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Authors: Lacey Alexander, cey Alexander
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orgasmic euphoria.
But now that all seemed stupid. She'd had the best freaking sex of her life—crazy,
riotous, no-inhibitions sex like she'd never even dreamed of—so why shouldn't she want it again? Just like she'd written after getting back to her room last night, she couldn't go back in the box.
Maybe a part of her had been a little let down in a weird way to find out that, really and truly, she could have meaningless sex.
But now that she knew how good it could be—just the pleasure, just the fun—she craved
more of it. Please let him look for me.
As she watched the tide rushing in, kids playing in the surf, she began to relax a little.
Whatever happened here happened. If Brandon didn't find her, no biggie. Hell, maybe his
own orgasmic euphoria had worn off by now and he wouldn't even look. And if that was
the case... she'd live. She'd miss exploring her new sexual freedom with him some more,
but she'd still go away with a new sense of herself, new sensual secrets, a new confidence no one could take away.
"Hi there. Can I get you a drink?"
Her eyes rose to a beach waiter in a flowered shirt—the same one from yesterday. Only
he was looking at her differently now. She felt his admiration; she felt how much of her body, her breasts, was on display. Her pussy tingled as she smiled boldly up at him. "I'd love a mango daiquiri."
He smiled back, raising his gaze from her chest to her face. "Coming right up."
Power. She suddenly had power with men. Amazing.
But, of course, she still found herself looking up and down the beach for her lover from last night. Until her drink arrived. Until she'd made a few practical notes in her journal about the resort, then stuffed it back in her bag. Until the daiquiri was half gone and there was still no sign of him.
Maybe he really wasn't going to show.
She ignored the silly lump of disappointment gathering in her stomach and pushed it
aside. She didn't need him. She didn't need anything.
Except maybe more sex. After last night, she was feeling more aroused than she had in...
years. Which was exciting even as it felt a little scary. Because where was she going to get sex without Brandon? How was she going to go back in the box?
Just then, a darkly tanned guy with messy black windblown hair came strolling easily up
the beach. He wore long swim trunks and a T-shirt; his longish hair was pulled mostly
back into a low ponytail, but some had escaped in the breeze. Muscles stretched his tee—
he was tall and broad and didn't smile.
Wendy's first thought was that he looked vaguely familiar, and she was just thankful that his appearance made it fairly impossible for him to be someone from the corporate office.
Her second was that he was hot. In an unconventional, messy, slightly scary way. He was, quite simply, the sort of man whose very stance and expression would have
intimidated her before yesterday—he looked so confident and comfortable that she was
sure he could get any sexy beach babe he desired; he looked like the kind of guy who
probably hung out with swimsuit models or starred in porn movies or something.
But when he glanced up at her, then stopped and did a double take, it didn't intimidate her. It only felt like the next strange, heady occurrence in her daring little experiment.
She met his eyes, saw that they were blue like Brandon's and pretty enough to soften his expression just a little, and she wasn't even tempted to look away as he veered from the shore to come nearer.
His small smile, coupled with the inquisitive tilt of his head, was sexy as hell. "You...
look familiar. Have we met?"
Her new boldness came almost naturally as she smiled back, instinctively thrusting her
chest out slightly. "I was just wondering the same thing. I've only been here a day, though, so ..."
He playfully scratched at his darkly stubbled chin. "Well, I don't know where I know you from, but I wouldn't mind knowing you better."
Maybe it was all a line—maybe he
But now that all seemed stupid. She'd had the best freaking sex of her life—crazy,
riotous, no-inhibitions sex like she'd never even dreamed of—so why shouldn't she want it again? Just like she'd written after getting back to her room last night, she couldn't go back in the box.
Maybe a part of her had been a little let down in a weird way to find out that, really and truly, she could have meaningless sex.
But now that she knew how good it could be—just the pleasure, just the fun—she craved
more of it. Please let him look for me.
As she watched the tide rushing in, kids playing in the surf, she began to relax a little.
Whatever happened here happened. If Brandon didn't find her, no biggie. Hell, maybe his
own orgasmic euphoria had worn off by now and he wouldn't even look. And if that was
the case... she'd live. She'd miss exploring her new sexual freedom with him some more,
but she'd still go away with a new sense of herself, new sensual secrets, a new confidence no one could take away.
"Hi there. Can I get you a drink?"
Her eyes rose to a beach waiter in a flowered shirt—the same one from yesterday. Only
he was looking at her differently now. She felt his admiration; she felt how much of her body, her breasts, was on display. Her pussy tingled as she smiled boldly up at him. "I'd love a mango daiquiri."
He smiled back, raising his gaze from her chest to her face. "Coming right up."
Power. She suddenly had power with men. Amazing.
But, of course, she still found herself looking up and down the beach for her lover from last night. Until her drink arrived. Until she'd made a few practical notes in her journal about the resort, then stuffed it back in her bag. Until the daiquiri was half gone and there was still no sign of him.
Maybe he really wasn't going to show.
She ignored the silly lump of disappointment gathering in her stomach and pushed it
aside. She didn't need him. She didn't need anything.
Except maybe more sex. After last night, she was feeling more aroused than she had in...
years. Which was exciting even as it felt a little scary. Because where was she going to get sex without Brandon? How was she going to go back in the box?
Just then, a darkly tanned guy with messy black windblown hair came strolling easily up
the beach. He wore long swim trunks and a T-shirt; his longish hair was pulled mostly
back into a low ponytail, but some had escaped in the breeze. Muscles stretched his tee—
he was tall and broad and didn't smile.
Wendy's first thought was that he looked vaguely familiar, and she was just thankful that his appearance made it fairly impossible for him to be someone from the corporate office.
Her second was that he was hot. In an unconventional, messy, slightly scary way. He was, quite simply, the sort of man whose very stance and expression would have
intimidated her before yesterday—he looked so confident and comfortable that she was
sure he could get any sexy beach babe he desired; he looked like the kind of guy who
probably hung out with swimsuit models or starred in porn movies or something.
But when he glanced up at her, then stopped and did a double take, it didn't intimidate her. It only felt like the next strange, heady occurrence in her daring little experiment.
She met his eyes, saw that they were blue like Brandon's and pretty enough to soften his expression just a little, and she wasn't even tempted to look away as he veered from the shore to come nearer.
His small smile, coupled with the inquisitive tilt of his head, was sexy as hell. "You...
look familiar. Have we met?"
Her new boldness came almost naturally as she smiled back, instinctively thrusting her
chest out slightly. "I was just wondering the same thing. I've only been here a day, though, so ..."
He playfully scratched at his darkly stubbled chin. "Well, I don't know where I know you from, but I wouldn't mind knowing you better."
Maybe it was all a line—maybe he
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