“Promise me you won’t do anything with him until we try, OK? Promise me that.”
By him he means Ransom. He’s asking me not to cheat on my husband. How ludicrous does that sound? Still, I nod once, giving him my word. And I’m sincere. I don’t want to hurt my husband, but I know I’m more than capable of doing it.
He closes the door and returns to his happy life with his happy girlfriend. And I imagine that behind those doors, he’s happy too. I’m smiling to myself, imagining Justice Drake as the sweet, doting lover that relishes in lazy Sundays spent in bed and movie nights featuring the latest Nicholas Sparks flick. I bet he even cries when he’s with her.
I’m so wrapped up in my amused reverie that I don’t even notice that I’m being watched. Not just watched. Studied. Analyzed. Picked apart by blue, shrewd eyes that squint against the bright, hot sun, reading the story that I’ve just told.
Chapter Twenty-one
I do what I’ve been asked.
I try my hardest to stay away from Ransom. I do all I can to keep him at arm’s length. But that doesn’t mean he’s promised the same thing.
We finish our first day at Oasis without incident, all of us too exhausted from traveling to do much more than unpack and rest. The next, Tucker and I order dinner to our room—chef’s special five-course meal. And now that Riku is running the kitchen, it’s no surprise that everything is divine.
You know that saying, “Birds of a feather flock together”? Well, if Justice was a particular species of bird, he’d obviously be a beautiful one, such as a peacock—proud and exotic. And Riku would be strutting right beside him, just as gorgeous and unattainable.
I met him when he was the sous chef for Oasis, but after things went south and Justice disappeared, Riku was one of the few who stuck around, holding out hope that he would return. He never gave up on him, even when JD gave up on himself. So it was only fitting that he make Riku, his only real friend and confidant outside of Ally, head chef and part owner of the new and improved Oasis.
“You know, I could get used to this,” Tucker says as I feed him a bite of the most incredible key lime pie I’ve ever tasted.
We’re in bed listening to soothing jazz from the bedside stereo, the confection positioned on a tray between us. Tuck picks up the small dessert fork and divvies off a portion to serve me. I take it gratefully, moaning around the cool metal between my lips.
“You shouldn’t do things like that,” my husband warns, his voice gravely.
“Do what?” I look up at him with hooded eyes and smile.
It only takes mere seconds before I am flat on my back and my panties are dangling from my foot. Tucker kisses me from the inside of my ankles to the tops of my thighs. And when I’m panting, begging him to touch me more, kiss me more, he spreads me wide and licks me slowly from front to back, savoring every slick part of me. I shake and squirm as he devours the first drops of fresh, warm wetness. And when that wave ends, another begins as he slides his swollen cock inside me with all the patience and control of a deranged serial killer. God, it’s maddening. How can he take it? How can he not be so ravenous for release that he just greedily takes me without regard for my comfort or safety?
I grip his ass, scoring the taut flesh with my fingernails, pulling him in closer, deeper. He groans into the crook of my neck, so I do it again and again, begging him with my body to join me in this realm of reckless abandon. Just let go, it whispers, its slick tongue trailing the shell of his ear. It’ll be ok. I promise you’ll like it.
He comes hard, quicker than I expect. He grunts in my ear as if the sheer violence of the act pains him. My body cools underneath him, rigid and still, as he empties his demise inside my womb.
“Oh,” he groans, kissing my neck. “That snuck up on me. Sorry, baby.”
“It’s ok,” I lie. I shouldn’t be upset, considering that he licked me to orgasm beforehand, but I’m a selfish bitch. I wanted him to take me. I wanted him to claim me. And he failed.
“Seriously, give me half an hour, and I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” He pulls out of me and rolls onto his back, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s been a while, and you’ve had such a hard week. You needed that.” I say the words, knowing they’re true, but I don’t mean them. I wish like hell that I did though.
He kisses my face once more and closes his eyes. Within minutes, he’s snoring softly, his softening cock still glistening with my wetness.
Great.
I climb out of bed and clamber into the bathroom. Along with a glass-encased shower, each room is outfitted with a claw-foot tub large enough for two, and luxurious bath soaps and oils. I decide that a hot, bubble bath is just what I need to expel all the nervous energy still simmering inside me, and I fill it up as high as it will go without overflowing, hoping to drown my discontent. An hour later, my water is cool, my skin is pruned, and my joints are still not uncoiled.
I towel off and slip on a plain cotton dress and sandals. Even with the late hour, it’s still hot out, and if I happen to step outside, I don’t want to sweat my face off. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m seeking. I just know that I can’t stay within these four walls. There are a dozen different voices drifting from the pool area when I make my way downstairs. I think about checking it out, but decide not to. Nearly naked couples submerged in water? No thank you.
Right off the main dining room is a bar area, housing a few pub tables and stools. Masculine laughter echoes from that direction along with what sounds like a lively commentator on a sports show. I pause, letting the shadows envelop me, listening to chatter about the latest game and some domestic scandal between a popular baseball player and his wife. I hear them bond over their mutual appreciation for various musicians and colorful stories of their favorite travels. I stand there, an intruder, a voyeur, and I ache with jealousy, longing to be on the receiving end of those chuckles and casual banter. Not feeling like I have to calculate every word to avoid a slip of the tongue.
“Must be incredible to go on tour,” Riku says, pausing to take a sip from his beer. “I saw you guys back in 2012 and it was insane. I can’t even imagine how your fan base has grown since then. And how much your sound has evolved since the first album.”
“Yeah. Been a crazy ride. But I think this next album will shock people, which is fucking hard to do in this market. But I think it’s the subtlety that’ll get them. The simplicity.” I can hear the smile in Ransom’s voice.
“Shock them with simplicity? I like it.”
They tap beer bottles and go back to gazing at the big screen that displays the sports highlights of the week. Growing weary, I take a deep breath and step around the seclusion of the wall.
“Heidi! What’s up, girl?” Riku smiles, damn near startling me by the sheer perfection of it. The tall, golden-skinned half Japanese, half Brazilian stunner is beyond gorgeous. He’s actually prettier than most women I’ve seen. His heavy-lashed eyes naturally look as if they’re lined with onyx, and his lips and nose are thin yet perfectly aligned. Jet-black hair is cut and styled in a short, classic style for the kitchen, and it suits him. Anything flashier would detract from the beauty of his face.
“How’s it going, Riku,” I say, returning his grin as I approach. “Haven’t burned the place down yet, I see.”
“Aw, girl. You know that’s not happening. How was dinner?”
I force myself to keep my eyes trained on Riku, but I can feel Ransom’s stare sliding over every inch of my frame. Looking at him would be bad for the both of us. I wouldn’t be able to hide the flush of my cheeks and the sharp intake of breath. And he wouldn’t be able to resist devouring every one of my reactions like sex-flavored candy while wearing that smug smile on his face.