breakfast I’m carrying toward her the next morning.

  “Only after I get what I want,” I reply with a grin.

  I snuck out just as she was waking up next to me to call and have it delivered.

  “Wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a little bit of everything. I can have them make your preference.” The tray I set on the side of the bed has a fruit cup, toast, pastries, sausage, bacon, and potatoes.

  “I’m usually a coffee and go kinda gal, but I could do some damage to that little bottle of champagne and orange juice,” she says. She slides up to rest against the headboard and bringing the covers up to cover herself. She does morning-after quite well. She’s never needed much in the way of makeup, and that flawless dark skin is still glowing. After the fun we had in the shower, she put her hair into two braids, making her look deliciously like a naughty schoolgirl.