Page 18 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Rhodes

“I regret lying.”

The contradiction between the meaning of the words and her lust-filled gaze short-circuits my thought processes, but the smaller brain overrides, computing the most important fact.

“Now you want to have sex?”

She steps forward, one arm over my shoulder, her fingers on my nape, pulling me to her.

For one brief second, I question if this is what I want, if it’s the right time, if this will be another slippery slope with me falling hard and fast into a tar pit of boredom, but I push the uncertainty aside. I want her.

I wanted her last night at dinner. Last night in bed. And I especially want her now.

Her naked body presses against my cool, damp skin. Sensations overwhelm my senses. The roll of her tongue. Minty taste. Soft curves. Slick hair.

A sharp thorn pierces the side of my foot, and on instinct I lift her as I stumble, hopping to the stretched towel. Her chin presses into my shoulder.

When I’m on safe footing, I slow, lost in the dark pools of her eyes, the pupil somehow overtaking the iris. Her feet slowly drop to the ground, her thighs gliding down mine, but my hands remain on the globes of her ass, holding her close.

“You okay?’ she asks.

There’s a tease in the question, like she’s stifling laughter.

My foot stings, but that’s immaterial.

I tilt her head and resume our kiss. My erection, incredibly firm given where I just swam, presses into her abdomen.

Does she mind? Should I adjust?

“What was that?” Sydney presses against me, her body completely aligned to mine, and scans the woods.

“I heard nothing.”

“It sounded like…I don’t know…a limb falling.”

“Might’ve been. Or a deer. You don’t need to worry. No one’s going to stumble on us out here.”

She raises her gaze skyward. Blue sky intertwines with leafy limbs.

“Or see us on satellite?”

Her paranoid question shows she has no detailed understanding of satellites’ capabilities, and I could enlighten her, but I settle for a simple, “No.” Her soft breasts press against my chest and I create space between us, cupping her breast, tweaking her nipple. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

I don’t give her time to answer, instead lowering to take her nipple in my mouth, to twirl my tongue over her sweet peak.

Her knees bend and I follow until we’re both sprawled on the towel. I continue my exploration, feeling more free than I did last night, as I don’t need to hold back. She wants this.

“I’ve never…” I slow, my mouth over her navel, my fingers caressing the smooth curve of her hip, and my gaze raises, waiting for her to finish, wondering where she’s going with that. “Outside.”

“A first for everything.” My fingers reach her apex and her thighs spread open, ever so slightly. She’s bare, completely void of hair, smooth to the touch. “You wax.”

“Started on the swim team. Never stopped.”

My finger glides slowly over her center. Hot. Wet.

Her knees rise with my touch.

“I’ve tried to let it grow out, but it bothers me and I end up waxing again. I might get it lasered, so I never have to deal with it. It’s been on my to-do list. I just haven’t done it.”

I register the increasing frequency of her words, but my focus and intent aren’t on what she’s saying. I lower my head and lick slowly up her center.

She gasps.

“A friend used to say every woman needs a landing strip. I don’t?—”

My mouth lowers over her as I press a finger into her heat. As a second finger plunders, I lift and utter a, “Shh”.

Her eyelids flutter closed. She’s lifted on her elbows, and as her head tilts back, she transforms into a summer goddess, and I resume worshipping her.

I love her taste, her silky touch, her little noises and the tightening and loosening of her muscles, and when her fingers press into my scalp, directing me, it’s fucking perfection.

Her thighs press to my ears as her body tightens, culminating in a rewarding orgasm.

She relaxes back onto the towel and I press kisses to her thighs and dry my fingers on the edge of the towel.

She’s fucking gorgeous spread out in the speckled sunlight. There are no sun lines, yet her skin glows with a slight tan, her natural skin tone. She has the body of an athlete, limbs lean and toned.

I trail kisses up her body and she lifts her head, a slight smile playing across those luscious lips. When I reach those lips, I press mine to them. But the kiss I claim is quick. She presses on my shoulder, pushing me back.

“Your turn,” she says.

My gaze lifts skyward, and I swear it’s like I’m flying or spinning.

The sky, the sun… How long has it been since I laid down in the grass and stared up at the sky?

Taken in nature from the lowest point…on a weekday, no less.

All the world scurries like ants between offices and home, and I’m sprawled like a king luxuriating in the riches of the world.

She grips my cock with commanding strength, eliciting a guttural groan, and I watch transfixed as she flattens her tongue and licks my shaft. Teasing, she circles my tip, lapping at the precum. When her mouth finally takes me, I swear my eyes roll into the back of my head.

Best fucking vacation.

What she’s doing feels so good. I relax into her ministrations, loving the feel until a familiar tightening in my balls and my lower back has me popping my head up.

“That’s…” I reach for her arm, warning her. “Too close,” I bark out.

She smiles and straddles me, positioning herself over me, but fuck.

“Condom,” I grit out, gently gripping her hips while scanning the ground to locate my backpack.

I twist beneath her and crawl across the towel until I snatch my backpack and rummage inside.

“Boy Scout,” she says, almost to herself. “Always prepared.”

“Eagle Scout,” I correct, holding up a condom. And not as prepared as I like. I examine the square, checking the date. “This is my only one. We’ll need to head back to the hotel after this.”

I offer her a wicked grin.

“We’re on vacation,” I can’t help but add, then rip the foil with my teeth.

She takes the condom from me and presses me down onto my back.

Interesting. I’m not sure Sara ever offered to put the condom on. There’s something scintillating about watching her roll it down my shaft, but it’s nothing compared to watching her position herself over me. She moves my tip between her folds.

All things holy.

And then she lowers, stretching, taking me into her tight heat.

“ Jesus fuck, you feel good .”

I grip her hips, and piston into her, pressing against the hard earth for leverage. She leans forward, rolling her hips against me, our gazes locked.

“That’s it. Use me.”

Her lips spread into a wide smile. “I intend to.”

She leans back, and her nipples, a tawny rose, pebble in the light. I twist one and her hips grind. My thumb presses against her clit, and she mewls. She’s so fucking wet, so turned on—and so am I.

Shivers climb my spine as her muscles seize and I grip her hips, holding her tight against me as she rides through a second orgasm, head back, eyes closed, sunlight drenching her in gold.

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” I don’t actually intend for her to hear me, but her eyelids flutter open, and she falls forward, claiming my mouth.

I twist her to her side, then slap her ass.

“On your knees.”

I grimace as I pull out and am careful to check the condom while holding the base.

“You don’t want to lie on your back. The ground’s not that smooth.”

“Oh. Did that hurt you?”

A couple of rocks dug into my back but…“Worth it.”

She complies, palms flat, back slightly curved, ass out, in position. She looks over her shoulder, smiling, ready.

I position myself at her entrance and thrust. She’s fucking heaven. Tight. Hot. With each surge, she rocks against me and bright specks of light dance across my vision. I cup her breasts, tweaking those aroused nipples, and she moans.

With one roaming hand, I find her clit, palming her, rubbing, thumbing to the time of my thrusts.

Our grunts and moans mix with the gurgling stream, rustling leaves and the chatter of birds, and I’m hit all over with a sense of flying, of freedom.

I’m so fucking close. I sit back on my legs, bringing her with me, so her back is to my front, and I rock into her, teeth on her neck, holding her to me, fingers digging into hips, as she arches and I lose my rhythm, spilling everything into her.

The back of her head lulls against my shoulder, and I rain kisses on her temple, the side of her face, and then when she turns her head, I give her a sloppy, awkward kiss and grin.

“That was fantastic.”

I’m still inside her, but I’m softening. And I don’t want to move. I want to hold her, just like this, indefinitely.

She caresses my jaw.

I nip at her thumb, and reluctantly help her up, grimacing as I slide out of her warmth.

“I’m glad you came clean.”

I walk to the edge of the towel, my back to her as I remove the condom and check it for tears, a habit I started before Sara.

I kneel, searching my backpack for something to dispose of the condom in. It wouldn’t be good for the environment to leave a used condom behind. Some animal might choke on it.

“I really like this spot. It’s fantastic.”

I look over my shoulder, and she’s splayed out on the towel, sunbathing.

“Yeah, it is.” An idea forms, and I spit it out without weighing consequences. “Any interest in heading to Asheville?”

“Didn’t they get hit hard by a hurricane?”

“They’re welcoming tourists back. I haven’t been in decades. I’d like to check it out. See what’s changed. Maybe for the night? Friday I have to leave for D.C.”

She rolls onto her side, and good god I thought she was gorgeous, but looking at the seductive sway of her breasts and the curving line from her abdomen over her hip and the slope of her thighs… “Come with me to D.C., too. If you want. We can leave from Asheville.”

Hope flickers in her eyes and I’m quick to add, “You live near D.C., right?”

“Maryland,” she says. “But close.”

“Why are you so tan?” I reach for my boxers and shorts.

“My grandmother is Hawaiian.”

“That explains it.” I breathe deeply, gathering my thoughts as I dress.

Am I jumping the gun? She knows you live on the West Coast.

“Dude, lighten up.” Miles’ voice rings loudly in my head.

Y eah, why the fuck am I second-guessing now?

A thread of an unsettling notion surfaces, but I can’t grasp the elusive thought. I locate my socks and shirt, searching my brain. What was it?

The satellite comment. She said she didn’t search your name online, yet she asked about satellites. Because you discussed finding this location. Right. That’s all it is.

“Is it time to go?”

Jesus, I need to take a photograph of her.

“We’ve got a five-mile hike back to the car. It’s getting hotter by the second.” A hunger pang throbs. “We can grab lunch. Then check out of the hotel.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling. She strides to her clothes, and yes, I watch her every step.

“We don’t have to go to Asheville.” The place we’re staying is highly rated. She might not want to leave. Might even have spa appointments scheduled. “We can play it by ear,” I offer.

“It’s past check out time now,” she says.

I mean, she’s right, but I don’t care about paying for an extra night. It’s only money. Can’t be buried with it.

“Whatever you want,” I say, because it is up to her. She may not join me in D.C., but until Friday, I’m staying with Sydney.

As I load the backpack and she rolls on her socks and hiking boots, I check my phone. I shouldn’t—vacation and all—but habits die hard.

Miles

Bids being placed for Forbes’ database. Let’s bid.

Me

Need to evaluate. Let’s discuss next week.

Daisy Jonas

CM

Call me. Hmm. What does Daisy need?

Me

TXT

Nana Libby

Does 1 still work?

Shit . I check the time.

Me

Y

The cell service isn’t horrible here, but it’s not San Francisco. And I’m not sure where Sydney and I will be at one. We’ll be finished with lunch. Possibly headed to Asheville? Might have to go old school, sans video.

Sydney’s legs are bent, tying her hiking boots. At that angle, with her cargo shorts scrunched low, her legs look fucking amazing.

Does it matter if she’s around when I speak to my grandmother? Probably not. What am I thinking? Sydney isn’t the issue. If Nana gets wind of Sydney, that’s when the issue will arise.

I grin, thinking about my visit with my grandmother this past weekend.

At eighty-eight, she’s a firecracker. But she’s slowing down.

Prefers to stay close to home and not travel so much.

Her house backs up to Dilworth Park, which allows her to get out and walk.

She’s an active member of a gardening club and actively supports the arts.

Last weekend she finally agreed to me hiring a home aide. Which reminds me…

I open my contacts, select message, and hold up my phone to my mouth to dictate a message.

Hi. This is Rhodes MacMillan. When we met on Monday, you said you would send over prospects. Status?

I skim Siri’s work and hit send. It’s Wednesday. Sometimes I wonder how people keep their businesses running.

“Everything okay?”

Sydney’s beside me, peering over my arm. I pick up my pack and unzip the front pocket.

“Yeah. Fine,” I grumble. “You ready?”

The phone vibrates in my hand. I flip it over and read: Evie Thompson.

Hmm.

Sydney’s eyeing me, probably wondering who Evie is and why she’s calling. Let her wonder. I’m not going down that path of explaining every female interaction. No way, no how.

I step away from Sydney and speak to the speaker, dictating the response, but in a low, private voice.

Can’t right now. What’s up?