Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As I change in the bathroom, I have time to regret insisting on this right now. I should have let him keep charge of things, at least until we had sex. Now my nerves take hold again, and I half expect to step out and find Devan gone, my forbidden fantasies too taboo, even for him.

I check myself out in the mirror. The bikini is identical to the one I wore that birthday, tiny and as red as the dress I had on earlier. The back is cut narrow—not quite a thong, but leaving most of my ass exposed. The triangles of the top are laughably small, barely large enough to keep my breasts contained and cover my nipples.

I drag my hands through my hair a few times, messing up my careful curls and doing a damned good approximation of the beach waves I had going on at nineteen in Mallorca. A tiny bottle of tequila, a sliced lime, and a small container of salt complete the memory. Or they will. I hope.

I take a slow breath, straighten my spine, and leave the relative safety of the bathroom. Devan isn’t in the bedroom, but I don’t expect him to be. To do this properly, we need the dining room table.

It’s only as I’m walking through the hotel room that I realize I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. This might be my fantasy, but in no part of that fantasy am I in charge of anything. I forgot to tell Devan that, forgot to outline exactly what I want to happen. Then again, I don’t know what I want to happen. The timeline between body-shot and coming on his cock is blurry.

But as I walk into the main area of the suite, I realize I don’t have to worry about anything. Devan’s turned off the overhead lights, leaving the lamps on to create a dangerously intimate setting, and there’s a faint strain of music from somewhere. It sounds vaguely familiar, and I stop short as realization sets in. “You memorized what was playing that night?”

“Something like that.”

I jump a little. I hadn’t seen him leaning against the kitchenette counter. He’s put his T-shirt back on again, and disappointment courses through me. I hold up the tequila bottle. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Mmmm.” He motions and I walk over and hand them to him. Devan considers the objects, expression contemplative. “Do you know what I thought when I walked into that place and saw you laid out on the bar, practically naked?”

“No,” I breathe. “Tell me.”

“I thought…” He lifts his gaze to mine. “I’m dying to know what she tastes like.”

I back slowly to the table and lean against it. “Come find out.” I test the strength of the table, but of course it holds. Then I sit on it and stretch out. It’s a little too short, so my hair and legs drape off on either side, but the sound Devan makes has me fighting for breath.

This is happening.

He starts toward me slowly. I don’t know how he manages it, but it’s like he flips a switch and sexy menace rolls off him in waves. Just like it did that night. “What’s going on here?” I start to sit up, but he plants a hand in the center of my chest and easily pins me in place. “I asked you a question, birthday girl.”

“Just celebrating,” I breathe.

“Celebrating.” He repeats it slowly, as if he’s not familiar with the word. “This is how you celebrate? Letting these boys have their mouths all over you.”

I bite my bottom lip. “We’re doing body shots. You should try it sometime. It might loosen you up.”

He widens his hand the slightest bit, his fingers brushing against the curves of my breasts. It’s the smallest of movements, and I could almost convince myself it’s an accident. Or I could if this was anyone else. “You offering?”

“You see anyone else ready to go?” When he doesn’t move, I force out a laugh. Acting every inch the part of the wild nineteen-year-old I used to be. “Thought not, old man. Let me up or get out of the way for the next guy.”

His hand tenses on my chest. “Don’t move.”

I hold perfectly still as he moves back to the counter and then returns with the items I brought in. Devan considers me for a moment. “Salt. Shot. Lime.”

“Well, yes, but—”

He presses the slice of lime to my lips, silencing me. Oh, god, why is that so satisfying? I give him wide eyes as I’m actually confused about what’s happening. About his intentions. He methodically pours the tiny bottle of tequila into a clear glass. It’s not a shot glass, but it will do.

Then he traces his fingers down the string of my swimsuit to the top of the tiny triangle. “Have to do this properly,” he murmurs. Before I can dredge up some kind of response, he tugs my top to the side, baring one breast.

I squeak a little, and Devan bends down to suck my nipple into his mouth. He takes his time, his tongue playing along my skin and over my nipple until it’s a beaded peak. Until I’m making little whimpering noises despite my determination to stay silent. Only then does he move back and shake some salt onto the damp area. I’m already breathing so hard, my breasts shake with each exhale, but Devan ignores it. He dips down again and this time, he moves faster. He sucks on my nipple hard enough to make me moan and then his mouth is gone.

Dazed, I watch him down the shot and then he hooks the back of my neck and tows me up to a sitting position. My head spins, and then it spins worse because Devan McGuire is taking a lime out of my mouth. It’s not a kiss. It’s nowhere near a kiss. That doesn’t stop me from digging my hands into the front of his shirt and trying to pull him back to me.

He, of course, doesn’t budge. He just looks at me like he’s disappointed in me. “So fucking easy to seduce.”

The words sting, but somehow the sting makes me even wetter. “No, I’m not.” I don’t know why I’m protesting. I want to be seduced by this man. No, that’s not right. I want to be destroyed by this man.

“All it takes is some young cocky thing sucking on your nipple and you’re panting for it.” He slowly plants his hands on either side of my hips, moving forward until I’m forced to spread my legs to allow him. “I bet you’d fuck him right here on the bar, wouldn’t you?”

“Not him.”

He tugs on the strings of my bikini bottoms. Not enough to undo them. Just enough to tempt me. “Don’t act like I’m something special. You didn’t expect me to show up here tonight. You’re going to let one of those boys have his mouth all over you.” He leans even closer. “I bet you’d let him take you to that corner booth and fuck him right here.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” I push at his chest, the protest only half feigned. “Give me a little fucking credit. I’m a virgin.”

Devan freezes and his eyes go wide. “What did you just say? You’re a virgin? How?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He thinks I mean now? I brace myself on one hand and lean back, trailing the other hand down my body to brush between my thighs. “Yes, Devan. This nineteen-year-old pussy has never been touched. So no, I won’t be fucking just anyone here tonight, so you can mosey on along and let me have my fun.”

It takes him a minute to respond. When he does, the shock is gone from his voice. “No, birthday girl. I’m not leaving this virgin pussy here alone. Come on.” He moves before I have a chance to respond. Just like that night, he tosses me over his shoulder. Unlike that night, his hand is very high up my thigh right now, nearly brushing the lower curve of my ass.

When he drops me down on the couch and sinks down next to me, I shoot up, only for him to hook my waist and pull me back down onto one broad thigh. “We’re going to have a conversation, Hazel.”

“Great. Fun. Perfect.” I struggle a little just to feel the strength of his arm banded across my waist. It makes my swimsuit slide dangerously close to exposing me, so I keep doing it, a slow fight that Devan indulges. Within seconds, my top is askew and my bottoms are loosened on one side, though I’d swear his hand never went anywhere near the ties.

He grips my throat, stilling me. “Look at you. You say you’re a virgin, but you’re flashing your tits and pussy at anyone who cares to look.” His big hand descends to cup me between my thighs. It’s a possessive touch and I’m thrilled by it. I’m thrilled even more by his words. “At least cover yourself up before someone takes it as an invitation.”

“Someone like you?”

He curses against my temple. “No, Hazel. Not like me. I’m just here to protect you.” His fingers flex against my pussy in what seems to be an almost involuntary movement. “It’d be a lot easier to do if you were a good girl.”

“What do you mean?” My voice has gone breathy and I’ve stopped fighting. I carefully grip his big bicep and shift, rubbing my pussy against his fingers. “I’m a virgin. How much more of a good girl can you get?”

“You expect me to believe that when you’re rubbing yourself all over me right now?”

“It’s not my fault.” I don’t stop, though. I just swirl my hips a little, trying to get him to make contact with my clit. “It feels too good to stop.”

“I damn well should stop.” He sounds absolutely tormented. It’s so sexy, I almost come on the spot. Devan’s fingers flex again. “You should tell me to get my hands off you right this fucking second.”

I look across from us, belatedly realizing that he’s positioned us in front of the large mirror. “Look at us,” I breathe. “Look at how good your hands look on my body.”

“I’m your guardian, birthday girl. This is so fucking wrong.”

I skate my hands down his arm to his hand. I spread my legs a little wider and tilt my hips and, god, the tips of his fingers slide into me. “It feels better because it’s wrong.” I press against the back of his hand and he slides his fingers a little deeper. Not deep enough, but doing this in half-measures feels particularly dirty.

“Devan?”

“Yeah,” he grits out.

I roll my hips, fucking his hand as much as he’ll allow. “I want to have sex so badly. Are you really going to trust that experience with some idiot boy?” I grab his other hand and bring it to one bared breast. “Wouldn’t it be better to have an older, more experienced man make sure it’s good for me?”

“Hazel.”

“No one has to know,” I whisper. I watch him watch me in the mirror. “No one has to know you’re my first. It will be our little secret.”