I squeal as he spins me around, my naked breasts bouncing with each dramatic step.
“It sounds like this gorgeous Latina.”
“That’s better.”
He shoots me a devilish smirk. “A gorgeous Latina’s hot little cunt.”
“Reece!” Before I can process the shock of his words, he flips me back onto the mattress and rips off my panties.
He stands at the bed’s edge, soaking in my naked body with a happy sigh. Then he leans in, slowly kissing up my legs, starting at my ankles. “I’m looking for injuries,” he explains with faux seriousness between kisses. “This is a very thorough inspection.”
I squeal in delight as his lips skim my lower thigh, then keep moving—slow and deliberate.
When his mouth finally reaches the apex of my thighs, he pauses, hovering mere inches from where I’m embarrassingly wet for him. His lips graze my pussy, and he blows a breath of hot air directly on my most sensitive spot.
“Is rest time over?”
My mind screams,Hell no—give me a break, you insatiable maniac!while my body has an entirely different opinion on the matter. Three days of near-constant sex should have me begging for mercy, but one wink from him and I’m ready to go another three rounds.
He blows on me again, this time following it with a gentle, teasing lick from side to side on my clit. The sensation sets me on fire.
My hips lift involuntarily, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of his sinfully talented mouth. Right as he’s about to deliver, theMission Impossiblesoundtrack blares from the forgotten laptop, the dramatic music an absurdly fitting theme to what’s happening between my legs.
“Show me what you got,” I challenge, threading my fingers through his hair. “Let’s see if your tongue is as fast as Tom Cruise.”
The wicked gleam behind those eyes tells me I’m about to regret challenging him. But as his mouth descends and my hands pull him where I need him, I think,Some regrets are absolutely worth having.
***
Forthesakeofmy poor, exhausted vajayjay, we finally made our escape from the room.
I’d forgotten what the outside world was like—three days deep in our little sex paradise. The sun feels incredible against my skin, like it’s getting reacquainted with an old friend. I stretch my legs out on the plush, oversized lounger and tip my face toward the warmth.
“Can I get you anything else?” The pool waiter with hisKai’s Best Friendnametag hovers near our private cabana, his expression so eager to please that I half expect him to start tap dancing.
“I’m good,” Reece says. “You want anything, baby?”
My heart skips three beats.He called me baby again. He says that one simple word and I turn into a swooning teenager. It shouldn’t make me melt, especially after seventy-two hours of sin and succulence, but here we are.
“Maybe some more pineapple?” I ask, eyeing the substantial spread of food around us.
The waiter nods enthusiastically. “Of course! I’ll return in a bit.”
Reece shifts closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You know, if you want something sweet to suck on, I’ve got—”
“This is a sex-free zone,” I interrupt, pointing a warning finger at him.
“We’ll see.” He smirks, andGod, I love that look.It’s my favorite out of all the new smiles he’s given me over the last few days—slightly wicked, entirely confident, with a hint of boyish mischief that makes my insides flutter.
We’re lounging poolside in our own private cabana that’s so luxurious, it makes me wonder if actual royalty vacation here. The structure is massive—white billowing curtains flutter in the warm breeze, currently tied back to showcase the stunning infinity pool view.
The double chaise lounge chair we’re sprawled on could easily fit four people, covered in the plushest cushions my tushy has ever felt. It’s like we’re relaxing on a cloud. White gossamer fabric hangs from the ceiling, along with tiny twinkling lights that must transform this space into a fairy tale at night.
The infinity pool stretches out before us, its crystal blue water blending with the ocean horizon. Palm trees sway gently against a sky so perfectly blue, I’d swear it was created by AI. It’s the kind of day that makes you believe in paradise—warm but not sticky, with an ideal breeze that’s just right.
Around us there’s enough food to feed an entire film crew. Fresh fruit platters overflowing with pineapple, mango, and passion fruit. A tower of coconut shrimp.Some kind of poke bowl.Two different kinds of sliders. Truffle fries that smell so good I cried when they arrived. Half-empty glasses of tropical drinks with names such as Passion’s Promise and Tropical Ecstasy are scattered across the teak side tables.
My stomach growls so loudly Reece can hear it, but I don’t even have the decency to be embarrassed. Since emerging from our room, we’ve been ravenous—like our bodies remembered orgasms are not actual sustenance. Though the man did eat me out a few hours ago, so technically he’s had a head start on breakfast.
