Mine Until Morning (32 page)

“Touch me, Royce.”

She gasped as he slid his hand between her legs and forward to the button of her clit. “Fuck, you’re wet, baby.”

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“I’ve been wet since we started hiking.”

He rubbed his cock between her legs, along her slick pussy, using the natural lube, teasing her at the same time.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Royce,” she chanted, wriggling her ass, widening her stance.

He plunged home, and she cried out, her voice rising along the canyon walls. The sun between the narrow canyon walls beat on him, blinded him. He drenched himself in her.

“Hard and fast. Please,” she begged, pushing back on him, panting. He held her hips, she clung to the ladder, and he took her all the way, thrusting deep. Her body milked him, contracting, working. No woman had ever felt to him the way she did, smooth, sweet silk wrapped tight around him.

“Work your clit, baby.”

He loved watching her masturbate. Even when he wasn’t touching her, when she was laid out on the bed for him, legs wide. He loved the sounds she made, the way her body undulated between his touch, her touch. Her fingers slipped over him as he plunged, caressed his balls, then back up to her clit. She had no inhibitions, no limits. He hated and loved it at the same time.

“Royce, oh God, Royce.” He heard the rise in her voice, felt the squeeze of her pussy around him, the puff of her breath, all her little signals. She was close, so close.

In the distance, somewhere behind them, a woman’s laugh echoed up through the narrows.

“Don’t stop,” she said, hearing it, too.

Somehow, impossibly, his cock got harder; his heart beat faster. Another voice joined the first, male, the two slightly closer now.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chanted, caught up in the need. His breath sawed. A drop of sweat fell into his eye. The sound of the voices and her pussy seemed to become one, and he needed it—fuck, he wanted it. The thought of the strangers coming upon them, seeing, watching. He shouted as her body clamped around him in orgasm, shooting him to climax, to the stars, to the sun so high above them.

THEY WERE DONE UP IN SHORT MINUTES, THE CONDOM STOWED IN a small trash bag, because far be it from Royce to litter the beauty of nature. 207

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Isabel’s legs still felt wobbly, her heart pounded, her skin was flushed, and the voices were close, only three or four turns behind them, adult voices, thankfully, since she wasn’t into giving kids an early education. Breathless and quaking with orgasmic aftermath, she snapped on the pack.

Royce grabbed her chin for a hard kiss. “Fuck, that was hot,” he whispered, his gray eyes glittering like sterling. “Now, get your pretty little ass up the ladder.”

She laughed. “Don’t you want to see them?”

“I like the idea of keeping just ahead of them while they’re dying to catch up and see who was making all that noise.” He didn’t seem to care that he’d shouted for all to hear.

“You’re bad.” She started climbing. She loved his attitude. Over the months they’d been together, he’d stepped beyond vanilla, taken delight in greater risks. With this ladder, the narrow canyon walls gave way to open sky and softer, wider slopes covered with desert vegetation. Her body buzzing with all that sexual energy, she reached a fast clip, following the winding path until they hit another stone arrow like the one in the main canyon below. Laughter carried to them again as Royce consulted the map.

“Hurry,” she whispered, laughing, “or they’ll catch us.”

“Both trails head to the ridge. That way”—the way of the arrow—“is longer but appears to be less steep, more switchbacks. This way”—which seemed to be a lot more climbing rocks than mere hiking—“is shorter, but harder.”

She put her hand to his cock, squeezed, then grinned as he flexed in her palm. “The harder, the better.”

By the end of the hike, Isabel wanted to take that back. Her muscles ached, the bottoms of her feet were tender, she had blisters, and she’d broken three nails scrambling over rocks. But by God, she’d made it. The five miles and the magnificent view of the Salton Sea from the ridge were worth every ache and pain, especially with the way Royce had taken her on the ladder, the voices growing closer, closer. It had been short and sweet, hard and fast, and oh so amazingly sexy.

“So, honey,” she said sweetly, taking his arm in hers as they approached the car, “are you ready for your massage?”

She had such a delicious surprise in store for him. After what he’d given her, he deserved it.

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HE’D HAD MASSAGES BEFORE, ESPECIALLY AFTER HE’D WORKED OUT or hiked too hard, or taken a tumble during a soccer game. This wasn’t a massage; it was an event, complete with a tray of fruit and champagne. They were shown to an anteroom, told to undress and pull on the fluffy robes provided.

“His and hers.” He raised a brow.

“Don’t worry.” She laughed. “I’ve asked for a woman to massage you, not a man.”

“Thank God.” Though he wasn’t a homophobe.

They relaxed in comfortable chairs, enjoyed the fruit and sparkling refreshment. Then she rose. “Come on, you’re going to love this.”

The room she pulled him into was tiled, with soft music playing, dim lighting, a light floral scent misting through the cubicle. A glass door to the left led to a wooden sauna room for after the massages.

“Take off your robe,” she directed.

He hung it on the hook she indicated. Christ, he was already hard.

“Now lay on your stomach.” She patted a long massage table. When he was prone on his belly, she laid a warm towel over him, covering his body from the small of his back to the tops of his thighs. He wondered if she was actually going to be his masseuse until she climbed onto the table next to his, stretched out, and draped herself with a towel.

“Now enjoy,” she whispered, and pressed a buzzer next to her. “Close your eyes.”

She was the queen of setting and seduction. The music lulled him as his muscles relaxed and he succumbed to the champagne he’d imbibed. It had been a good hike, steep climbs that made his muscles scream. Then there’d been her, the memory of her pussy, her lips, her taste, the contraction of her orgasm pushing him, driving him. Christ, it had been so fucking hot. Hell, at least he was facedown so the masseuse wouldn’t notice the state of his cock. It was crazy, but he could swear he smelled the musky scent of Isabel’s come beneath the misting. He was vaguely aware of a door opening, then a woman’s voice. “Hello, Mr. Harmon. I’m Sheila. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Royce made a noise, cleared his throat, and glanced at her. He’d be damned if he’d let a woman touch him without even looking at her. A buxom blonde, 209

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Sheila was, laughingly, the epitome of the Swedish masseuse. “There, now,” she said in a flat American tone, “doesn’t that feel good?”

Well, hell yeah, it did. She had strong fingers, finding every knot in his neck, shoulder blades, and back, working them out.

“And Carlos is seeing to your lady friend’s needs.”

He cracked an eyelid. Isabel was receiving the same rubdown from a tall, handsome black man. She smiled at Royce.

His masseuse worked her way along each of his arms, a real deep-tissue massage that was almost painful at times, ending with his hand and fingers, then starting over again on the right side.

He had to admit it was luxurious. Isabel certainly knew how to pamper herself. She sighed, and he glanced up. With her arm stretched along the side of her head, her towel had slipped, revealing the plumped periphery of her breast. Moving over her back, curling down her side, Carlos’s fingers dipped dangerously close to the luscious flesh. Royce’s mouth watered. Everything Isabel did was sexual, the way she moved, breathed, sighed, especially combined with the exotic feel of Sheila’s fingers on him as he observed Isabel’s sensual contentment.

The woman started on the soles of his feet. Hell, after five miles, he relished the deep rub. She worked his calves, first one, then the other, loosening places he hadn’t realized had tightened up. She worked his thighs the same way. Next to him, Isabel savored equal treatment.

Sheila’s fingers slipped between his legs; a pinkie brushed his balls. He tensed.

And met Isabel’s gaze. Her eyes slid over his body to the hands kneading his thigh. Her lips curved.

His thighs done, the woman’s hands moved to his ass. Isabel watched as she squeezed each buttock, then dipped down over his cheeks. The towel slid, and a waft of air brushed his backside. Isabel raised a brow at him. He knew what she wanted. He spread his legs slightly. Isabel’s nostrils flared like a filly’s as his masseuse’s touch slid deeper between his legs, grazing a sensitive spot of flesh before caressing his nuts. It was as if Isabel were commanding the hands that stroked him. His cock was hard, his balls filled to aching. He wanted her mouth on him, Isabel’s. He wasn’t a prude, but he’d never cheated on his wife, and the sex he’d had since 210

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the divorce had been sedate, comparatively. Until Isabel. She loved variety, in position, location, and he’d enjoyed her inventiveness. Yet he was well aware she held back for him, toned herself down.

Now she was escalating, subtly yes, but leading him nonetheless. As if this moment were a test to see how much he could handle. Before she fed him more. His blood was hot. The dark fingers pushed Isabel’s towel inevitably closer to the roundness of her buttock, revealing more of her creamy skin, inch by inch. Royce’s cock twitched. She closed her eyes, knowing he was watching and getting harder and hotter with each new foray across her flesh. In that moment, there was no jealousy, no time for it. The scented mist in the room, the firm fingers on his thighs, ass, balls, the rosy sexual hue of Isabel’s skin as her arousal grew, the moan Carlos elicited from her, oh yeah, it was hot.

Sheila dug into his butt muscle, forcing his cock hard against the table, then slipped down and squeezed his balls. He couldn’t control the groan that fell from his lips.

Isabel regarded him with eyes a deep, burning blue. Royce felt the most extraordinary urge to climb off the table and fuck her senseless as Sheila and Carlos continued to stroke, caress, and massage them both. This was what Isabel wanted, to illicit crazy urges from him. Facing Royce, Carlos’s fingers climbed up her thighs, rubbing higher, higher, then disappearing beneath the edge of the towel, between Isabel’s legs. Her eyelids drooped. Royce wondered if the man could feel how wet she was. Because he knew she was creamy, he knew her, could smell her arousal as if he’d touched her and held his hand to his nostrils, steeping himself in her scent. Christ, he was close to spontaneous combustion. 211

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6

HIS EYES WERE DARK LIKE PEWTER, PENETRATING, HIS MUSCLES rigid with sexual tension. Isabel shivered watching him. Royce was all male, and Sheila felt it. The masseuse’s nipples were tight beads against her white smock. If Royce had rolled over in that moment, Isabel was sure Sheila would have taken his cock in her mouth and sucked him until he arched off the table and came down her throat. Isabel’s breath quickened with the image alone. This was a special spa. With its expensive appointments, elegant décor, fresh fruit, healthy drink concoctions, expensive champagne, and talented therapists, it was no cheesy massage parlor. But the establishment offered a list of services that weren’t posted. If you knew to ask and you had a good reference. Isabel had arranged many a client’s stay here.

For today, she’d ordered a sensual his-and-hers massage. A tease. They were to play it by ear, and if Isabel wanted to up the stakes, she’d give them a signal. Sheila was definitely earning her commission. Royce’s muscles bunched and flexed with every pass of her fingers. She stroked, rubbed, kneaded until his breath puffed through his nostrils. But he didn’t turn over. He simply let his gaze burrow into Isabel.

Carlos squeezed her thigh, dipped down to lightly graze her pussy. She drew in a breath, savored the strokes of both Carlos’s hand and Royce’s dark eyes. Her insides were liquid. She could have come from the atmosphere alone; Royce’s musky scent, Sheila’s hard nipples, her own breathy exertions, and Carlos’s cock hard along her thigh.