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Authors: Jillian Sterling
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creatures that I don’t recognize.
ü Accidentally petting Remington’s leg at one point (thinking it
was a sea creature I don’t recognize).
ü Eating a weird enormous coconut thing shaped like a butt, fresh
off the tree.
ü Eating amazing rich people food.
ü Being a rich person.
ü Drinking so many fancy cocktails that my skin feels like it’s
breathing.
ü Eating more ridiculously amazing rich people food.
I can now scratch all of these
things off my bucket list. Diana’s day of “family activities” around the luxurious,
beautiful North Island of The Seychelles has been so packed and so busy that
I’ve hardly had time to feel awkward or shy.
Until now.
Now, to cap everything off, Diana
has us on a sort of a self-guided kayak tour. And by self-guided she means that
she and Remington are guiding us. Because they, you know, are from here. Dad
and Diana have paddled ahead and around a bend of the coast, disappearing from
view.
Which means I am alone with
Remington. In a deserted cove. In a kayak.
Which means that his legs are
wrapped around my hips from behind, and his arms keep reaching around my
shoulders, and I can feel his breath and his muscles move every time he
paddles.
Which means he is so all up on me
that it’s impossible not to notice how good he feels, and impossible not to
fantasize about how much better he would feel if we were naked.
Which means I keep forgetting to
paddle, and we are actually slowly spinning in a circle because I am a
sex-obsessed idiot who can’t focus on anything but her new stepbrother’s
perfect body and infuriating personality.
I can even feel his…you know…against
my ass.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
Nope.
Definitely not thinking about it.
“That’s a pretty spot,” I say,
pointing to the beach.
“Yeah,” Remington agrees. “That’s
the private beach off Villa 1, where I’m staying.”
“Right. In my bed, which you kicked
me out of.”
“In my bed, which I invited
you into. Sis.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your
sis. And yeah, group sex parties: not exactly my thing.”
I remember; the sex party, the
fight, the nakedness. The glimpse of his…
Oh god I’m thinking about it.
Worse, I think Remington is
thinking about it too.
“What about private sex parties?”
I blush and try to concentrate on
the scenery, falling silent.
We had been maintaining some
strained chitchat for a while, painstakingly avoiding the topics of this
morning’s brunch and yesterday’s sexual tension. But now that’s a bust. Now
that he’s brought it up I can’t stop thinking about the strange intense
physical reaction I have every time I’m around him, or about the odd twisting
jealousy I experienced seeing him naked in bed with other women yesterday, or
the utter fascination and glee I felt just seeing him naked at all.
Now that I’m thinking about it I
can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t stop imagining what it would be like
to be with him.
Thinking about it is so good and so
consuming and so palpable that I seem to lose the ability to function for a
minute; I’m literally paddling our kayak in circles and we’ve both abandoned
all attempts at conversation. Behind me, I can feel Remington staring at me,
his attention shifting to my body.
And I swear to god I can feel him
thinking about it, too.
He’s got a reputation as a playboy
for a reason. This heat is unreal, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. He
emanates sex. He radiates sex.
Can’t breathe. Can’t function. Oh
god.
I swear I can feel that same energy
and heat in the air between us that I felt yesterday, a presence of something
between us: a chemistry so palpable and disturbing it’s like a whole other
entity in the air.
That is, if there were any
air between us. God, you’d think with the sun setting it would be getting
cooler but I am starting to sweat. This hyper-awareness of Remington’s body is
driving me insane, and I can’t
ü Accidentally petting Remington’s leg at one point (thinking it
was a sea creature I don’t recognize).
ü Eating a weird enormous coconut thing shaped like a butt, fresh
off the tree.
ü Eating amazing rich people food.
ü Being a rich person.
ü Drinking so many fancy cocktails that my skin feels like it’s
breathing.
ü Eating more ridiculously amazing rich people food.
I can now scratch all of these
things off my bucket list. Diana’s day of “family activities” around the luxurious,
beautiful North Island of The Seychelles has been so packed and so busy that
I’ve hardly had time to feel awkward or shy.
Until now.
Now, to cap everything off, Diana
has us on a sort of a self-guided kayak tour. And by self-guided she means that
she and Remington are guiding us. Because they, you know, are from here. Dad
and Diana have paddled ahead and around a bend of the coast, disappearing from
view.
Which means I am alone with
Remington. In a deserted cove. In a kayak.
Which means that his legs are
wrapped around my hips from behind, and his arms keep reaching around my
shoulders, and I can feel his breath and his muscles move every time he
paddles.
Which means he is so all up on me
that it’s impossible not to notice how good he feels, and impossible not to
fantasize about how much better he would feel if we were naked.
Which means I keep forgetting to
paddle, and we are actually slowly spinning in a circle because I am a
sex-obsessed idiot who can’t focus on anything but her new stepbrother’s
perfect body and infuriating personality.
I can even feel his…you know…against
my ass.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
Nope.
Definitely not thinking about it.
“That’s a pretty spot,” I say,
pointing to the beach.
“Yeah,” Remington agrees. “That’s
the private beach off Villa 1, where I’m staying.”
“Right. In my bed, which you kicked
me out of.”
“In my bed, which I invited
you into. Sis.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your
sis. And yeah, group sex parties: not exactly my thing.”
I remember; the sex party, the
fight, the nakedness. The glimpse of his…
Oh god I’m thinking about it.
Worse, I think Remington is
thinking about it too.
“What about private sex parties?”
I blush and try to concentrate on
the scenery, falling silent.
We had been maintaining some
strained chitchat for a while, painstakingly avoiding the topics of this
morning’s brunch and yesterday’s sexual tension. But now that’s a bust. Now
that he’s brought it up I can’t stop thinking about the strange intense
physical reaction I have every time I’m around him, or about the odd twisting
jealousy I experienced seeing him naked in bed with other women yesterday, or
the utter fascination and glee I felt just seeing him naked at all.
Now that I’m thinking about it I
can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t stop imagining what it would be like
to be with him.
Thinking about it is so good and so
consuming and so palpable that I seem to lose the ability to function for a
minute; I’m literally paddling our kayak in circles and we’ve both abandoned
all attempts at conversation. Behind me, I can feel Remington staring at me,
his attention shifting to my body.
And I swear to god I can feel him
thinking about it, too.
He’s got a reputation as a playboy
for a reason. This heat is unreal, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. He
emanates sex. He radiates sex.
Can’t breathe. Can’t function. Oh
god.
I swear I can feel that same energy
and heat in the air between us that I felt yesterday, a presence of something
between us: a chemistry so palpable and disturbing it’s like a whole other
entity in the air.
That is, if there were any
air between us. God, you’d think with the sun setting it would be getting
cooler but I am starting to sweat. This hyper-awareness of Remington’s body is
driving me insane, and I can’t
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