Victim of Love (10 page)

“So?” he said.

“I don’t know. Is it safe to do that here? It’s still illegal after all.”

“Olsen, come on, it’s just weed. What do you think is gonna happen? Samuel L. Jackson’s gonna come barging in with a shotgun? We’re at a high end beach resort on Cape Cod. And we’ll be in my room, blinds closed.”

I tightened my lips, thinking it over. “So you’re a pothead who peddles mummy heads and has a degree in fine arts.”

“I’m not a
pothead
. I smoke once in a while. Like when I’m on vacation. It just enhances things.” He paused. “Makes sex better, too.”

A flock of delirious butterflies took flight in my intestines, my throat tightening.

“Olsen. You’re staring at me. You’re supposed to be answering a question.”

“I think I forgot the question.”

That got me a smile. “Do you want to go back to my room and smoke a joint?”

“Uh...” I scratched my chin. Everything about this man intimidated me. And everything about him enchanted me. “Maybe?”

He leaned closer to me. “
Maybe
I should rephrase the question then because it doesn’t seem to be getting through your thick, slightly sunburned head. Olsen. Do you want to go back to my room and fuck?”

I inhaled sharply. Sitting up straight, I stared out at the ocean for a long moment, heat pooling in my groin. Finally, I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“You sure? People I invite to have sex with me usually have a less freaked out expression on their face.”

I turned my head and smirked at him. “I’m sure. As long as you’re not planning on stuffing me in that closet again.”

Beck picked up his book and put it in his bag, then stood. “No closets today.” He smiled. “I promise.”

****

Beck and I sat on his bed in the porch room, facing each other while he rolled a joint. With the shades drawn, the muted sunlight gave everything a reddish glow. The intimacy of it, being in this sensual little cave together, in secret, already had me half aroused, though I was doing all I could to play it cool. Cool like Beck was. It seemed to come natural for him, while I had to work at it a bit. It was pretty clear that this sort of thing happened to Beck a
lot
more than it happened to me.

Beck had made no move to touch me yet. We were still just talking, and it was surprisingly comfortable to be here with him, surprising because the part of my brain that usually over-thought every possible outcome of a situation had temporarily shut itself down.

My newfound ease with this man, especially in this scenario—him having outright asked me if I wanted to fuck—was unusual for me. But Beck didn’t feel like one of those pushy guys coming at me in a bar. I wasn’t awkward or pressured. Instead, his straightforwardness had the opposite effect, because it came with a gentle affection. A shift of sorts had happened, brought on by what felt to me like an unspoken agreement we now shared. We were going to fool around on this vacation getaway, have as much fun as possible, no drama, no expectations. This man wasn’t trying to manipulate me into his bed. He was outright asking if I wanted to be there, and there was a respect in that, a genuineness.

The honesty of the situation put us on what I now felt was equal ground. Without trickery or false intentions, we were free to let our defensive walls down, because what we wanted to do required stripping ourselves bare. Leaving walls down can be dangerous because of the vulnerability factor, but we both knew it was fleetingly temporary, and therefore, safe.

“Here you go.” Beck blew a funnel of smoke out, and handed me the joint.

I winced as I accepted it from him. “Okay. But just one little puff. Otherwise I’ll end up locking myself in the bathroom for two hours or something.”

Beck chuckled. “Counting your bottles of hair gel and wondering if people are gonna think you’ve got too many.”

“Screw you.” I laughed. “I need my gel. I get Medusa hair without it. It’s not pretty.” I took a hit off the joint and immediately fell into a coughing fit, my throat burning.

Beck leaned over and patted my back. “You okay there?”

I caught my breath and handed him back the joint. “I really don’t like smoking. I’m done.”

Beck took another hit, then pinched the end until it went out. “Your poor little virgin lungs.” He smiled at me. “Your lungs are the
only
virginal thing about you, right?”

I coughed out a laugh. “Are you seriously asking me if I’m a virgin?”

“Not trying to be invasive. Just you’ve got this sweetness about you, so want to be...prepared. Just in case.”

I gave him a look. “Sweetness? I hope that’s not another word for naivety.”

“Of course not! It’s a compliment.”

“Is it? Okay, then you’re sweet, too.”

He frowned. “I am
not
sweet.”

“Ha!” I pointed at him. “See, I knew it wasn’t a compliment.”

Beck smirked, then leaned toward me. “I didn’t mean sweet like you’re some doe-eyed novice. I meant the kind of sweet I want to taste.” His fingers brushed down my chest and he leaned in, giving my neck a quick, hot lick before pulling back. “What was it Quinn called you at the antique store?” He grinned widely. “Peaches and cream.”

I met his eyes and he held my stare. The room seemed to heat up ten degrees suddenly. “Rest assured. I’m not a virgin.”

“I didn’t really think you were. No one who looks like you could have gone untouched for this long.”

I smiled, nodding. “You certainly know how to say all the right things.” Whether they were sincere or not, I didn’t know. He was a salesman of sorts, after all. I reminded myself that it wasn’t supposed to matter. That I was cool, casual Olsen now, having a simple summer fling.

“Well,” Beck said, “I walked in on that conversation earlier. About your friends wanting to get you laid. That’s what got me thinking about it.”

I lowered my eyes, shaking my head. “They’re just a little too interested in my personal life. It’s kind of a running joke at this point.” I glanced up at him. “I won’t bother to ask if
you’re
a virgin. I bet you’ve got a guy in every port with all that traveling you do.”

He let his mouth fall open, feigning offense. “Olsen! How rude.”

“Is it true?”

He grinned, then shrugged. “I don’t have any problems meeting men, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He stretched back on the pillows, arms resting behind his head. “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but how did you reach this deduction about my
having a guy in every port?
”

Laughing, I said, “Well, from what I can surmise in the short time since meeting you, you do everything fast. You talk fast. Based on that incident with Quinn at the antique shop, you also
think
fast. You run fast. Even when you’re drunk on a beach.”

He chuckled, nodding.

“And, uh, last night. What happened here in this room. That was...fast. And look where I am right now, sitting on your bed. You’re very persuasive. You clearly have a talent for closing the deal.
Fast
.”

“From where I was standing, didn’t seem like you minded how
fast
I went last night.”

I cast my eyes down. “Ha, yeah. I didn’t mind at all. In fact I’ve grown a bit accustomed to your velocity.”

Beck climbed out of bed and went to the door, locking it. Then he moved to the other door, and locked that as well. He returned to the bed, looking down at me. “I do know how to go slow, Olsen.” His fingers threaded through my hair, caressing, then trailed down over my cheek. “If that’s what you want.”

Beck’s expression seemed so sincere suddenly. I’d seen him do this before, switch from snarky joking around to caring and sensual in an instant. I wondered which was genuine—either, neither, or both.

“What about what
you
want?” I asked, goosebumps rising at his soft touch. “You know, I honestly can’t tell who the real Beck is. The bossy, obnoxious guy, yelling at people at the pool. Or this guy here, stroking my face and wanting to please me.” My tone was teasing, but there was a grain of truth behind my words.

His smile was soft as he palmed my cheek. “Who do you want me to be?”

I didn’t want to be a stickler or complainer—especially since I was about to get laid by a guy who undid me like no other—but the ‘
Who do you want me to be?
’ bugged me a bit. I suspected that one hit of weed was starting to affect me and make me over-thinky, but I couldn’t help it.

“Would you rather be someone I want you to be?” I asked. “Or would you rather be yourself?”

He sat down on the bed beside me, his fingers trailing down my bare back, tracing my spine. I was still very much in his thrall, so the touch was more than a little distracting, as were his gorgeous eyes. “I can be myself,” he said. “But I’m also used to wearing masks.”

I frowned. “Masks? What do you mean? Like Zorro or something?”

Beck’s head fell forward as he snorted a laugh, then he looked at me. “I was being metaphorical, Olsen!”

“Oh!” I snickered. “Sorry. I thought you meant you wanted to...uh...”

“Fuck you wearing a mask?”

I laughed hard, wiping my eyes. “Something like that.”

Beck grinned, shaking his head. “No, Olsen. You can relax.”

Yeah, I was definitely a bit stoned.

Still smiling, Beck gripped me by the shoulders. “Okay, do over. Let’s try this again. Olsen, I think you’re sweet and hot and smart and really funny. I like your eyes and your body and I want to make love to you in a way that works for you, in a way that leaves you breathless and still thinking about it hours after you leave my bed. So please.
Tell
me what you want.”

I gripped the waistband of his shorts, tugging him closer, pleased when the action brought a sharp inhale from Beck. “I want you to take off your mask,” I said. “And your clothes. And I want you to kiss me. The same way you kissed me on the beach the other night. But this time, you can’t run away.”

Beck’s face was close to mine, his bare chest rising as he took a deep breath and let it out. “Good answer.” His arm went around my back and he used his body to ease me down onto the mattress. “Very, very, good answer,” he whispered, then his mouth was on mine as he climbed on top of me.

And boy did he follow my instructions, kissing me deep but extremely slow. Resting on his elbows, he eased his head back and looked down at me. “Like that?”

I nodded. “Just like that.”

He kissed me again, and let his full weight press down on me, the skin to skin contact lighting a fire in my body. Again he tore his lips away, but this time kept close, forehead pressed against mine. “You do like that, huh?” he whispered and pushed his pelvis against mine, acknowledging my growing erection.

I chuckled softly. “It appears I do, yes.”

“Better try it again just to make sure,” he said, gripping my chin and delving deep into my mouth with his tongue.

This tactic was driving me nuts in the best way possible, each kiss more savage than the last. Even the way he kept stopping and talking to me in between was adding to the excitement.

Excitement—a word we use to describe so many things, though it never has quite the same meaning. The same word used to describe sexual arousal, also employed for things like asking a small child about their impending trip to Disney World.
Are you excited?

I was, and it encompassed all of those things. I was impassioned, discomposed, enthusiastic, and eager for what was to come.

I softened my mouth and welcomed him in, tongue and teeth and breath and delicious, gliding wetness. Beck made a small sound when I took hold of his head and urged his tongue deeper, unable to stop myself from wrapping my legs around him and lifting my hips for below the waist contact.

He took the cue, kissing me harder and moving more aggressively against my body. Though he was a slightly smaller man than I was, his body felt hard and firm, almost vibrating with strength, like he was having some trouble restraining himself and remaining gentle.

Abruptly he broke the kiss, letting out a hot breath, eyes closed. “Jesus, Olsen.” His eyes opened, close enough for me to note wide, dilated pupils. “I like doing things your way. Liking it a little too much,” he said, grinding his groin into me with a soft moan.

I smiled, delirious with want and thrilled that he seemed as into it as I was. In that hazy, lustful moment, I wished I could do this forever, just freeze time and run it on a loop. We hadn’t even gotten fully naked yet, and already I knew that Beck was the best I’d ever had. Likely the best I ever
would
have.

When people talk about someone being good in bed they’re usually referencing skill, but it’s so much more than that, that odd thing that creates sexual compatibility. They say sex is all about chemistry, hormones and endorphins and deep, ancestral programming—the urge to merge—definitely not limited to heterosexuals.

Beck’s chemistry was a perfect match for mine. I could feel it swirling and comingling, the same but different, attracted but in perfect opposition, heading for big bang combustion.

“I wish we had more time,” Beck said as he nibbled behind my ear.

“They shouldn’t be back for a while yet,” I whispered, suddenly terrified that this would all stop. I needed him to keep touching me, kissing me.

Pushing up on his arms, Beck gave me that smile I loved. “I know, but they
will
be back. And I don’t want to rush things. I want to go slow and make you crazy. But if they come back before I get to fuck you, I’m going to be really, really angry.”

I didn’t think I could get any harder, by my cock swelled at his words. “Then fuck me slow,” I said. “And make me crazy.”

Beck’s breath hitched. “Say that again, Olsen. The first part.”

I held his gaze, my heart banging in my chest. “Fuck me slow. But do it now.”

Beck laughed softly, then shook his head. “Damn. Don’t fucking move.” He climbed off me and headed toward his duffle bag across the room. He looked over at me. “Correction. Don’t move aside from taking those shorts off.”

I hooked my thumbs under the hem of my shorts, but paused before tugging them down. Beck had just peeled off his own shorts, kicking them aside, and now stood naked, his back to me as he rifled through his bag. And suddenly I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare.