The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (44 page)

• • • • •

Clark's body was more than amazing–it was impossible. Though she’d longed to touch it, feel his torso flexing against hers since that night outside his bedroom, she’d never dreamed of what waited under the loose fitting shorts. His narrow hips were topped with muscles that flexed as he moved and formed a V down to his groin. His abdomen was so flat it almost curved inward. Not an ounce of fat lay between his skin and the veins and muscles that constantly moved underneath. And his arousal was almost more than she could take.
 

Suddenly, he thrust into her.

She cried out at the sudden impact, a mixture of pain, relief, and pure ecstasy. His groin ground into her sweet spot even as his penetration threatened to split her. Massive and thick, she could barely move around it. As he withdrew, pressure released inside her and then suddenly he thrust again. She involuntarily grunted at the impact.

“Jean,” she heard him whisper hoarsely. “Is it too much?”

“No,” she gasped. “No.”

And then he thrust into her again, even harder.
 

She grunted again, louder, and was about to spread her legs even wider, when she felt his arms around her. They were rolling and suddenly she was on top. She opened her eyes to see his torso spread out below her: the flaring muscles at his sides, the bulging curves of his pecs. No sooner had she realized where she was than his hands were on both her breasts.

He tugged her lightly toward him and her hands landed on the comforter next to his head. The pressure in her abdomen lessened and her sweet spot scraped against his groin. She moaned deeply, closed her eyes and lowered her head as she gave in to the new sensation. His arousal was still immense but she could move. Her hips wasted no time.

They began to pump into him, clenching in quick bursts, as her back arched and bowed, and then arched and bowed again. Her breathing came in rapid shudders.

“Yes,” she heard Clark hiss below her and she felt him thrust upward.
 

It was like a pole of steel, riding straight into her. She drew her knees in to get some separation, to lessen the pressure, as his hands went to her waist. The tight coiling of tension began in her abdomen as he thrust again, even higher. Her sweet spot collided with him and the clench clamped down on him hard.
 

He groaned loudly as his hands squeezed her waist.

Her hips jerked back and forth, striving for rhythm, but she was quickly spiraling out of control. On top, she could have as much of him as she could handle and now she wanted it all. As he thrust upward yet again, she sat back. Her full weight crushed her sweet spot and, as he thrust again, her clamping pulsed. He lifted her then, almost off her knees, and she felt him drive into her more deeply than she thought possible. But the clenching, once started, couldn’t be stopped. It rocked her torso in great waves, shook her from groin to shoulders, and she violently rode him even as he cried out.

Then she felt his release. From the base of his arousal to the very tip, his climax shot upward and then slapped into her. She threw her head back.

“Clark,” she breathed in a high-pitched whine, as her climax matched his.
 

She clamped on him again, wave after wave, her body rocking on top of him, straddling him, letting him go as deep into her as he could. He pulsed inside her again and his upward thrust suddenly released only to be replaced with a series of quick ones. Her breasts bounced as she held onto him, her grunts sharp and out of control, her climax seemingly unstoppable.

Finally though, the coiling inside her unwound. His hands were on her breasts and she leaned forward into them. As he thrust one last time, he lifted her high. Her chin dropped nearly to her chest and a deep moan escaped her throat, but her hips gyrated against him, her sweet spot spending itself one more time. She groaned and panted all at once, as the room began to spin. The only sensation was him inside her, still hard, still pulsing, her hips responding, her lungs aching with the effort to get enough air.

“Jean,” she heard Clark say, but she couldn’t open her eyes–
wouldn’t
have even if she could.
 

Instead, she clenched one last time, as her consciousness slipped away.

• • • • •

Jean woke to the most wonderful sensation–Clark nuzzling into her hair. His big arms encircled her from behind and she realized they were spooning. She inhaled deeply, hugged his arms to her chest, and scooted her herself back against him.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

She smiled, though she still hadn’t opened her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said.

He hugged her closer.

“You had me worried,” he said. “Maybe we should have waited.”

She opened her eyes, drew his arms away from her and rolled over to face him. He seemed a little surprised and also a little worried. She caressed the side of his face. His dark hair was tousled but his eyes were clear and searching hers.

“Waited?” she said. “I felt like I’d been waiting forever.”

“Me too,” he said, with a little smile.

Then she saw the bandage on his chest.

She lightly touched the skin beside it, running her fingers over his pec.

“George did this?” she asked quietly.

Clark nodded and told her the story. As he did, his face grew more serious and the tone of his voice more anxious. He finished with the collapse of the greenhouse. They were both silent for several moments.

“I don’t know what I’ll say to everyone,” he said, looking past her to the bedroom door. “We were all counting on the money.”

Jean shook her head at that.

“The money is easy,” she said.
 

He scowled at her.

“The money’s never been easy,” he said.

“Well, it should have been,” she replied.

“Really,” he said flatly.

She sat up.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m not kidding.” Clark sat up as well. “I’m an auditor, remember? George might have been a fake but I wasn’t.” She paused as he cocked his head at her. “I know your business inside out. There’s no reason you can’t get a loan. None at all. In fact, I had wondered why you’d chosen an investor in the first place.”
 

“Because we never could get a loan,” he said. “We tried.”

“I
saw
that loan package,” she said, as though she’d seen something horrific. “Who put that together?”

Clark blinked.
 

“Well, I did.”

That explained a lot. Clark was
not
a financial guy.

“I wish I’d known you then,” she said. “You’d have never needed an investor.”

“What?”

“That package was…well, frankly, it was pathetic. I’d have turned it down too.”

Now Clark grimaced.

“I see,” he said. “And I suppose you could have done better.”

“There is no suppose,” she said simply. “I could have. I would have. I’ve done it dozens of times with a lot less. A
lot
less.” She shook her head. “But now, with the seedlings destroyed–”

“They’re not,” Clark said, a bit of energy in his voice.

“What?” Jean said. “I thought you said the greenhouse was completely destroyed, burned to the ground, and everything in it.”

“Not everything was in it,” he said, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

Her mouth formed a soundless ‘what?’.

“The buds that George stole,” he said, really smiling now. “I got them back.”

“You what?” she said, stunned.
 

“I guess I forgot to mention that part.”

“I guess you did,” she said.

He circled his arm around her waist and drew her in front of him, straddling his thighs.
 

“I must have had something else on my mind,” he said, looking down at her body and then back up to her eyes.

“I can’t imagine what,” she said, trying not to grin.

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said. He was quiet for a few moments. “A loan package–a
good
one–that must take some time to put together.”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “I could have that done in a few days.”

He became a little more serious.

“Okay,” he said. “Then, getting the loan results back. Getting accounts set up. I don’t know, getting the blank checks printed–that might take weeks. Or, who knows? Maybe
months
.”

She slowly shook her head. That was ridiculous.

“Blank checks?” she said.

“What I’m saying,” he said, pulling her closer, “is that I’d like you stay.”

She stared at him.

“Stay?” she whispered. “You mean, like,
stay
?”

He smoothed some hair back from her face and looked into her eyes.

“I mean stay,” he said, smiling. “With me. We’ll make a good team.”

Then suddenly he was serious again.

“I love you, Jean. I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

His face was close now and she leaned in.

“I’ve loved you from the start,” she whispered.

She was just about to kiss him when he held her back.

“Just one thing,” he said.

“What?”

“No more silk blouses,” he said, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “You look better without them.”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Deal,” she said.

He drew her in then and kissed her and, as far as she was concerned, she would never wear silk again.

ISLAND MAGIC

An Erotic Expedition Novella

PART 1

By Hazel Hunter

Six months ago, if someone had told Melanie Bass she’d end up here, she’d have slugged them. As the cab pulled away, she stood on the sidewalk, at the bottom of the stairs, and stared up at the sign.

“Hatcher Tours,” she read. “Harbor cruises, fishing charters, and diving.”

She focused on the word
diving
and slowly shook her head. Who would have thought that Kingston, Jamaica would be the end of the line?

Mel glanced at the luggage behind her: a backpack, a suitcase, and a duffle bag. They held all her worldly possessions. At the grand old age of twenty-five, she was on the streets. She looked up at the sign.
 

Hatcher.
 

Her father’s voice filled her head.
 

“The man ruined me,” he’d wheezed. “Ruined me.”

A sliver of indecision stabbed through her.

Would being on my own be better?

No, that was dumb. With no money and no boat, there was no way she could do this herself. She
had
to have help. And Kirk Hatcher was the man who made the most sense. She put a hand on the backpack where the map was. In reality, Kirk Hatcher was the
only
one who made sense.

Her mind went back ten years. Everything had been so different then, before they’d found the San Juan. Bass Treasure Hunting had yet to make a name for itself and life was happy. She and her father dove together every day, spurred on by the love of the hunt. The company had been small then, more like family.

She blinked her eyes and the sign came back into focus. Kirk Hatcher had been a part of that family.

But that was then, when her father had been alive, when there’d been a company instead of a line of creditors. She’d sold everything–well, everything that could be sold. She patted the backpack and looked up at the front door.

“Things aren’t going to get any easier by standing out here,” she muttered.

• • • • •

Kirk moved the blind aside a little more. The woman on the street was interesting–
very
interesting. That had to be a gear bag full of diving equipment. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. She was by herself. That was unusual for tourists, especially pretty, young blonds. Judging from the luggage, she hadn’t even checked into her hotel yet.
 

He watched her glance down and then back up at the sign again. Even at this distance, he could see the pale blue color of her eyes set against the deeply tanned skin. In the August heat, she wore a tank top, short shorts that highlighted her long legs, and sandals. She touched her backpack.

What is she deliberating?

People didn’t generally choose their charter company from the street. They usually called ahead, though there was no need in the summer. August wasn’t just hot in Jamaica, it was the dead season. Bargain hunters came in the heat and they expected a hefty discount.

He’d gladly give her the discount and–he eyed the long legs again–maybe another ten percent just because.

Finally, she picked up the backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Then she took the suitcase in one hand and the duffle bag in the other and started to climb the steps. She was strong. The bags looked heavy.

He turned away from the large window, put his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, and leaned back against the front of the desk. Flo was at lunch, otherwise she’d be doing the meeting and greeting. He preferred to work on the boat and be as far away from the office as could be managed but, today, he was glad for the change.

The glass front door opened and the electronic chime sounded.

He was content to watch as she pushed the door open with her pack, backing through, bringing the luggage with her. Every bit as good looking up close as she was on the street, she let the door close behind her and took a moment to let her eyes adjust from the glare outside.

He smiled at her.

“Welcome to Hatcher Tours,” he said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

At that, she froze, a strange look on her face.
 

Kirk froze as well, his body suddenly tense. Something was wrong.

“Kirk,” she said, staring at him.

He frowned now. Her voice seemed familiar. He stopped leaning against the desk and stood up to his full height.

“Yes?” he said.

She smiled a little. “You don’t recognize me,” she said.

Her voice was
definitely
familiar but he couldn’t place the face.
 

You’d think I’d remember
her.

“Mel,” she said. “Mel Bass.”