Page 24 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

O kay, I’m on an unknown tropical island in the middle of the ocean, and my life is in danger. Sure. But now the secret agent I’ve been having x-rated dreams about for months is here too, and he’s holding me. Kissing me.

Naked.

Is this a dream? My subconscious brain doesn’t usually bother with plots, not even the ‘ Did anyone call for a plumber?’ kind.

Whenever I’ve dreamed about Agent River Dawes—which was, oh I don’t know, every night since we met—there’s been no crazy plot line.

No wild setting or supporting cast of villains.

Just the two of us getting sweaty together in my apartment, the coffee shop, or one time, my aunt Janet’s condo. Okay, that one was weird.

“Is this real?” I ask quietly. Somehow, it’s hard to ask the question out loud—like it’s more vulnerable than stripping naked. But I need to know.

River pauses, his breath hot against my neck.

His arm is strong around my middle, his grip possessive, and wherever our bodies meet, we’re already getting sweaty again, slip and sliding together.

It’s so freaking sticky here. “Is what real? Do you mean this situation we’re in? Or the way I’m kissing you right now?”

Swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat, I shrug. “Both, I guess.”

There’s a long pause, then River kisses my temple. “They’re both real, Betty. But I’m going to keep you safe, I promise.”

My chest aches, and the stars pulse overhead. Palm trees whisper in the breeze, and I hear myself say: “And after we escape? What then?”

Because this man is a master of the ol’ disappearing act. He’s my own personal Houdini. One moment he was a regular at the coffee shop, coming in every few days to stand across the counter, gazing like I was the center of his whole damn world. Then he finally kissed me, and poof .

Who says he won’t disappear again? Trying to keep this man around is like trying to cup smoke in your hands.

“One step at a time,” is all River says, and though it’s not what I want to hear, I can’t really argue. We don’t even know yet how we’ll get out of this alive, and I want a second date in the planner? So lame.

Maybe River isn’t like that. Maybe he doesn’t want domestic things—he chose this crazy life, after all.

Maybe I’m barking up the wrong palm tree.

Still, if this is my only chance to get him alone, you’d better believe I’ll make the most of it.

Wobbling around on the uneven sand, I throw my arms around the rogue agent’s neck, grinning when he blinks in surprise.

For all his muscles and knives and killer instincts, it’s still so easy to take him off guard.

“Betty,” he says, and it sounds like a warning.

Like a dare.

I rock up onto my toes and kiss him hard, sealing our bodies together all the way down.

The hard line of River’s cock presses against my stomach, but he doesn’t rut against me or anything.

Doesn’t tug my hand down there. He’s too busy gripping my waist, kissing me back like a starving man.

Too busy groaning, low and deep, like the earth rumbling near the volcano.

I come up for breath, then dive right back in, head swimming.

His lips taste like salt.

Slam. Slam. Slam. With his heart beating that hard, so rough I can feel it, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a rib. River’s fingers dig into my waist, hard enough to bruise, but I don’t mind. I’m desperate for this too.

If this whole caper has taught me anything, it’s that I could die any minute. Any of us could. And I’m not going out without feeling this man against me first—without rolling around with him on the silver-tinted sand.

“Need to keep watch,” River mutters, tearing his mouth away with clear reluctance. So duty-bound, even now. I trail open-mouthed kisses down his throat, tongue rasping against the short beard he’s grown since I saw him last.

Guess there’s not much point shaving in the jungle. His hair is longer too, curling around his ears.

He looks wilder than ever. I love it.

“That’s okay,” I say, sinking toward my knees, but River catches my elbow with a pained expression. As he drags me back to stand, his voice is stern.

“After everything I’ve put you through? Absolutely not, Betty. We’re not doing that.”

And I start to argue, because it’s not like some freaking hardship, I want to go to my knees for him—but River guides me around, then nudges me down to lay on the beach.

He arranges me with my head pointed toward the hidden base camp, then follows me down, knees thunking against the sand.

When he hunkers over me, those shoulders seem extra broad.

As he presses my thighs apart, River’s teeth flash white in the moonlight.

“Try to keep it quiet, sweetheart.”

Eyes fixed on the jungle behind me, River lowers down, beard rasping against my inner thighs. His breath tickles against my clit, and I clap a hand over my mouth, choking back a moan.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Beach head. Beach head.

I’ve never had anyone down there before, never hosted a fella between my thighs, and now Agent River Dawes is getting up close and personal with my bits?

It’s not like the evil mercenaries let me bring a razor and shaving cream here!

And I just dunked in the sea, damn it. There’s black sand crusted over my ass. I’m not prepared.

And yet…

“So fucking sweet,” River growls, licking a long stripe up my slit. He’s getting right in there, beard scraping against my thighs, nose rubbing on my clit. “You taste so fucking good, Betty.”

I highly doubt that, but I’m not about to argue—especially when River scoops both hands under my ass and lifts me, tilting me up to his mouth. He feasts on me, breath hot, tongue probing, eyes fixed on the darkness behind me the whole time.

“Sh-shit.” My hands burrow into the sand, squeezing two fistfuls until my knuckles creak.

Each lap of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth, sends hot and cold shivers racing over my body.

And we’re in danger, naked on this beach and so exposed, but I must have a screw loose in my brain because somehow that makes me even wetter. I whimper and squirm.

Danger.

It’s that same giddy thrill I got when I first laid eyes on River. The same rush of toe-curling adrenaline. Hey, some people race sports cars; others skydive out of planes.

Me? Guess I spread my legs for a half-feral rogue agent under the moonlight. I win.

“So perfect,” River mutters, the words vibrating through my clit, though he sounds kinda mad about it. His grip is harsh on my ass, squeezing me like his personal stress ball. “Betty, you’re so fucking perfect. Don’t think I can keep away.”

Um… good !

If my pussy is what finally snares this man, so be it.

“Don’t, then,” I gasp up at the stars. The tension twists tighter in my belly with each lick, with each of his hot, shuddering breaths, and I’m trying to hold off, trying to drag this out for another minute, but it’s no use. He’s mastered me, and River wants me to come. “Don’t keep away.”

A low grunt. A bruising squeeze of my ass.

My eyes slam shut, blocking out the waxy glow of the moon, and then there’s nothing but the soft sigh of the ocean and the warm kiss of the island breeze, and River’s greedy mouth between my thighs.

The pleasure rises up like a wave, up and up and up—then crashes over me, hot and tingly, flooding me from my toes to the tips of my hair.

I shake like a rag doll on the uneven sand. It goes on and on and on, tossing me around in my own private maelstrom until I collapse, completely spent. When I finally blink my eyes open in a daze, River has a hand clapped over my mouth. I think it’s been there a while.

“You were loud,” he says, thick eyebrows lowered in mock disapproval.

I lick the palm of his hand.

He grins.

* * *

Ten minutes later, fully dressed in clothes that are stiff and discolored with sand, salt and sweat, we sit together on a rock by the ocean’s edge.

The red tracker light winks at me from my boot. I rest my chin on my knees, rolling my stiff shoulders. Should I have left the boots behind? Maybe. I don’t know. Surely if they found me missing, I’d be screwed either way—and at least this way, I’m a tiny bit less vulnerable.

“Tell me you have a plan, River.”

His legs are drawn up too, his elbows resting on his knees. The rogue agent stares out to sea, contemplative and silent, but I know by now that his excellent hearing is trained behind us on the footpath from base camp.

“I have a plan,” he says slowly, “but you won’t like it.”

Awesome.

“Does it get us both out of here alive?” I wrinkle my sunburned nose. “Because if so, I don’t care about the details. I love it. Whatever you’ve got in mind, lay it on me. I’m in.”

His mouth twists. He frowns at the glassy waves, barely bigger than ripples as they lap at the shore. The water’s so crystal clear that even at night, I can see the pale outline of a starfish clinging to a rock down there.

“They brought you here on a boat,” he says at last.

Yup. That’s no big secret—it’s anchored beyond the reef, where it’s been rising and falling with the tide for days. I’ve thought about sneaking back to that boat and jetting off into the sunset about, oh, a million times.

“I can’t drive it.” Do you even drive a boat? Gah. This is the problem. “Or navigate or whatever. Can you?”

“Yes. But we need to get onboard first. And we need the agency to leave us alone.”

There’s a long, heavy pause. I wait, stomach tensing.

“And?” I say at last. “ And? How do we do that, River? This isn’t theater! We don’t need a dramatic pause!”

The agent fixes me with a look. My tummy flips in response, and my insides go all quivery. It’s like a switch flips, and then he’s just so bossy, so commanding, so stern. I wriggle against the rock.

Down, girl. Plucking at my tank top, I blow out a long breath. Escape first, then sexcapades later.

“You won’t like this,” he warns me again. Oh, dear god.

“River,” I say sweetly. “I don’t care if you could kill me with your pinkie finger. If you don’t tell me the damn plan, I will push you into the sea.”

He huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head and squints at the moonlit horizon.

“Alright, Betty.” A calloused hand finds mine, tangling our fingers together, and I cling on tight, like he’s my personal life buoy. “Here it is: we’re going to let them catch us.”

He’s right. That plan sucks.