My Killer Vacation(30)

And now that there is obviously a real threat toward her, I can’t let it happen again.





Chapter 9





Taylor





* * *




Last night was a doozy.

In oh so many ways.

What happened with Myles…

Well, I’m not sure what happened with Myles.

I must be very extremely na?ve because when he carried me into the house, I thought we were going to make out. Roughhouse. Maybe, at the very most, do some heavy petting. I don’t blame women for having sex on the first date. Actually I think it’s a wonderful time saver, finding out up front if you’ve got a dud. In the past, I’ve needed several dates before I’m even comfortable being alone with the man, let alone allowing him to breach the inner sanctum.

It’s only happened a few times in my life. I’m a real tough sell.

Not for Myles, apparently. As soon as he put his hands on me, it was a race to the finish line. I couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t experience enough. Pulse hammering, mouth dry, legs trembling, panties sodden. I mean, who was what?

I like her.

Stepping out of the glass-enclosed shower stall, I dry off slowly while looking in the mirror, turning my head left and right to observe the faint whisker marks on my neck. A hot shiver passes through me, zapping straight down to my toes and leaving them tingling. I’m still keyed up. I never came down, not the entire night, despite the police arriving to take our statements and deal with a hyper-pissed-off Myles. As soon as he let me out of the bathroom last night, he stood behind me with crossed arms and a scowl while I talked to the police. And then he led me upstairs, deposited me unceremoniously in the bedroom…and never came back.

I take my bikini top off the peg and tie it on. The nylon chafes my sensitive nipples and I let out a bumpy exhale. My eyes drift shut automatically and scenes begin to play out in my mind, the way they’ve done all night. The way he looked at my breasts. Hungrily. His fist winding the back of my panties, tightening the lace between my legs until one little yank could have given me an orgasm. The smooth, heavy slide of him into my mouth and the way he towered over me, hips thrusting in crude grinds. Flexing his authority while being totally at my mercy. I’ve never felt so incredible. So bold.

I lean forward and brace my forearms on the bathroom vanity. I’m still slightly damp from the shower and I press my thighs together now. Hard. Watch my breath fog the mirror. I think of him behind me, hulking and irritable. He takes his shirt off and throws it on the floor, grips my hips and jerks them backward into his lap.

Good girl, he says. And I barely trap a moan. Why do I like that so much? I should hate it. I shouldn’t want to be put on my knees and have liberties taken with my mouth when this man has been such an unholy jerk toward me, but I’m so drawn to him, it hurts. The sting of his palm on my bottom woke me up, made me gasp for air, for mental purchase. I was painfully awake…and while I want more, I’m worried. I told him I wouldn’t let my strings attach themselves to him and I meant it.

I meant it.

But I didn’t expect how I would respond to him. So it’s probably for the best that he didn’t come back last night and finish what we started. It’s for the best if I take a step back.

There’s no law against fantasizing, though.

Permission makes me loose limbed. Makes my breathing pick up as I bend forward over the sink and press my mouth to the crook of my elbow, two fingers slowly delving between the shower-softened folds of my sex. A sound shudders out of me when I find my clit, teasing the edges. Surrounded as I am by steam from my shower, the bathroom is intimate. I’m alone. I’m allowed. To rake my teeth down the sensitive inner flesh of my arm and push down on my button of flesh, rubbing it more roughly than I normally would, trying to chase the high from last night, even though I know, I somehow know he’s the only one who can give it to me.

I can find a little relief, though. I can—

“Taylor!” My brother’s voice is muffled, coming from beyond the bathroom and bedroom. Out in the hallway. “Breakfast is on the table. I made waffles. Figured we could use that homemade boysenberry syrup we bought at the farmer’s market yesterday morning.”

My forehead hits the mirror. “Damn,” I whisper, sides heaving, no idea if I’m still slick from the shower or layered in sweat. I can’t believe I didn’t pack my vibrator. It just seemed like a weird thing to do when going on vacation with my brother. I’m way out of practice with manual masturbation. For all I know this will take all morning. They’ll send a search party and find me in here trying to convince my fingers to vibrate.

“Are you okay in there?” Jude calls.

“Yes,” I croak, clearing my throat, pushing off the sink. Jude walked through the front door last night while I was being questioned by the police and turned as white as swan feathers. The last thing I want to do is worry him more. “Be right down.”

I fan my flushed neck on the way into the bedroom, pulling on bathing suit bottoms and a loose pair of black cotton pants. One good thing came from my sleepless night, at least. In the interest of getting some distance from the bounty hunter and regaining control of this vacation, I booked a Groupon for a snorkeling lesson for today. All the way on the other side of the Cape.

Yes. Distance.