Page 38

Twenty-One

“P ozzy.”

“What?”

“We’re Pozzy. That’s our ship name. I’m having T-shirts made.”

Ozzy sets his phone in my hand. In the ten minutes it’s taken me to cover the distance from the swimsuit boutique to our van (and our video sex has put some pep in my step), he’s put himself back together and…

“You’re surfing the internet?”

Mortification is a bright, hot beacon inside me. I came, he came, and promises were made for more hot sexing, or so I thought. One or both of us needs to look up the definition of rematch . My vag has barely begun to come down from her high, but he’s moved on.

I scan the screen, feeling raw as I read. I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s not Ozzy’s eagerness to show me a set of bookmarks in his browser. Playing the dressing room game with him was stupid.

Ozzy frowns, his fingers curling around my wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I scroll and hope he didn’t record me. I don’t think he’s that kind of asshole, though. Maybe.

His thumb rubs over my pulse point. “No, look! People love our fake travel dating. They’ve given us a cute couple name.”

Pozzy.

I’ve never been celebrity adjacent before, so I can’t say if this happens to all the women he bangs or just the ones he’s obvious about. Even knowing better than to read crap about myself on the internet, I do. And he’s right. There’s all this weird Pozzy fan fiction, which is…

“People write about us having sex?”

He nods. “It’s inspirational. In this one I’ve got to go to an awards banquet and convince you to come along as my fake ride or die, and then we get into it in the elevator.”

I skim-read. Fake Ozzy is super, super creative. “And on the hood of your Lamborghini, which you’ve stupidly risked in the parking garage, in the hotel’s rooftop pool, and—”

“While I’m giving my acceptance speech.” He nods proudly. “My ability to multitask is unparalleled.”

“And here’s sex on the beach. More sex on the beach.” I scroll down. “Wow. We defile a lot of sand.”

“Apparently I tutor you in sex before you go out on a big date with some other girl.” I look up. “Please be aware that real-life me is nowhere near that unselfish. Any sex tutoring will be strictly selfish and me-centric.”

“Tell me exactly how to pleasure you.”

He looks adorably earnest. Who am I to discourage a man from asking for directions?

Since I have some idea about what he could do for me, it’s necessary to do something about the gating factor. We’re parked in an ocean-side campground surrounded by tent sites and RVs. I’ve heard people getting their freak on, and I’d rather not add to their number.

I snatch the keys off the table and hold them up. “Let’s move Berta.”

“C’mere.” He pats the bed beside him.

He’s not so great with directions after all. Plus, if I go near him, I’ll jump him, so I stay put. I don’t want to have to be mindful of my volume control when we have sex.

“Privacy would be awesome. Consider it foreplay.” I can give him road head or just pet his trouser snake.

He jackknifes off the bed. “Your wish is my command.”

We race to the driver’s seat. It’s our thing. I have no intention of winning, but I let him think I do. We tussle playfully, and then he picks me up in a bridal carry and strides around Berta to deposit me in the passenger’s seat. It’s a win-win situation.

It also means we’re both breathing hard by the time we’re on the road.

Flirting is great cardio. It’s also motivational, because Ozzy gets us out of the campground and onto the road in record time.

He keeps sneaking sideways peeks at me, so I make sure to do some hopefully sexy lounging in my seat.

I put my legs up on the dashboard and run my hands up my thighs. I arch my back.

I could swear he’s distracted, which I take as a good sign. Hopefully, he remembers the area enough to pick a safe spot. Baja can be dicey, and no amount of privacy is worth dying for.

I think it’s going well, but I’m not sure.

Sticking to hookup sex means that I don’t get much feedback.

There are requests and the occasional comment, but if my date’s disappointed, I don’t have to hear about it.

I can’t say I’m a sex expert, either. I think about this nervously as Ozzy veers off the road, down a dirt track, and barrels right up to the edge of a huge sand dune.

As the tires sink into the soft sand, I hope he’s going to be able to get us out later.

I hope I’m not making a mistake. I’ve got sweat dampening my underboob area and some seriously slick palms. It’s gross, so I wipe my hands on my butt as I get out.

I’m a competitive bitch, so of course I want to be Ozzy’s best sex ever.

Maybe he doesn’t mind that I’m not a Marilyn Monroe kind of gal.

I’m not curvy or chic. I spend more time on coding than personal grooming, and no matter how much I like sex, I’ll always be an engineer who knows more about physics and differential calculus than G-spots and orgasms. It doesn’t help my confidence levels that my previous experiences fall more along the lines of fast food than Michelin-starred cuisine.

I’ll just have to fake it until I make it. It’s certainly worked for me so far.

Ozzy is around the van before I can move my ass fast enough to meet him on the other side. He’s quick for someone so big.

“Hey you.” He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me into a hug instead of going straight for my panties. It’s strangely nice. He presses his other hand against the small of my back. That hand slips up underneath my tank top and strokes.

“What’s your plan?” I tilt my head back so I can see his face clearly. I should make sure we’re on the same page of the sexy book here. Plus, you know, directions .

“I was hoping for some quality alone time with you.” He does that thing where he presses his forehead against mine and somehow manages to look down at me without going all cross-eyed. It’s a gift he’s got.

“I’m on board with that plan. Where would you like to start?”

I take a quick inventory of our surroundings just in case he’s thinking outdoor sex tops his fantasy to-do list for today.

We don’t seem to have company, but the beach is only about fifteen feet below us and the van is kind of out in the open.

Getting arrested in Mexico for public indecency will not help my career any.

“We could take this inside?”

“Okay.”

He opens the sliding door but doesn’t immediately toss me inside on the bed or bend me over the table.

Honestly, that last might be difficult because he can’t quite stand up inside.

Vans only have so much headroom and he’s tall.

Instead, he turns us both around so that we can admire the ocean.

Which is, objectively speaking, a pretty great sight, but it’s also not why we’re here.

“I feel like we might not be speaking the same language here,” I tell him.

“Maybe I’d like to take my time with you,” he suggests.

“I can work with that.” I sound breathless.

He presses his mouth against my throat and the rest of him against my back.

As though this is what he’s been waiting for all day and now he’s soaking me up, running his hands down my sides, nuzzling my ear.

It feels so good, and then his hands settle on my hips and tug me closer still, and my brain goes offline.

I’m all the feelings, possibly due to the electric current running between his mouth and my nerve endings.

Ozzy is nothing like the guys I’ve hooked up with before.

He’s hotter, for one, but he’s also much more aware.

He’s here for both of us, not just to get his dick off.

From my ill-advised Google searching, it seems like he’s had really creative sex with some super gorgeous women.

I’m the opposite of that, and yet I want to be his partner in every way.

As an engineer, I’m wired to hate failure—and to iterate until I get it right.

I mourn when he lets go of my hip, but then he fists my hair with his hand and tilts my head so he can kiss my throat some more. His teeth mark me.

“Can we go inside now?” I don’t know what the script is, but I do know that I need to have him alone. I don’t want to share him with the world.

“Sure, Panda.” His mouth moves closer to mine. I grind back against him. “We can do whatever you want.”

I make a noise of agreement— super —just in case that was a question. That sounds like a great plan. Let’s go inside. Please be naked with me. I’m going to come so fast.

“You’re so beautiful.” His hands dance over my body. He’s lifting me, cradling me in his arms with his beautiful biceps, his inked-up forearms effortlessly handling the problem of getting us inside. I’m happy to let him do all the work.

He’s a rock star at heavy lifting. His long legs devour the distance to the bed in two steps. There’s a brief moment where I think his head may connect ever so slightly with the van’s ceiling, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He sets me down on the bed.

“Don’t go anywhere, beautiful.”

He slides the door shut and pops the top, so we don’t roast. Seeing as how he’s busy, I helpfully reach over and pull the curtains shut.

We need to get a hotel room next time. I throw myself backward, laughing.

God, sex in a van is work. His eyes crinkle up at the corner, and he comes down over me, caging me between his arms. There is inked skin on either side of me.

This is a thousand times better than any ocean view.

I turn my head and lick a line up his forearm.

It’s silly, but I want to taste him. I want to get inside his head and learn him from the inside out.

He pushes his big hand up under my tank top. He wraps his fingers around my ribs, cupping my boob and teasing my nipple with his thumb. He’s…

Kissing me. His mouth covers mine, and he’s not holding back. And—

So good.

He groans. “I’ve been imagining this. Ever since I kissed you under that pier, I’ve thought about doing it again. I thought I’d lost my shot at you. You were so sure you hated me. You looked pretty certain about that, but…”

“And then you let me think you didn’t remember me!” I bite his ear in retaliation, and he grunts.

He moves. He’s lifting me up, stripping off my clothes. His hands are angling me, bending me here. Opening me there. It’s… Yes—

“I don’t want to blow my second chance,” he whispers gruffly. “So tell me if this isn’t okay?”

“Yeah.”

One word and he’s on me everywhere. Somehow, he’s stripped himself down, too, and now we’re naked together. His body is still fuck-hot, all chiseled and cut like a Greek statue with his XXL-sized dick out and proud. He’s my dearest enemy. Someone I love to hate. Someone I—

“Is this okay?” He’s between my legs and he’s utterly, completely in control.

This letting someone else take charge—that’s not my jam.

This isn’t how I have sex. We should negotiate.

Take turns. I’ll do this and then you’ll do that, and I go down on you and then…

He’s not asking me to do anything other than be here, and my fingers are curling into his shoulders and my legs wrapping around his hips. I want to let him all the way inside.

“Pandora.” His fingers skim my stomach. “I need you to tell me that this is okay.”

“Uh-huh,” I manage.

“I can touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank fuck.” His hand moves down, sliding over me.

The other one is squeezing my butt. We kiss and grind on each other, my hands twisting in his hair before going lower.

He’s got his dick lined up perfectly with my southern regions now and is applying the best kind of friction.

I am deeply grateful for his washboard abs as he flexes, twists, and moves over me.

I press my lips against his ink. Grip his hair when he goes to move down me.

I’m not in the mood for an appetizer when I know what the main course is.

“You…in me.” Please.

Ozzy rolls a condom on and kisses me. His lips are soft and careful. He pushes slowly inside, and he might be trying to kill me, because he refuses to rush. He just goes and goes and goes until I’m whimpering and moaning.

“You—” he shifts forward, and now he’s seating himself all the way “—are the best.”

I’d like to preen but I’m too full of him and, God, he makes me feel the best.

He braces himself on one arm, watching my face. “Eyes on me.”

“Okay.”

“Pandora.” The way he says my name is everything.

I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on.

I’m not sure what could make this better, but he’s taking charge now, moving harder, faster.

He’s an athlete and he’s got stamina, sure, but he’s also listening.

When my breath catches as he finds the angle I love best. When it comes quicker, when I make a small sound in the back of my throat, when my fingers clutch at him and, fuck breathing, because I’m chasing the sensations.

He remembers it all. I’m on fire, my body going supernova as I come.

He mutters a rough curse, his lashes drifting down. He buries his face against my throat, and then he’s pounding into me, pumping hard as he finds his happy ending. We’re a panting, breathless mess.

I run my hands down his back. I’ve left marks there, red lines from my nails, my own brand of ink. We sound like we’ve just paddled to shore while being chased by a monster wave or a hungry shark. We’re wiped. It’s been amazing and I want to do it again. Now.

I like him… I love this.

“I want to like you so hard,” I tell his chest. I’m drifting off. There are weights attached to my eyelids, and I’m not interested in resisting.

I think he says, “Me, too, Panda,” but I’m already asleep.