Page 31 of Faking the Pass

Good Clean Fun

P resley

Maybe I was ridiculous, but at least Rosie was smiling again.

When she’d jumped out of bed this morning and practically left a smoke trail behind her on the way to the bathroom, I’d been worried I’d offended her with my unintentional morning salute.

There had been no use pretending she hadn’t felt the hard-on, but I’d assumed we were both ignoring it and moving on.

When I’d come in from my morning swim, though, she’d acted so weird and uncomfortable I worried she’d spend the rest of the week locked away in the bedroom—alone—just like she did at home.

And who wanted to spend a week in a legitimate tropical paradise alone? I had to do something to lighten the mood.

I figured if we were not going to be having sex on our honeymoon—which clearly we were not—we should at least hang out and try to have some fun together.

Apparently feeling more relaxed with the “contract” in place, Rosie agreed to go snorkeling with me in the reef near the house.

“You should always buddy swim when snorkeling,” I said once we were in the water. “So one person can keep an eye out for sharks.”

“Sharks?” Rosie bolted upright, her mask filling with saltwater. I apologized as she coughed, slapping her back.

“Sorry. Bad joke. There are sharks in these waters, but just reef sharks and bamboo sharks,” I said. “I looked it up. They’re pretty timid, not aggressive. Not a threat to divers and snorkelers.”

She gave me a dubious look. “If you’re thinking of going home alone with one of those my-wife-died-tragically-on-our-honeymoon stories, just remember… I’m flat broke. And I have no life insurance to claim.”

I laughed out loud. “I’m telling the truth, I promise. We can call Wilder when we go back to the house. He’ll tell you.”

We went back to snorkeling, gliding slowly through the crystal clear waters, sometimes side by side, sometimes with Rosie a bit ahead of me.

The good news was there was no way she’d go under and drown with the floatation belt strapped around her waist.

The bad news was the flotation device kept her shapely ass propped up high in the water—pretty much front and center in my line of vision whenever I wasn’t face-down, looking at the far less interesting coral and tropical fish.

After a couple hours we emerged from the water, both feeling heavy and tired. Rosie plopped onto the sand beside me, and her breasts performed a pretty little bounce in her bikini top.

Not that I was looking, but… yeah, okay, I was looking.

I mean, how could I not?

Either my sister-in-law was far meaner than I’d realized and had included this tiny little gem of her own accord, or this is what Rosie had been planning to wear while swimming on her honeymoon with Randy.

Anger slashed through my midsection, making me dig my fingertips into the sand beneath me.

At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that while I may never gain access to what was beneath those strategically placed scraps of fabric, that bastard wouldn’t either.

This fake marriage had accomplished at least that much.

“The air here feels amazing,” Rosie said, reaching up and running her hands through her hair, lifting and separating sections so they’d dry faster, I assumed.

The motion served to lift those beautiful breasts and squeeze them together so they looked even more plump and tempting.

I had to roll over on my stomach to hide my natural reaction to the stimulating sight.

That satisfaction I mentioned? It ebbed a bit, replaced by some pretty serious yearning.

It was going to be a long week.

And it only got worse as the week went on.

We went hiking, watched the sunset every night from our deck chairs, cooked together, and swam or snorkeled every day. At night we watched movies.

And each day’s outfit was smaller and sexier than the last.

Randy Ryland was the biggest asshole on the earth to have let this stunning, sexy woman get out of his grasp.

And I was wishing more and more that she was in mine.

At this point I was reminding myself on pretty much an hourly basis that Rosie didn’t want a sexual relationship.

She was so adamant about that in fact, she’d literally put it in writing.

And yeah, when we’d started this thing I’d said I didn’t want one either. But I was more than willing to make an amendment to our “contract.” I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.

It didn’t help that we’d agreed to share the bed at night.

“It’s the only humane thing to do,” Rosie had said. “As long as we stick to our contract, it’ll be fine.”

And though she’d built a virtual fort with extra blankets and pillows along the centerline at bedtime, by morning we’d both inevitably migrated to the middle, and I was inevitably right up against the back of her body.

Her lush, soft curves were such a perfect fit against me—there was not enough alone time in the day.

We had a tacit agreement not to mention it, but fuck me, I was wishing Rosie and I had run into each other in Eastport Bay in a normal way and had started dating again, that this honeymoon was the real deal.

If only she felt the same.

“Want to do something else tonight instead of watching movies?” Rosie asked.

The answering erection was immediate and hard as marble. My dick was nothing if not an optimist.

Hey, miracles happened, right? I’d seen Rosie checking me out almost as often as I’d been watching her.

And she had admitted on contract day that there was a mutual attraction there and that “something” could accidentally happen.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked in as normal a tone as I could muster.

She walked up to me holding a game box, and my optimism crashed to the tile floor.

“I found this in one of the coffee table drawers,” she said. “It’s called Good Clean Fun. Ever heard of it?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m not really all that into games—off the football field, that is.”

“Please?” she begged. “It might be fun. Just try it?”

As if I could say no to those honey brown eyes and those heart-shaped lips.

“Alright. Let’s give it a go.”

I’d discovered in the past few weeks that I had basically no natural immunity to this woman’s will, and God knew I needed something to keep my mind off the alternative activity I’d been hoping she’d suggest.

The card game turned out to be a little more fun than I’d expected.

Each card contained several clues, and you were supposed to guess what word or phrase they were referring to. And the clues were all, shall we say… suggestive.

Rosie read from her first card, blushing already. Not what she’d been expecting either apparently.

“Okay, um… it says, ‘You shove your wood in me, I get really hot for you, and I may take hours to cool down afterwards.’”

I grinned at her highly uncomfortable tone of voice. “A… woodstove?”

“Good guess,” she said, sounding relieved I hadn’t given her a dirty answer. “Close. A fireplace.”

I laughed. “Nice. Okay, now my turn.”

Having a good time now, I drew a card from the deck, snickering as I scanned the unnecessarily racy clues and the totally innocent answer.

I watched Rosie’s face over the top of it as I read it aloud, anticipating her reaction.

“You put your lips against me and blow, I expand until I’m several sizes larger, and I’m lots of fun at parties.”

“I don’t know if this is such a good game,” Rosie said, squirming in her seat.

“Hey—it was your idea,” I said. “And I think it’s fun. You can’t bail now anyway, after you’ve already made me answer one.”

“Fine. But we’re only playing one round. I’m feeling tired and ready for bed.”

I was ready for bed too, but not because I was tired.

“A balloon,” Rosie guessed. “Happy?”

I gave her an evil grin. “Very.”

Her face grew redder with each turn, and at one point she crossed her legs and sort of shivered.

Which woke the eternal optimist in my pants.

Was she turned on? More below the belt optimism followed that thought.

When it was my turn to ask a question, I slowed and deepened my voice and hung onto the sexy words for an extra beat.

“I’m creamy and delicious, you lick me till I’m spent… and I might leave you a bit sticky when I’m done.”

Rosie’s breath quickened as she stared at me, and her nipples hardened, clearly visible through the stretchy mini-dress she was wearing.

I wanted nothing more than to rip that little garment off and press my tongue against those nipples and pull her onto my lap where there would be no more polite-erection-ignoring going on.

“You keep looking at me like that, Rosie, and ‘clean fun’ isn’t gonna cut it much longer,” I warned.

“I… uh…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, she got up and speed-walked away. I jumped up to follow her.

“Where are you going?”

She practically ran into the powder room and slammed the door behind her. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

I knew she was lying. She was just hiding in there.

And that was fine. I could wait—I’d waited this long.

She took a really long time in there, but when she came out, I was outside the door, ready to pounce.

“You haven’t answered the question yet.”

Rosie was breathing rapidly, darting her eyes from side to side like a mouse cornered by a cat, trying to decide which way to make a break for it.

“I’m tired of playing now,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t know the answer.”

“I think you do.”

I moved closer, backing her up against the wall and leaning forward with my hand propped over her head.

“Take a guess,” I urged in a warm whisper.

Rosie’s voice was quaking when she responded, keeping her gaze trained on my chin instead of my eyes.

“Fine. Is it ice cream?”

“Good guess, but no,” I said.

She tried again. “A fudgesicle?”

I lowered my head, leaning in closer and skimming her jawline with my fingertips.

“That’s one possible answer. I can think of something else that would be creamy and delicious to lick, and I’ll bet it’s even sweeter than ice cream.”

Rosie’s eyes flickered up to meet mine. Her pupils were large, turning her eyes an even richer brown than usual.