My body quivered and shook beneath him. He held me tight against the bed and continued his mad thrusts. Each penetration only heightened my bliss, and I came again and again until he fell exhausted atop me.
We rested in the heat of our sexual union. After a time he wrapped his arms around me and rolled off me. His arms pulled me against his strong, sweat-soaked chest. I snuggled into the cooling warmth and sighed.
"That was nice. . ." I murmured.
He chuckled. "Only nice?"
"Very nice."
"I accept the amendment."
"Good, because I'm too tired to give another answer." I snuggled closer to him and closed my eyes. "And if I don't get some sleep tonight I won't be able to travel the city tomorrow to see the sights for my article."
There was a brief pause for a moment, and when John spoke his words were cautious, almost hesitant. "Have you ever thought about traveling internationally?" he mused.
"The paper already has an international travel guide," I murmured.
"No, I meant for fun. As my companion or, if you would consent, as my wife."
I opened my eyes and raised them to look into his face. He smiled down at me, and there wasn't any hint of mischief in their depths. "You're. . .you're serious?" I asked him.
"If you are," he returned.
I squealed and leapt at him. My arms wrapped around his neck, and my girth forced him backwards so he ended up atop the covers and I atop him. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
He grinned. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing those words from your lips."
"Good, because you're going to hear them a lot from now on."
And he did, and I was always delighted to say them.
TRAPPED IN TEMPTATION #4
CHAPTER 1
There was the sand, surf, and the sensual feeling of the warm wind on my bare skin. Above me sat my handsome lover. He smiled and his teasing hand slid up my naked thigh. I groaned and leaned into his touch. His flesh against mine ignited a hot fire of lust inside me. Only he could quench the flames of my desire. If only he would take me and make me his. I would succumb to his soft touches, his sweet kisses, his burning eyes. Everything about him made me squirm and moan.
He chuckled and his fingers toyed with my thong. "Do you want more?" he whispered to me.
"Yes. . ." I murmured.
"One teaspoon or two?"
I blinked at my lover, and suddenly it wasn't my lover. In his place was a man of about fifty with leathery skin and an impatient scowl. Gone, too, was my laying on the sandy beach. I stood on a boardwalk within spitting distance of the white sands of a long, crowded beach. People walked to and fro, aware of the low sun in the eastern sky. The slim women showed off their fit forms and the young men sported swimming trunks and well-muscled bodies.
I wasn't fit, nor was I quite prepared for the beach. Only an hour before I'd gotten off my plane and into this small, hot paradise. This was my vacation, and I started it by going to the first iced tea stand I could find.
"One teaspoon of sugar or two?" he persisted.
"Oh, um, two, please," I replied. My lustful mind had wandered into erotic territory while waiting for my order. I blamed it on handsome men and the hot sun above me. "How far is it to the Lobster Bungalows?" I asked the iced tea stand vendor.
He nodded to the area over my left shoulder as he plopped in a couple more bits of sugar. "That way and about a mile along the beach. Can't miss 'em, or the check-in office. They're colored red like an uncooked lobster." He looked me over as I handed me the drink and I handed him my card. "You staying there long?"
"For a week," I told him.
He raised an eyebrow and leaned over the long, narrow counter between us. "Those bungalows aren't cheap," he warned me.
I smiled and nodded. "I know. I saved up for a whole year to get one of them."
"Well, hope you have a fun time," he returned.
I hitched up my backpack that contained my earthly belongings and nodded. "Thanks. I hope I do, too."
With my drink in hand I veered away from the vendor stand and faced the beach and the direction of my home-away-from-home. A winding path of weathered old boards wound along the top of the beach. I noticed most people avoided the boards and instead opted for the sand, but I didn't know why until I walked across a dozen of them. Their wooden foundations were rotten so that half the boards shifted underfoot.
Unfortunately, I had my tennis shoes on and not my sandals, so the sand wasn't the best option, or so I thought. I slipped and slid along the rotten boards until one particularly malevolent one slipped a few inches beneath me. That was enough to throw me off balance. I tipped over like the leaning tower of Pisa, but where it failed I succeeded. I would have fallen to the ground if a pair of strong arms hadn't caught me.
I looked up into the smiling face of a handsome young man. He was about thirty years old with clear hazel eyes and sandy hair colored by the sun. His skin was tanned, and he had a smile that made my heart thump to the beat of a drum manned by a sugared-up monkey. The man wore swimming trunks, and nothing else.
He righted me back onto the boardwalk, but I was so dazed by his looks that I tripped and stumbled towards the sand on the other side of the plank walk.
"Whoa, easy there," he teased as he caught me again.
His strong arms were soft to the touch, and the heat from his body slipped over into mine. I trembled at his gentle touch, and my body ached for more.
"I could get used to this. . ." I murmured.
"What was that?" he asked me.
I blushed and turned my attention to the interesting sand grains on the ground. "I-I just said thank you. For catching me."
"Twice," he reminded me.
"Yeah, twice," I breathed. I was tempted to attempt this suicidal behavior a third time, just to get a nice, even number.
"You should watch where you step. These old boards don't handle weight very well," he advised.
His words were like claws across the sensitive tissue of my weight insecurity. I shrugged off his hands and stepped back. "What's that supposed to mean?" I growled.
The smile didn't slip from his lips as he held up his hands in front of himself and took a step back. "Not what you're thinking. These boards are so old and rotten that a five-year old could make them bounce," he assured me.
I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. "But I'm not a five-year old, am I?"
He tilted his head to one side and allowed his eyes to sweep over my form. I blushed and, even though I was clothed in shorts and a shirt, I covered myself with my hands. "No, you're much more of a woman than a five-year old." He lowered his hands and nodded at my large, baggy shirt. "But why do you wear something like that? You'd look a lot better in a bikini."
"Because the rest of the beach disagrees with you," I snapped.
He folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his chin in one hand. "You know, I don't know if your words are enough of a thank-you," he mused.
I frowned and leaned back. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He chuckled. "Not what you're thinking, but I wish it was what I was thinking."
"Y-you don't even know me, but I think I've learned enough about you," I quipped.
I spun so I faced forward and marched down the boardwalk. The planks decided to take away my dignity when one of them popped up beneath my foot. I yelped and fell-face first towards my woody arch-nemesis, but strong hands were once again there to rescue me. The stranger swept me into his arms so I was turned upward and faced his smiling face.
"You're clumsy," he teased.
"And you're an ass," I quipped.
"Then I wonder what you'll think of this." He swooped down and caught my lips in a searing, toe-tingling kiss.
Heat spread from our union down my body and pooled between my legs. A strong, desperate ache surged in my body, and I had to stifle a groan. I pushed him away and gasped for breath. My cheeks were flushed and my mind swirled with thoughts of silk bed covers and clot
hes on the floor.
The man chuckled. "Something wrong?"
I frowned and shoved my hands hard against his chest. We separated and I made sure to land solidly on my feet on the sand. "Nothing two hundred miles from you won't fix," I retorted.
I turned my back on him and headed down the beach, but I avoided using the boardwalk. In a few seconds I heard the sound of feet crunching on the sand behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and my face drooped when I noticed I had a familiar follower.
"I think I can handle myself," I told the stranger.
He grinned back at me. "I don't doubt it, but you're going my way."
I stopped and gestured down the beach. "Then ladies first," I invited him.
He chuckled and bowed to me. "If you insist." He tromped down the beach ahead of me, and didn't look back. I almost wished he would have, but my stupid feminine pride told me to stop wishing for girlish fantasies of love.
I waited for him to round a sand dune fifty yards off before I followed. The winding edge of the beach took me around the same dune. The beach stretched out in front of me, but the stranger was gone. However, there were a few bungalows to my left and a hundred yards off that caught my attention. They were painted lobster-red.
I walked over to them and inspected my temporary abode. Each of the squat buildings, of which there was three, had a small open-sided deck that rose a foot off the ground. The buildings were positioned ten yards shy of the beach in the tall, scraggly beach grass. Their siding was made of salvaged wood taken from the beach, but there were new vinyl windows that had great views of the sand and ocean.
I felt fortunate to have one of these bungalows. There wasn't another building as close to the beach as these ones. Even the new hotels had to keep a fifty-yard distance because of regulations. The Lobster Bungalows were over fifty years old and grandfathered in, and thus exempt from such restrictions.
I noticed one of the bungalows had a sign on the door. Check-in here. That was my target: the main office. I climbed the few rickety steps onto the porch, strode across the paint-peeled deck and knocked on the door. I started back when the door swung open and a woman stuck her head out.
She was about sixty with graying hair on her temples and a scowl on her lips. Her attire, a bikini and jean shorts, was the usual clothing for someone forty years her junior, and it showed. Her wrinkles poured over the top of her waistband and her-ahem, assets had depreciated a few decades before. She had a healthy tan that gave her skin a leathery look.
"Whadda ya want?" she growled.
"I-I'm here to check in for my reservation. My name's Sandy Duncan," I told her.
The woman frowned and raised her arm to look at her watch. I noticed there was a white patch of skin beneath her watch. "You're early."
"So my room isn't ready?" I guessed.
She dropped her arm and looked at me with an indifferent expression. "Nope."
"Should I come back in a few hours?" I suggested.
"Won't be ready then, either."
"When will it be ready?"
"Two weeks."
CHAPTER 2
"Two weeks!" I yelped.
She nodded. "Yep. I thought you were coming in two weeks, so the room's not ready for you."
"Can't you just clean it up and let me in?" I pleaded.
She shook her head. "Can't. Somebody's got it."
"Who?"
She nodded at something behind me. "Him."
I turned and my mouth dropped open. There stood my tormentor with a grin on his face. I scowled and turned my attention back to the woman.
"There must be something you can do for me. It's not my fault you got the date wrong," I insisted.
"Not mine, either. I got no rooms for you, so just go find a hotel or something and get lost." She slipped out of sight and slammed the door in my face.
I pounded my fist against the wooden entrance. "But I paid for this one already!" I shouted, but there was no response. Well, not from her.
I heard a cough behind me. I sighed and turned to face the man. "What do you want?" I growled.
He swept his arm in front of him and bowed at the waist. "I wish only to help a damsel in distress."
"Then help yourself," I retorted. I readjusted my backpack and tromped off the porch. To my left lay the Lobster bungalows. I could even see the number of my bungalow at the end.
The man leaned into my line of sight. "I might have a solution to your problem."
I frowned and turned away from him. "I doubt it."
He stepped in front of me and blocked my way. I tried to get around him, but he shifted left and right as I did the same. "What if I offered you my bungalow?"
I paused and raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
He slyly grinned and shrugged. "Oh, nothing much, but I wouldn't mind keeping a bit of the bungalow for myself."
"You mean you want me to share my bungalow with you?" I asked him.
"My bungalow," he corrected me.
"Mine or yours, no deal," I retorted. I pushed past him and strode down the boardwalk.
As I thought about my predicament, the more steps I took the slower I walked. My wallet was small, much smaller now that I paid for a bungalow that I couldn't use. I stopped and bit my lower lip. My mind processed the amount I needed to get a new room, and the number came up short. I sighed and half-turned to the man. He stood behind me, and his smile was gentle and patient.
"How big is this bungalow?" I wondered.
The man's smile widened and he slipped over to me. He looped his arm around my waist and guided me down the boardwalk towards the bungalows.
"It's big enough to fit a small party and a large pony keg," he assured me. I scowled and he laughed. "Only kidding. On the party part. It will comfortably fit two strangers who need their space." His eyes swept over me and the corners of his lips twitched. "Though we could fix that."
"You being in the bungalow?" I quipped.
"No, the stranger part. I heard you introduce yourself as Sandy Duncan, but don't you want to know mine?"
"No."
"Well, I'll tell you, anyway. It's Ken Murphy."
I raised an eyebrow. "Ken Murphy?"
"The same."
I scrunched up my face. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
He shrugged. "Can't think of a single thing."
"Single. . .single. . .single!" My eyes widened when the memory clicked inside my mind. I jerked to a stop and looked at him with my mouth agape. "You're not the founder of the blog Singleselicious.com, are you?"
He bowed his head. "Guilty as charged, but I hope you won't hold it against me."
"B-but you're worth millions!"
"Six-hundred million by my accountant's last count, but who else is counting?" he mused.
"Just every girl in the world who wants to get into bed with you," I argued.
He feigned surprise and touched his fingers to his chest. "Little ol' me?"
I stepped away from him and crossed my arms over my chest. "Your blog's serial romances are almost as often read as Fifty Shades of Grey, and you're trying to tell me you don't know girls are chasing after you trying to steal any souvenir they can get their hands on?"
He furrowed his brow and tapped his teeth. "If that's true than I suppose I should get these solid gold caps insured."
I narrowed my eyes and frowned. "I'm out of here." I spun on my heels out of his grasp and stalked down the boardwalk.
"Wait a minute!" He slipped in front of me and held out his arms on either side of himself. "If girls are so crazy about me then how come you're running away?"
"Because I don't want a souvenir, and I don't need your millions. I just need a place to stay for my vacation, and hanging around with a celebrity rich boy isn't my idea of fun," I told him.
"But this celebrity rich boy knows how to have fun," he quipped.
"Uh-huh, not interested," I returned.
Murphy dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together. "I'm begging
for a second chance."
"This would be your third."
"I'm begging for a third chance."
I tilted my head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so desperate for me to stay with you, anyway?"
His eyes swept over me with such a heated look that I blushed. "Maybe you've inspired me. A writer has to have his muse, you know," he teased.
"No, I don't know. I don't write," I admitted.
He grinned. "But you read, or you wouldn't know my name."
I snorted. "Your name's hard to miss when every woman has your website bookmarked on their phone browsers."
"I take it you're not a fan?" he guessed.
I blushed and fidgeted. "I wouldn't say that. . ."
His grin changed to a sly smile. "Then you've read some of my work."
"A little. It's hard to miss, and I liked your covers," I admitted.
He climbed to his feet and offered me his arm. "Good. Then you know I know how to give my heroine a good time, and I'd like to show you the same courtesy." I hesitated. He was famous, but I didn't want to be famous if he decided to give up his fame for infamy and murdered me. "Trust me. You'll have a good time," he promised.
"I don't know. . ." I murmured.
"It's the least I can do for stealing your bungalow away from you," he pointed out.
I sighed and took his arm. "All right, but no funny business or you'll be writing your next story from a hospital bed."
He bowed his head and led me down the boardwalk towards the last bungalow in the row along the beach. "You won't live to regret it," he assured me.
I raised an eyebrow. "I can see why you write for a living."
"Why's that?"
"Because the wrong things come out of your mouth when you talk."
"It's a family gift, now what would you like to do first?" He swept his hand over the beach to our right and the boardwalk that lay in front of us. "There's a whole wild world out there for us to explore."
"I'd like to first explore the inside of the bungalow. My shoulder's killing me," I quipped as I readjusted my bag.
He chuckled. "A good plan, starting at the beginning."
"You usually start your stories in the middle?"
"No, the end." He leaned towards me and his eyes glided over me. I blushed under his careful gaze. He lowered his voice to a whisper that was full of sensual promises. "It seems to be everyone's favorite part."