Manacled in Monaco (9 page)

Terry waded out to the boat, accepted their baggage, a large cardboard box, and returned to the shore.

Rolan shed his T-shirt. Sarita took off her long cover-up and jumped into the Mediterranean.

“Sarita.”

She heard his shout, but kept swimming. When her feet touched soft sand, she stood and strolled over to Terry, Austen, Harrison, Suresh, and Tony. Crowded around a wide opening in the sand, the group was digging the hole deeper.

Wedging in between Austen and Harrison, Sarita squatted.

She heard Rolan’s heavy tread and glanced up to see him stomping toward them.

Sighing, Sarita dusted off her hands and stood. “Where’d you put the box, Terry?

“By the rocks up there.”

Sarita headed in the direction he pointed.

Rolan caught her elbow with a cupped hand halfway to the boulder.

Halting, she took a deep inhale, cut to his face, and squared her shoulders. “It’s a swimming suit, a decent one. There’s no need for you to look like that.”

“Humor me and put this on.” He thrust the long cover-up into her hand. “I know it’s a decent suit, but damn it, I don’t want anyone else to see you in it.”

Shrugging her head and arms through the cotton, she muttered, “How on earth can you be upset with a one-piece?”

“Damn if I know. Never used to bother me before, but it definitely does now.”

“I knew you’d react like this after that red dress.”

The sun dipped and their shadows lengthened on the sand, Sarita welcomed the relief from the heat that Rolan’s provided.

“Sue me, I’m possessive.”

Capturing the locks of hair whipping across her lips in one hand, she said, “You don’t own me, Rolan Paxton. And you cannot tell me what I can or cannot wear.”

“Would you like it I went to one of those nude beaches, undressed appropriately?” The tight line of his mouth didn’t soften.

A whiff of starter fluid reached her nostrils as she tugged the long T-shirt down.

“Of course I wouldn’t like it.” She had to get this possessiveness under control. “Do I flaunt myself?”

He sighed and shook his head.

“You’re a stud, Rolan, and you’re famous. I will have to deal with women throwing themselves at you constantly. If you take off your shirt on the field, groupies flock to you. I’ve decided once you don’t return their adoring looks or play to their attention, I’ll be okay.” She pointed to the group now standing and watching a sliver of smoke curl up to the clouds. “Those men are your friends. They’d never make a move on me.”

“Suresh isn’t a friend. And Harry’s a slut.” His gaze hadn’t left her. “Men are different. Any sane man is going to look and want.”

“But,” she said and laid her palm on his heated chest, “I’m a one-man woman, Rolan. I’m not the straying kind.”

He drew her into a snug embrace.

“Ah, Sarita honey. I’ll try. Okay? I’ll do my best.” He stroked her spine, inched back, and caught the hem of her shirt.

She stayed his hand. “I’m actually more comfortable with it on.”

“Thank God. It would have been sheer torture.”

Laughter erupted out of her lips at his expression and she cupped a hand to her mouth. When the giggle fit subsided, she smiled. “I was headed over to our stuff to get another T-shirt.”

“Suresh is right. You’re one terrific woman.” He entwined their fingers and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Okay, woman, let’s make this the best Phagwa you’ve ever had.”

She knew it would be.

Forty-five minutes after the wooden fire had turned to ashes, Austen composed the clambake. Three layers, rocks, driftwood, and a wire mesh formed the base in that order. He then alternated seaweed between layers of food. Potatoes and onions, followed by the split Cornish hens Sarita had seasoned earlier. Corn, silk removed, husks dampened, followed whole lobsters. Austen topped everything with a final layer of seaweed. Harry and Terry covered the hole with a tarp. Tony hefted large rocks into each of the four corners. By then, darkness ruled the tiny cove.

While the men built the bonfire, Sarita readied the Phagwa essentials. She filled dozens of squeeze bottles with colored water. A machine-gun burst of crackling reached her ears and she shot a dart over one shoulder.

Flames from a crater-sized bonfire licked four feet into the air. Her gaze met Tony’s. He sprinted to her side sending fine sand grains into a wide arc.

“Everything ready?”

“Yes. You carry the bottles, I’ll take the thandai.”

Rolan relieved her of the milk-based drink when she reached the fire.

“Food’s ready,” Austen called out.

Lobster had never tasted so wonderful. Everyone loved the Thandai, and Sarita listed the ingredients for them: almonds, milk, poppy seeds, cardamom, watermelon seeds, anise, and sugar. Stomachs full, they sat around the fire chatting.

Sarita slipped a CD into a portable player.

Clashing cymbals and drums rented the peaceful swish of lapping waves.

Tony launched a surprise attack as soon as the Phagwa CD began to play.

Her son’s hooting and hollering rose above the drums as he sprayed his father from head to toe from two squeeze bottles.

Wearing a janitor’s belt with several bottles, Suresh joined Tony in his assault.

Rolan curved his forearms over his face and curled into a ball.

“I’m gonna get you both for this,” he yelled.

Sarita couldn’t help it she burst into laughter. Red liquid dripped from Rolan’s face onto his yellow chest creating orange streaks. Horizontal blue splashes colored most of his left arm, while mottled splotches covered the right. White trunks, once pristine, resembled a crazy kaleidoscope pattern. As for his legs, beach sand clung to the sparse flesh the dyes hadn’t stained.

Behind Rolan, Tony, and Suresh, Harry, Austen, and Terry battled.

“Now, Mom,” Tony shouted.

Sarita took off in the opposite direction.

Tony tackled her to the sand.

Rolan ran to her rescue.

Sporting a giant-sized gun, he aimed at his son. A staccato burst of red dye raked Tony head to toe.

Her son rolled off her back and Rolan soaked her T-shirt.

“No fair, Dad’s using a paintball gun.” Tony hopped up and down.

The melee escalated until their PP supply ran out.

An hour later, order restored, Rolan and Sarita sat side by side at the water’s edge. The rising moon cast a long silver reflection on the Mediterranean’s rocking surface. Strong ocean breezes had washed away the clambake’s aromas.

“That was fun,” Rolan said.

“Where’d you get the paintball gun?”

“I spend a week on the
Glory
every summer. Last year before we cruised, Geoff and I hit a paintball park. We bought two guns. I remembered.”

A distant hum reached her ears; she squinted at the yacht centered in the middle of the bay. “Is the
Glory
leaving?”

“Terry’s taking her for a spin. He’ll be back in an hour. Do you know, future Mrs. Paxton, that I’ve never made love on a Mediterranean beach?” He held her hand, stood, and pulled her up. “We’re skinny dipping first. I have PP in places where the sun doesn’t shine.”

When the moon bathed their naked bodies in iridescence, a minute later, Sarita chortled.

“Yeah, well you’re covered too. I think it’s sexy as hell, especially the red nipples. Jesus, your pussy hairs are red, too.”

“And your ‘you know what’ is as well.” She frowned and stared as his penis thickened. “I think it grew.”

“Let’s hit the water, pronto. I’m so damned near coming that if we stay here a minute longer --” He broke off abruptly and seized her hand. “Come on. I hope it’s freezing.”

Her stomach contracted when she waded into the water.

“Sarita honey, it’s easier if you dive in.”

“I know.” She arched, joined pointed hands, and plunged.

When she broke out of the water, Rolan’s handsome face met her gaze.

He swam closer, and when they were inches apart, whispered, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

“This is amazing Rolan, swimming without clothes,” Sarita said as she complied and looped her arms around his neck.

“I forgot the lube, so we’ll take this slowly. I’m going to swim in a little so I can stand.”

He spoke against her lips. The movement of his mouth, the smell of the almonds in the Thandai, all heightened senses already stimulated by their watery cocoon.

“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered once they came to a standstill.

Lifting her, his cock rimmed her pussy.

“I can’t wait to make you mine,” he growled.

Sarita’s lids closed at the sweet pressure when his engorged penis stretched muscles ready to milk him.

“Look at me.”

“This is torture, Rolan.” She sucked on his lower lip.

“For me, too. Torture and so damned exciting. It’s not going to take much to make me explode.”

A stray swell rolled over them, warming her bare shoulders.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said and licked the seam of her mouth. His tongue ventured inside and Sarita bit the tip.

Grabbing his shoulders, she slid down while her ankles locked him closer. She angled her lips, cradled his head, and experimented. Sliding her tongue around his, learning the secret places he liked. When she tickled the roof of his mouth, his growl rumbled through her throat.

He grasped her hips and slammed into her.

Sarita moaned and let her lids drop. Savoring the feel of his cock, sniffing his neck, she sucked on the flesh there, tasting him.

“Look at me.”

The coarseness of his voice startled her eyes open.

“You okay? Need me to wait?”

Inches apart, their gazes manacled, she murmured, “No waiting, Rolan.”

He started moving, but his focus didn’t waver.

“Oh God, that feels…oh God.” Sarita couldn’t continue.

Every sense amplified. She inhaled the musk of their joining weaving into ocean brine, fed on the slapping of flesh against flesh, meshing with crashing waves, slid fingers over slick skin, and lapped up the salty sea drops rimming his areola.

He halted, jade eyes wide open. Rolan sucked on her lower lip and the look in his tender gaze made hers brim, and she felt the stamp of ownership, hers and his.

She slipped, scrambled for purchase, and sank onto his cock, her greedy passage fastening him to her. Sarita purred.

“Yes,” he muttered, “Yes. More.” Rolan’s hands firmed over each bottom cheek, he hefted her higher, and brought her down hard. Lightning bolts sparked.

“Hold tight,” he ordered and stalked forward.

Each step lifted and impaled. Nipples met chests. Water displaced and swarmed backs and fronts. Ocean gusts prickled flesh. Moonlight danced shadows over their faces. Rhythmic waves crested and buffeted beach sand.

Foreheads touching, they ate at each other.

Slippery skin heated by passion, by the friction between prick and pussy, over-sensitized her swollen nubbin. Sarita strained against him on each thrust. She kissed and licked and bit, his nipple, the pulse at his throat, the cusp of one shoulder, desperate to convey her love to him.

Rolan’s lips sucked moist kisses all over her face and gravitated back to her lips. His rough tongue swathed a heated path up her neck and he mouthed the throbbing hollow of her collarbone. He focused on her ear, alternating between soft nips and soothing suckling. Sarita groaned as her nipples throbbed, and the blood surged to her folds creating an unbearable ache. His prick ground into her pussy, she angled her hips, and purred when her button slapped against his flesh.

Each reaction multiplied others. He nipped her ear, Sarita’s labia engorged and her heart raced into the last lap of the Grand Prix. His cock thrust into her tightness. Blood heated, and surged to her pussy folds, hitching her breathing as she sprinted toward orgasm. Rolan grazed her nipple and the touch sparked sweet electricity through her flesh. An inferno rolled over her, nipples ablaze, labia and nubbin flaring pain-pleasure.

Rolan hadn’t walked ten steps when Sarita recognized the now-familiar vaginal contractions. Her nails bit into his skin as the first spasm exploded through her. She found his lower lip and suckled as she rode the orgasmic tsunami, her pussy clamping and clenching his prick.

Her taut nipples begged for attention. She rubbed against him, the delicious friction igniting ecstatic aftershocks. Her internal muscles wrenched at his cock, drawing him tight, tight, and he thickened inside her

His arms tightened. Rolan’s stroll morphed into a march. Ocean air hit her legs. He dropped to his knees. Her back met wet sand.

“Open,” he muttered, and his breath heated her lips.

Reaching one hand behind, he tugged her locked ankles apart.

Her legs fell open.

His mouth locked onto a breast.

He withdrew.

“No,” she yelped, and cried out again when he hammered back in. A pummeling drive, which lifted her hips off the sand, and his teeth sawed her nipple throughout that long, hard, thrust.

And another orgasmic tidal wave welled, built on his prick’s furious pounding, on his hungry tongue suckling, on his avaricious teeth nibbling. He moved from one breast to the other growling garbled words. Mindless, Sarita reeled, her need escalating exponentially as Rolan alternated between breasts. One minute, feasting on the left breast, grazing, laving, gnawing while his fingers pinched and rolled the burning right nipple. Swapping back and forth until she cried out again.

“Now, Rolan. Now.”

“More.”

She locked her legs high on his back and he hit that sweet spot, and she climaxed, her pussy exploding into contractions so intense, lightning spots danced behind closed lids, and her nails scraped his back. She bit his bicep and he rode through her convulsions, pumping hard, fast.

“One more,” he rasped, and rested his thumb on her nubbin, exerting a heady pressure, never pausing in his furious plundering of her pulsing passage.

He roared.

She screamed.

Spasms tornadoed her pussy, sucking his prick up and in, spiraling faster and faster, taking control of her body and mind until she crested and orgasmed in one final burst.

When her lungs went from gasping for air to a simple panting, Sarita’s mind gathered in small spurts, little snatches of thought. She liked that he stayed hard for so long after. Loved the way his cock continued to throb and flex even now.