They stepped onto a boardwalk that wound through grassy sand dunes, then descended onto the longest, emptiest beach Fliss had ever seen. The ocean stretched out in a gray-blue rippling blanket for about a thousand miles.
“Is that England I see over there?” she joked, pointing randomly.
“That’s West Africa.” Saint took hold of her shoulders and angled her so she was looking almost straight up the beach. “Northeast is that way, but Canada’s elbow is in the way.”
“Oh, Canada,” she groused. “Can’t you see I’m homesick?”
“Are you?” His arms came around her, drawing her back into his strong frame. “I thought you were settling in.”
“I am,” she fibbed because he could be so sweet sometimes, holding her like this. She draped her arms over his as they watched the waves rolling onto the sand.
At least she had her studio in the penthouse to make her feel at home. It was so much her dream workspace she nearly cried with joy every time she entered it. But the time she spent in there was less about pursuing her dream and more about escaping the reality of this new, foreign life she’d been thrust into.
Her other escape was, of course, this. His arms. The feel of him nuzzling into her neck and thickening against her backside sent tingles showering from her scalp into her breasts. Tendrils of warmth wound into her pelvis whenever he so much as glanced at her. None of her worries could impact her when they spent their nights—and mornings and stolen midday moments—kissing and fondling and pleasuring each other into oblivion.
They cushioned the culture shock of what she was going through, but none of it changed the fact that she felt as though she’d won an all-expenses-paid vacation and was enjoying a holiday fling.
How could she settle into a life that wasn’t real?
“Why don’t I show you where we’ll be sleeping?” Saint suggested throatily.
“You’re losing your touch,” she teased, reaching back to comb her fingers into his silky hair. “I’m surprised you haven’t shown me already.”
“The maid needed time to unpack your six suitcases.” He was also teasing, but all Fliss could think was that they weren’t her cases. They might’ve been rose pink where his were black, but they’d been purchased by him and contained clothing he had bought. She’d approved the outfits after being coached on the robust itinerary of appearances and events and the expected dress code for each. One whole case was dedicated to lotions and cosmetics and hair products.
Hand in hand, they climbed the steps back onto the boardwalk. The house came into view in all its dramatic glory, wings reaching out like arms to cradle the glimmering pool.
“This is really beautiful.” She paused, absorbing that this property, along with all those other ones she hadn’t yet seen, would be his one day.
“I prefer my beach house in California.”
She swallowed a semi-hysterical laugh and let him lead her back to the house, then up some stairs to a massive suite decorated in powder blue and silvery white. Fliss took a moment to wander the sitting room with its small dining nook, then peeked onto the balcony with its view of the ocean. The sumptuous bathroom held a claw-footed tub and a shower that could have doubled as a parking garage. The bed was as big as the pool.
Saint came toward her from checking that both doors to the hall were locked, toeing off his shoes along the way, releasing the buttons at his throat as he did.
Her mouth went dry, always. He was so deliberate yet casual in his sexuality.
“This is the junior suite?” she said with a weak smile.
“The main one has separate bedrooms. Not something we’ll ever need, hmm?” He used the back of one crooked finger to caress the edge of her jaw.
Fliss had known he was rich, but this was...impossible. They were impossible.
“What’s wrong?” He tilted her chin up and frowned as he searched her gaze.
She was drowning. Suffocating.
“Nothing,” she lied, offering her lips.
Because, when he covered them, she melted into that different reality where she belonged right here, pressed up against him so tightly she imagined she could feel his chest hairs through the fabric of their shirts.
She was growing bolder, learning what he liked, and slid her hand to the front of his trousers to squeeze him.
Saint grunted and backed her toward the bed, tugging at her clothing as he did.
Moments later, they were naked on the sheets, covers thrown back, kissing passionately. “Be inside me,” she urged, finding the bold, aroused length that brushed her inner thigh. She guided him to her center. “I need to feel you.”
“Careful,” he murmured, caressing her briefly before taking control and sliding the damp tip of his erection against her sensitive inner lips. “You’re not ready yet. Why the rush? We have two hours before we’re expected to make an appearance.”
“I know, but...” Everything would change in a few hours. The gossip sites had cottoned on to their relationship. They’d been photographed going out to dinner and shopping, but now they would be scrutinized up close by his peers—she would.
“Let me make it good for you.” He began running his hands over her body as though learning her anew, until every skin cell was awakened to his touch. Then he followed with the lazy graze of his lips. Damp kisses made flames of yearning lick through her so she was aching with need by the time he tipped her thighs back and settled his mouth against her most sensitive flesh.
When she was quivering with tension and on the point of breaking, he rose over her. Now he surged into her the way she needed. She had the taste of herself on her tongue as he sealed his lips to hers in a ravishing kiss. The first ripples of climax had her moaning into his mouth, twisting in the agony of supreme pleasure. He held her in that state with his superior strength and the slow, powerful plunge of his sex into hers.
This was where she needed to be, encased in the electric excitement of raw lovemaking, connected to him in a way that transcended the physical.
Now she only needed to touch his shoulder and he knew what she wanted. He rolled onto his back, and she sat up to ride the rhythm he set. She pinched his nipple and played her fingers over where they joined, knowing he liked it.
Saint’s lips peeled back, baring his teeth as he fought to hold on to his control. His cheeks were flushed dark with lust. His fingertips would leave bruises where he gripped her hips, matching the ones fading from last night or the time before that.
When the intensity grew too much for her and she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, succumbing to her thunderous orgasm, he arched beneath her, lifting her off the bed as he shouted with his own release.
Fliss slumped weakly upon him in the aftermath, loving the descent almost as much as the pinnacle. She liked feeling his heart pounding against her breast and hearing the rattle of his breath and knowing she’d done that to him. She liked the twitch of him still inside her, slowly relaxing. She liked the lazy way his hands petted her back in such a tender way.
“See?” he murmured. “We even have time for a nap.”
She carefully extricated herself from him and drew the sheet up so it fell between them, forming a small barrier because she had realized what was really bothering her.
