Day Two of Honeymoon activities.
Nadia made me promise I would plan actual activities. She made me look her in the eye and swear that I wouldn’t just fuck Lily every day we were here. According to her, I have ten years of romancing and grand gestures to make up for. Which apparently means slow dinners, long walks on the beach, couple’s massages—basically anything except taking my girl apart on every surface we can find.
Idiotic. But when Nadia stares at you like that, you don’t argue. It was non-negotiable.
So, I agreed. I would be a gentleman.
Which, in theory, sounded fine.
In practice?
It’s torture.
Because Lily is here.
In Panama.
In sundresses and tiny shorts that barely qualify as clothing, in tops so small I can see the soft glow of sun on her shoulders. Looking at me with that soft, unguarded expression that tears me apart and puts me back together in the same breath. And all I can do is hold myself back, bite my tongue, lock my hands at my sides—because I promised my brother and sister I would “romance” her.
And then my girl—sweet, cruel Lily—handed me a copy ofTwilightlike it was a test.
Where Edward is so much of a gentleman I swear he forgets he has a dick.
No offense, but from what I hear about Jacob? He’s more my type of man. At least the wolf had the sense to get angry. To fight for what he wanted. To bare his teeth instead of sulking in the shadows over what he couldn’t have.
Meanwhile, Nadia and Nikolai have me cut off at the balls.
Nik actually told me toput my teeth away,at least until the ink on the marriage certificate dried.
And it is exhausting—exhausting—to hide my instincts from Lily.
Every instinct in me wants to rip those little bikinis off her, tie her to my bed, and keep her there until she’s shaking, screaming, and dripping with me. I want her leaking my cum out of that perfect little pussy—pink and soft and sweet, tasting like fucking peaches every time I’ve had her on my tongue.
I want her.
Ineedher.
Every breath, every nerve in me is wired to take her, to claim her, to put her exactly where she belongs: on my cock, or my tongue, or my lap, always by my side, never anywhere I can’t reach her.
And instead?
After a day of scuba diving and walking hand in hand over the canal, we are here.
On the beach.
At a fucking salsa class.
Lily is in a red dress that’s killing me—ruffled, with a low V-neck that frames the perfect curve of her breasts, hinting at just enough to make me insane, and to my dismay is fucking backless as well. The fabric skims over her thighs like sin itself, and those strappy black heels she slipped on make her legs look endless.
She smells like cocoa butter and roses, like summer and sex, and I’m supposed to keep her fully clothed?
I’m supposed to keep my cock out of her when she’s pressed up against me, swaying against my body to the beat of this damned salsa?
Her hips roll. Her hand fits into mine. Her other hand rests lightly on my shoulder, and all I can think about is bending her over the nearest railing until she forgets how to stand.
The instructor claps his hands sharply, striding toward us to adjust my posture again. “Closer, closer,” he says in accented English, pushing at my arm so that my hand settles even lower on Lily’s back, pulling her tighter against me.
Lily tilts her head back and laughs, bright and breathless, and the sound is gasoline on fire. Her chest brushes against mine with every beat.
