She sees how serious I am and drops her arms. “Sorry to break it to you, but this is what I packed. I was planning for a honeymoon, remember?”
I can tell when she pulls her eyes away and frowns at the wall that she’s thinking about something. Or someone.
“Look.” Basil clears her throat. “The floor’s right there if you change your mind.” Two pillows land at my feet, and she crawls into the bed. “Or…just keep your hands and lips away. And you’ll be fine.” The lamp clicks off.
Surrounded by darkness, I pause to think. Maybe the floor is a better option. The rug is softer than one would expect. My back aches at the thought of sleeping on another hard surface. I can do a pillow wall, can’t I? Kaydence once told me, “You're as great of an emotional wall builder as you are a private investigator.” Surviving a half dozen pillows is nothing. Sleeping in the same bed as my target, who I find a little attractive…okay, more than a little…isn’t ideal, but everything will be fine. No rules have been broken.You can handle a pillow wall, Caroline.The words circle my mind again and again.
After letting out an exhale in defeat, I yank the pillows from the floor, add the fluffy rectangles back to the pillow wall, then carefully slide underneath the sheets.
Satisfied, I sigh, melting further into the mattress, and close my eyes.
“Good job today.”
“Thank you for pointing out the whistle was taped to the instructions.” And by nearly giving me a heart attack in the process. She proved her point, I suppose.
“Believe me, I know what it’s like to get screwed over by someone you were supposed to build something with.” Basil rustles into position and yawns. “With your resilience, you might be cut out to be a Jones after all.”
“Are you kindly pointing out my stubbornness?”
“Same difference.”
Silence.
“You adapt while being persistent. That’s resilience, and I appreciate you for it.”
I can’t help my smile. An herb joke for good measure. “Thanks for the encourage-mint.” I mimic her laughter. “Good night, Basil.”
She chuckles, voice thick with sleep. “Night.”
CHAPTER 12
BASIL
I tossand turn from my stomach to my side, then from my side back to my stomach. The pillow-between-the-legs trick hasn’t worked, and neither have the sleep mask and ear plugs from the airline. Just when I feel myself drifting, sleep about to take hold, the front door clicks shut, meaning it has to be approximately six-thirty in the morning. Caroline is gone, exercising for an hour or so. At least someone has been getting decent rest.
“Fuck it,” I grumble and snap my eyes open, welcoming the all-too-familiar burnt-orange hues of the sunrise peeking through the sheer curtains. I rise from the bed, put on the T-shirt Caroline handed me last night, grab my romance novel, and step toward the deck. Watching the sunrise at least one time made its way on my to-do list, and I’ll check that box, even if that means with my new book girlfriend and not Olivia.
The morning air’s humidity is mild. Warm and comfortable, but I can sense that won't last for long. With a towel down, I lower onto the lounge chair, and within minutes of reading, a heat wave courses through my body. The same heat has often traveled between my thighs when I’m indulging in the world I crave, though I’ve suppressed my desire for exploration for Olivia’s sake. When it happened, our sex was pleasurable, predictable, safe, much like the rest of my life until late—but oftentimes, I have found myself craving more.
Back on the plane, I recall clamping my book shut, unable to continue, as if the entire metal tube holding over two hundred people could read each salacious word that I was reading. Not only do the many delicious ways my book girlfriend serves sexual torment get me hot all over, we share similar struggles—misunderstood, newly single, and desperately avoiding the inevitable walk across the plank bridge from Broken Heart Boulevard.
The sleepy fog that meddles with my mind melts, deepening the sensual fantasy. A soft, midnight-colored rope binds the other woman’s arms and legs to the bed posts. I welcome each enticing touch as if they are painting my own skin, my limbs at my book girlfriend’s mercy. Fingers hover dangerously close, down my forearms, as whispered words reach my ears. A soft, yet commanding voice taunts me. “I can't wait to taste you…but you’re going to have to wait.”
The tip of a woman’s tongue brushes along the most delicate spots of my neck, down the valley of my breasts before gently tugging on my right nipple. There is only so much teasing a person can stand before begging for release—something I haven’t experienced in far too long.
No longer able to ignore the increasing pulsing sensation between my legs, I cautiously look around to verify I am alone on a private deck. I slip my free hand underneath the oversized T-shirt, then between the layer of black lace panties and my hot skin. I consider the safety of the shower, then remember the island has everything except a damn removable shower head. Besides that, a different type of sexual confidence stirs within me, along with a desire to create new memories. Ones that thoughts of Olivia won’t ruin.
Still somewhat hesitant, my fingers linger along my panty line, but as soon as my fictional girlfriend drifts south, so do my fingers. There is not enough alone time to bring myself to the edge, to yank back, then repeat like a powerful release requires. I want to come fast, feel invigorated and relieve some tension.
The tongue returns, only teasing my outer lips for a moment, before delving through my wetness and changing rhythm. In response, I stroke V-shaped fingers down, then up, hugging my swollen clit. A tiny moan exits my slightly gaped mouth from the satisfying touch.
My nipples harden, poking firmly against the fabric of my shirt. The imaginary arm reaches up, and not-so-gentle fingers knead one of my bare breasts as flicks of the tongue increase, lapping with urgency. I match with strokes fueled with purpose. Sounds of breaking waves take a back seat to my breathing, which grows tattered as I please myself. Remaining hyperfocused on my route to orgasm, I let go, surrendering to the mouth devouring me.
The book drops to the side. I clamp my eyes shut, dip my head back, and, using two fingers, rub in quick, tight circles. Breathy moans escape while fire blazes inside me from the soft lips sucking me, the deliberate pinching on my rock-solid nipple making my hips buck, legs contracting and testing the restraints. I gasp, taking in scents of salt from the ocean as air enters my nose, ripples of my orgasm transforming into crushing waves.
Lost in the fantasy, I meet the carnivorous dark eyes of the woman bringing me to bliss. When I do, Caroline’s face appears. I love this view as her tongue fucks me, penetrating gaze intense on mine. I miss her touch, how in tune she was with my body. Denying them or a release is no longer an option, and sleeping next to one another isn’t enough. I’m craving for her to touch me and would gladly return the favor. In the safety of my mind, the memories of Caroline King’s glorious tongue bring me closer to the edge, and with one final stroke, a deep moan escapes my throat, and I cry out.
CHAPTER 13
