The Bikini Diaries (33 page)

know from my talks with their CEOs that you stood your ground with them, and that

gives me a lot of faith in you.

"Now, I know relocating is a big deal, and that you were born and raised in this area, so I'm willing to make it worth your while. You'll have on-site housing, cost free, and the job also comes with a twenty percent raise.

"So if you have any questions now, feel free to ask them. Otherwise, I won't rush you for a decision—take a few days, think about it, and let me know. I'd miss having you around

here, but you're a smart young woman and I'd feel confident having you represent the

Carlisle interests in Florida."

Wendy
hadn't
asked any questions. She
had
sat across from Walter dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open.

The downsides of the move were many. She would miss her family, particularly her sister

and nieces. And she was also leaving some friends behind—but the truth was, most of

them were married now and busy doing married-people things like decorating new

houses and having babies. She had also quickly realized that free housing plus more

money meant she could fly home for weekends whenever she felt like it without worrying

about the cost. Her new locale would provide a good vacation destination to bring her

parents and sister south, and she could help pay for that, too.

So the only real obstacle to accepting had been worries over Brandon. Given how things

had ended between them, could they work together? And how the hell would she ever get

over him if she had to see him across a meeting table all the time? And what if she saw

him with other girls—how much would that hurt?

Now that she'd discovered, once and for all, that she simply couldn't fuck someone

without emotion, she didn't think she could move to the beach and become White Bikini

Babe, either. That truly
had
been a fantasy, a person who she simply... wasn't.

But despite all those worries, she just didn't feel she could pass up the opportunity.

Walter was advancing her career, making her more than the glorified secretary she'd been up to now. This was a chance to learn about running a resort from the inside out, a chance to serve on a board of directors. It was, when she broke it-down, choosing to do

something bigger with her career or... choosing to be a secretary, albeit a good one, for the rest of her days. It seemed like an offer she couldn't refuse.

So now she was here. She'd arrived just today and moved into a temporary studio condo

back at the Shellside Towers until she selected a larger one somewhere on the property to make into her new home. Most of her stuff was being shipped later, but she'd still had a busy day unpacking her entire warm-weather wardrobe and other personal items: a few

favorite books, her laptop and printer, and some framed photos of her family.

She'd decided it would be a good idea to go out to dinner, to simply get reacclimated to being back here. She'd purposely arrived on a Friday so she'd have the weekend to get

settled before going into the Emerald Shores offices, but she had the strange feeling that if she didn't get out
now, tonight,
she might turn into some kind of hermit who was afraid of men and bars and anything that could end up being even remotely related to sex. So

she'd thrown on a simple cotton sundress with a pair of pretty cork wedge slip-ons and

hopped on the shuttle.

It was early in the evening yet, so the village teemed with young families—handsome

husbands and their fashionable wives, little girls in pretty dresses and little boys in khaki shorts that made them look like miniature golfers.

She wanted something easy, quick—she wasn't in the mood to wait for a table

somewhere—so when she saw an easel on the brick walkway outside Volcano's

promising fish and chips for $8.99, she stepped inside and took a seat at the bar. She

didn't look around or size up the men; this wasn't like that first night. But she did try to enjoy the lively pianos, already dueling with their version of "Only the Good Die

Young," hoping the cheerful atmosphere would make her feel... well, more like she fit here. More like the
real
her fit here. The her who, yes, could have crazy, uninhibited, screaming sex with the right man. But also the her who was usually an average, normal

woman who already missed her nieces, who hoped she'd maybe be able to find some

good sitcom reruns on cable later, and who was the newest member of the Emerald

Shores corporation board of directors.

As she sat eating the casual meal, it dawned on her that one thing Emerald Shores
was
lacking was a variety of quick, easy foods.
A pizza place,
she decided—the village needed a pizza place. Not part of a chain, but something fun and unique with an Italian

feel—and also a place where you could pop in for a quick slice without having to wait,

and maybe they could even deliver to properties within the resort.

Then she rolled her eyes, thinking,
Oh boy, Brandon's going to love
this.

But she was here to help improve the place, to keep the money flowing in, so he'd just

have to live with her ideas.

"What are you drinking?

The question, the voice, nearly made her heart stop.
Brandon.

She drew in her breath and lifted her gaze to find the blue, blue eyes that had first held her captive in this very room.

Oh God, he was
so
freaking hot,
so
freaking beautiful—the very sight of him made her scalp tingle as a frisson of heat rippled down her spine. His expression was lustful,

passionate— and so, so familiar. All the blood drained from her face; she felt vulnerable, and instantly aroused. She wasn't ready for this—she wasn't ready for this at all.

Remembering their first conversation—only two short months ago, although it felt like a

lifetime—she nodded briefly toward her soda and said, "Nothing—yet. Just Coke. What do you recommend?"

His voice echoed deep, raspy, as fully sexual as she'd ever heard it, and his eyes

continued to burn through her as he said, 'A slow-screw-against-the-wall."

Despite herself, her pussy surged. When she spoke, it came in a breathy whisper. "The drink? Or the act?"

"The act," he answered slowly.

Her heart fluttered, along with other key parts of her body— and when Brandon took her

hand and drew her down from the stool, she didn't protest. When he led her up a set of

stairs next to the elevator where they'd had their first fateful encounter, she simply

followed. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest.

The Lava Room was quiet this early, empty—no band, not even a bartender. Leaning her

up against a wall across from the bar, Brandon molded his hands to her hips, pressed his cock to her crotch. The sensation—like a lost memory that comes back with startling

clarity—rushed through her entire body. The small of her back ached with desire and her

knees went weak.

Looking into her eyes, Brandon slowly lifted her arms up over her head, then skimmed

his fingertips slowly down them,. then over her sensitive breasts and stomach until they molded firmly to her ass through her dress. She shuddered, peering back at him through

heavily lidded eyes. Oh God, he still knew, more than any other man she'd ever been

with, exactly how to touch her. Everything about him made her crazy with want.

As he began to kiss her—slow, deep, lingering kisses that melted all through her and

made her drop her arms around his neck—he gathered the back of her dress in his fists,

bit by bit. In front, they grinded together, naturally—she couldn't
not
respond—and she yearned for his big, beautiful cock like never before.

Beneath her dress, she wore the same sexy pink boy-short panties she'd had on the night

of their menage a trois with Pete, and he seemed to recognize them by feel—he groaned

as he massaged her ass and it made her thrust her cunt against him harder. God—
oh God.

A moment later, with his help, the panties fell at her ankles and she stepped out of them as she reached for Brandon's belt. She could barely make sense of this, but she felt drunk on him, that quick, swept up in a desire she couldn't fight.

Soon she wrapped her hand around his hard-on and they both moaned. Oh, how she'd

missed this. The rawness of sex with him. The uncontrollable passion that welled up in

her like a tidal wave ready to crash. He was so hard and smooth in her grip—she

instinctively squeezed and caressed and let the feel of him ooze all through her chest and stomach, making her hotter, hotter.

"Lift up your dress," he rasped, already sounding as breathless as she felt.

Releasing him from her fist, she slowly gathered the fabric in her hands, raising it, higher, higher, until her pussy was on display. Knowing he liked it bare, she felt thankful she'd fallen into the habit of keeping it that way.

Without preamble, Brandon dropped to his knees, leaned in, and buried his face in her

slit. She whimpered and parted her legs, peering down at him and hoping she didn't

collapse from the sensation.

He licked her vigorously, like a wild man, and then sucked her clit deep into his mouth, nearly making her come, that fast. Her whole body pulsed with urgent pleasure and she

had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out.

When he stood up, she was trembling. She could smell her sex on his face. Stepping in

close, he gripped her ass, positioned himself against her, and plunged his cock up into her pussy.

Now she
did
cry out at the rough impact—it couldn't be helped—but he went still against her, letting her adjust to having him inside her again.

"So big," she whispered desperately.

"So wet." Their faces were a mere inch apart.

As he began to fuck her in earnest, she found herself lifting one foot, curling it around his thigh—for balance. Oh God, he was so huge in her. Every slow, thorough stroke he

delivered made her moan, He looked in her eyes the whole time, and she peered back,

feeling his gaze as much as his cock

"So good," she breathed. "I missed this. You
in
me."

"I know," he whispered back, eyes half shut in lust. "Me, too, bunny—me, too."

He continued moving in her in that same slow rhythm. A slow screw against the wall—

mmm, God, that was exactly what he was giving her.

Together they groaned their pleasure as he impaled her on his long shaft, the position

nearly too much for her to handle, given his size—and yet handle it she did. She craved

him like she'd never craved anything in her life.

In front, her clit met his body with each deep plunge, and she bit her lip as the blood

gathered there, as her pleasure intensified. "Oh God," she whispered. "Don't stop."

"Don't worry," he murmured! "I'm gonna make you come so fucking hard."

The words excited her, made her thrust her cunt more roughly against him in slow, jerky

movements. He kneaded her ass in his hands, up under the dress—and just when she least

expected it, he reached inward, stroking the tip of his middle finger across the fissure of her ass.

And then she tumbled—deep—into a tumultuous orgasm that vibrated through her like

sonic booms, making her lightheaded, weak, crazed with pleasure. She heard herself

sobbing, felt herself clinging to him—and then she heard him say, 'Ah, fuck, me too.

Here I come," and he thrust deep, deep, painfully deep, but she didn't mind, still coming down from her climax and wanting him to come just as fiercely.

A moment later they stood, embraced, their foreheads touching, both breathing so hard

that the sound nearly blotted out the piano music from below.

Finally, she looked up at him. "Wh-what was that?"

He looked solemn, a little sad. "What you wanted. Just sex. Just a fuck."

She drew in her breath, her stomach plummeting. "That's not all I wanted."

"Look," he said, still holding her, their bodies still agonizingly close, "I apologize for the way I acted on the day you left. I was caught off guard and... hell, I was a jerk. But I understand what you were after—just a good time—and that's okay."

"Only, Brandon, you truly
don't
understand. I need to explain."

"Shh,"
he said, seeming serious, agitated. "Please listen to me, Wendy, because I need to say this." He ran his hands back through his hair. "I... I can't do this."

She remained as dumbfounded as she'd been since he'd approached her. "You can't do

what?"

"Work with you and fuck you. I know they do it on TV all the time, but I can't."

She was still confused—for God's sake, ever since the morning she'd left, everything

about
him confused her. She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, bunny," he said. "I'm just... sorry." Then he zipped up his pants and walked out, leaving her there, panties at her feet, in the Lava Room. Her heartbeat a mile a

minute—and she began to wonder if she'd made a very big mistake coming here.

Brandon walked on the beach in the dark, trying to let the surf, rushing coolly up over his feet, wash his troubles away.

Shit, he'd made a mess of things. Repeatedly.

First the way he'd treated her on the day she'd left. And now maybe he'd accidentally

treated her even
worse
on the day she'd come back. He was acting like some immature asshole who had no hold on his emotions.

Maybe the problem was . . . he had no hold on his emotions.

Before Wendy, he'd just never dealt with stuff like this. Caring for a woman. Wanting her in some deep way he really couldn't understand or describe. It was damn confusing. Not