Page 90 of Most Eligible
Eyes wide, I look from him to the cottage and back again.
“So…”—I turn around, squinting at the other cottages we passed—“are he and Addison…”
“Probably,” he says, craning his neck to look around the bushes at the neighboring cottage whose windows are conspicuously dark. “But it’s okay. There’s no cameras in the overnight suites. I think that would be illegal.”
I can’t argue with his logic. The little house is set back from the water, hidden behind so many cypress trees that I doubt anyone could see us unless they were pressed against the windows. To the right of the door is a wooden outdoor shower, nestled among the trees.
“I think we should wash off the sand first.” His voice strips me of my remaining hesitation, and he kisses me, guides me backward until my spine meets the wood paneling of the shower. Mouth still glued to mine, he reaches down and peels off my loose pants, tossing them aside. He lifts his lips only to pull off his own shirt, shimmy out of his jeans, and turn on the showerhead. I look at him, his green eyes almost eclipsed by the midnight darkness, the water spray making an aura around his head.
Above us: open black sky.
I press myself into him, our skin sticking together as I kiss his neck, running my tongue along his collarbone.
“Georgia.” His breaths are coming in rasps, his hands harder on my body. He drags his fingers under my soaked tank top, biting his lip when his fingers reach the bare swell of my breasts. “The fact that you never wear a bra…” His voice is ragged. Herolls his thumb over my nipple, and I breathe in sharply. “I think it might ruin me.”
I grin against his lips as water slides between us, from his mouth into mine. He grabs the hem of my shirt and wrenches it over my head, runs his lips down my neck to my chest, then takes my nipple between his teeth.
I drop my hands between us and tease his waistband until he groans and brings his mouth back up to mine. His hands fall to the hem of my underwear. He hooks a finger into the top and slides them down a few inches as I cling to his back.
With a throat-ripping groan, he kneels in front of me and presses his mouth to my hip, running his tongue along the bone, teeth grazing over my tattoo. He looks up at me through the dark spray of water and slides my underwear down my legs until it puddles to the ground, then reaches over to turn off the shower. Steady steam rises from our burning skin as he shakes his hair out, sending droplets flying.
Sitting back on his heels, he runs a hand through his hair and looks up at me before leaning forward to bracket my hips with his hands.
“Is this okay?” he asks, lips mere inches from the pulsing point between my legs. His voice is a growl, a challenge, a plea. “Or do you want to lie down for this?”
I don’t answer right away, so he stands and lifts me onto his hips. I wrap my legs around him and let him carry me to a lounge chair on the small deck of the cottage. He lays me on my back, then leans over me, nudging my legs apart with his hand. He kneels on the chair below me, silhouetted against the distant ocean.
My stomach tugs as he lowers himself between my knees. He hooks my leg around his arm and slings it over his shoulder. With a last smile, he nestles his face in the gap between my thighs and presses his tongue against me.
“Ohmagar—” I slur, then clap a hand over my mouth.
He laughs, and I feel it all the way to my core as his tongue moves in slick circles.
It takes everything in me not to shatter under his touch. He presses a hand to my stomach to keep me from wriggling, then lifts his mouth to look up at me. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers.
He nips a kiss on my thigh, then moves back down, his mouth hot and heavy. I grip his shoulder as white-hot sensation builds inside me. My hands tangle in his hair as his tongue moves faster, deeper, his fingers pressing harder into my thighs.
“Please—” I beg, gasping for breath. I tear my eyes from the ocean and look down at him, the sheen of sweat on his forehead visible through the darkness. “Can you—can you look at me?” It comes out as a plea. “I want to see you.” Ineedto see him, to watch him taste me, savor me—to assure myself that this is real. “I want you to see me,” I whisper.
He raises his eyes to mine and holds them as he nestles deeper into me. “Georgia,” he breathes. The way he says my name is orgasmic, the quick bite before the sweet, dripping release. “I always see you.”
His words push me over the edge, and I hold his gaze as heat rips through me. My toes curl, my back arches, and I let out an unsteady groan, wrapping my fingers around his wrist to stay tethered to earth—to him. I need his gravity now that it seems I’m flying.
When I go still, he smiles and presses his lips to the tattoo on my hip. As he climbs over me, burying his face in my neck, I shiver from a breeze I hadn’t noticed before. “Come on,” he says, rubbing my arms. “Let’s go inside.”
I retrieve our discarded clothes from the shower stall as he opens the door to the cottage. He steps in ahead of me, looking for a light switch.
Crash.
Rhett jumps back. “Who—”
“I’m sorry!” cries a familiar voice.
Clutching my arms around myself, I scurry forward to where Rhett stands in front of—what thehell?—Olie.
“I’m just… I’m gutted, honestly. I thought Cassidy and I had something really special and… well, we didn’t. So all that—all of it was for nothing. Shit, is this thing on?”
—Rhett Auburn, season 18 lead ofLove Shack, toTMZ, one year ago
