Page 17

“Hey, we’re here,” Bishop said. “My fingertips are going to fall off if you don’t ease up.”

“Sorry.” Kensley’s own fingers ached from his tight grip, and he shook his hand out. “Hopefully, I won’t be such a basket case whenever we fly out of here.”

“I mean, I don’t mind the handholding, but I do need circulation.”

“Noted.” Kensley looked down at his loose, borrowed sweats. “Um, how warm is it going to be outside?”

Bishop’s easy smile melted briefly into a leer. “Warm enough you’ll want out of those as soon as possible. Come on, there should be a golf cart we can drive over to the house, and then we are on our own for the better part of two weeks. You can walk around the villa naked if you want.”

His cheeks heated. “Um, we’ll see about that. But there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Which is?”

“Nighttime skinny-dipping.”

Bishop made a soft, agreeable noise. “Oh, we are definitely doing that. But only in either the villa’s hot tub, or the lagoon. The regular ocean is too dangerous at night.”

Kensley nearly swooned. “The villa has a hot tub?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will probably be spending most of the next two weeks in there, because I have never been in one, and I have heard only amazing things about them. So yes, naked hot tub time for sure.”

“For sure. How about I give you a tour of the island, before we finalize our plans for the next two weeks? There might be other spots you want to spend time in besides the hot tub.”

“It’s your villa. I’m sure we’ll explore all the pertinent spots at some point or another. I want to see and do everything at least once.”

“That can be arranged.”

Kensley’s heart was beating double-time as he descended the steps, out of the cool interior of the plane and into heat and sunshine and a gentle, salty breeze.

The airstrip was a single paved track with a small garage-style building at one end.

A man was waiting next to an open-top Jeep, and he waved at them.

Bishop waved back. He collected their bags and stowed them in the front passenger seat of the Jeep.

“I’m Walsh,” the man said. He had a build similar to Bishop but was a few inches shorter.

He also had a gun strapped to his hip. “I’m island security, sirs.

If you have any questions, here is a radio.

” Walsh gave a two-way radio to Bishop. “Frequency two. I will be around, both here and in my quarters, but I’ll do my best to give you both privacy for the duration of your stay. ”

“Thank you, Walsh,” Bishop replied. “I’m Joseph Reynolds, and this is my husband Mark.”

The names on their passports.

Walsh opened the back door. Bishop helped Kensley up first, and then climbed in beside him.

Kensley took in every detail of the lush vegetation, the tall palm trees reaching toward the cerulean sky, the stretches of sandy ground, as Walsh drove down a narrow dirt track.

For a good quarter-mile, they were under a canopy of trees and plants, so thick it cut out much of the streaming sunlight.

And then it opened into what Kensley could only describe as a palace.

A sprawling, single-story home made of sandstone, with tall, arched windows, and details of painted Mediterranean tiles.

A fountain shot burbling water into the sky, and it wasn’t until Walsh parked near the fountain that Kensley noticed the tall iron fence surrounding the place, half hidden by foliage, and the heavy black gate that rolled closed. Keeping the world out.

Walsh carried their luggage through a huge open doorway and into a spacious entry of what Kensley guessed was white marble floors.

Air seemed to blow right off the ocean from straight ahead, where he spotted more open doors and windows, as well as a distant sliver of the ocean.

The furniture was as high-end and breezy as the house, everything shiny and clean, and Kensley was afraid to breathe, much less touch anything, lest he leave a smudge behind.

“Holy crap,” Kensley whispered.

Walsh placed their bags on a long, bamboo bench, and then pulled a card out of his pocket.

Handed it to Bishop. “The security code for the gate is on there, if you need to use the plane or the launch. Call ahead if you want to go off-island, though, so I can turn off the perimeter alarms and make sure we’ve got eyes at your destination.

The boss wants you kept safe, and he pays me well to do that. ”

“I appreciate it,” Bishop replied, pocketing the card. “I was told we had supplies for two weeks?”

“Yes, sir, you do. But if you’d like something special brought over, I can arrange that for a bit extra.”

Kensley had a feeling that meant an exchange of cash, of which he had zero. His payment as a priest was room, board, and clean clothes. No retirement nest egg, because they were expected to live and die at the abbey.

“The Wi-Fi information is on the card, too,” Walsh continued.

“Everything else in the house is pretty self-explanatory, but there is a stack of user manuals under the kitchen sink for reference. My quarters are four-hundred-yards south, far out of sight of the main house, but I’m close for emergencies. ”

“Thank you, Walsh.” Bishop shook his hand, and Kensley swore he saw them exchange something. A tip, maybe? “If we have questions, I’ve got the radio.”

“Good enough. Enjoy your stay, sirs.” He left quickly through the big, open doorway.

“This is a dream,” Kensley said, twirling around once with his arms outstretched. He was already overheated in his sweats, and he peeled the sweatshirt off. Dropped it onto their pile of belongings and toed off his shoes. Bare feet felt more appropriate in such a magnificent house.

Beyond curious, he began to explore like he had back at the cabin.

The kitchen was almost the same size as the living area, with an attached dining room.

All marble countertops and bright white appliances, and the fanciest coffee maker he’d ever seen outside of a catalog.

Everywhere he looked were tall windows with picturesque views of the ocean and wilderness, and it seemed a little strange for a safe house.

“Bulletproof glass,” Bishop said, coming up behind Kensley where he stood, gazing down a stone pathway that led to the beach.

A beach he couldn’t wait to explore. “And the fence you saw? It stretches down to the water on both sides, and then out for a good hundred yards. We’ve also got motion sensors and people watching the water.

I know it seems open and easy to get to, but we are safe here, I promise. ”

“I believe you.” He spun around, grinning. “Where’s the hot tub?”

Bishop laughed then clasped his hand. He led Kensley through the kitchen to a sliding door that opened onto a gorgeous patio made of terracotta pavers and decorated with reddish-tone wood furniture.

Teak? He wasn’t sure. Just past the seating area was an enclosed space surrounded by shrubs, a wrought-iron fence, and lots of unlit oil-burning torches. In the middle was the covered hot tub.

“I love this, it’s so secluded,” Kensley said.

“Yes, it is.” Bishop looped an arm around his waist. “Sometime very soon, we’re going to get in that hot tub naked. You’re going to sit on my cock, and I’m just gonna hold you there while we soak and you squirm.”

Arousal shot right to his core, and Kensley gasped. “Why wait?”

As if answering for him, Bishop’s stomach growled, and they both laughed.

“Because neither one of us has had a decent meal all day, and if I’m gonna fuck you the way I want, I’m gonna need fuel.

” He twisted around so he was facing Kensley, both hands on his waist, dark eyes laser-focused.

“Unless you’re still sore. I don’t want to hurt you. ”

His hardening dick and slicking hole made testing that difficult, but Kensley had spent the better part of today sitting down, and he felt fine.

Hadn’t noticed anything since departing the plane.

His own stomach rumbled for food, but Kensley could not stop the way his body reacted to this man.

He pulled Bishop’s hand off his waist and pushed it back, beneath the band of his sweats. Toward his crease.

Bishop’s nostrils flared. “Kens.”

“I can’t help it. Feel how wet you make me.” A thick digit pressed between his cheeks and slid right inside. Kensley groaned and pressed his forehead against Bishop’s sternum. “Yes. Feels so good.”

“Fuck.” Bishop claimed him with a harsh kiss, thrusting his tongue into Kensley’s mouth in time with his finger in Kensley’s ass.

The dual fucking lit him up from both ends, and Kensley melted against Bishop, taking everything he gave.

Giving anything Bishop wanted to take. The hand on his ass kept Kensley’s erection firmly against Bishop’s, and Kensley hung on, unsure where he ended and Bishop began.

He was being devoured alive, and he didn’t care.

And then Bishop wrenched free, leaving Kensley dazed and unsteady for only a split second, before rough hands spun him around and positioned Kensley with his hands on the hot tub cover.

Bishop yanked his sweatpants down but didn’t take them off.

They stayed put around Kensley’s ankles, trapping him in a delicious way, leaving him almost completely naked.

Kensley whined, because Bishop wasn’t touching him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

Hoping to see Bishop taking his pants off.

Instead, Bishop went to his knees behind Kensley.

Heat flushed Kensley’s face and neck, and old shame left him trembling all over.

Shame beaten into him when he was a teen, told over and over that an omega’s arousal—and especially the fluid that leaked from his anus—was wrong, unnatural, and that it only led to sin.

“What are you doing?” Kensley asked, voice wrecked with want and fear.