“Nothing,” she says, biting her lip as I begin to circle her clit, gradually intensifying the pressure until she’s trembling. She leans into me, burying her face against my shoulder, but now isn’t the time for shyness.
“Look at me, Maddie,” I demand softly. “Let me watch you come. I want to see you.”
She pulls back, gulping air as she meets my gaze. She’s so vulnerable, so defenseless it’s like I’m sharing her skin. I can almost feel her pleasure rocketing through me as she comes again, clinging to my arms as she spirals out, making more of those sexy little sounds that absolutely destroy me.
By the time she’d ridden out her pleasure on my hand, I’m halfway to being hard again, and all the way to being sure I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.
“Let’s go back to my tent.” I cup her ass in my hands, relishing the way her curves completely fill my palms.
She blinks up at me, seeming a little dazed. “But what about your friends? Won’t they be able to hear us?”
“My tent isn’t that close to theirs,” I say. “As long as we’re quiet they won’t hear anything.”
“I don’t know if I’m capable of being quiet.” Her tongue sweeps out to dampen her lips, making visions of its pretty pink length teasing over my skin dance through my head.
“Well, you said you were interested in a blindfold,” I rumble. “How about I tie something around your mouth instead?”
“Wow. That’s…really hot.” She laughs a wicked, husky laugh that finishes the job of getting me hard again. “But if my mouth is full, I won’t be able to kiss you, and I really like kissing you.” She teases her fingers through my hair. “So maybe you can just cover my mouth with your hand? And I’ll do my best not to bite down too hard?”
I pull her closer, fighting the urge to sink into her again right here. Right now. “Don’t worry about the biting. I like biting.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she says, smiling against my lips as I kiss her.
She might not be surprised, but I sure as hell am. I’ve rarely met a woman who can keep up with me in the bedroom, let alone wear me out.
But by the time Maddie and I finish rolling around in my sleeping bag two hours later, I’m so spent I can barely move.
“Are you always like this?” I ask as we’re drifting off, her head on my chest and her warm body snuggled against mine in a way that feels just right. “Or was that the whiskey?”
She answers with a snore, a soft, feminine snuffle that’s so cute I can’t keep from smiling up at the roof of the tent. I should probably wake Maddie up and help her sneak back to her own tent before we’re caught, but I’m not ready to let her go.
This is too nice—lying here with her so warm in my arms, running my fingers through her hair, feeling her breath puff against my bare chest.
I promise myself I’ll wake her up in a few more minutes, still long before the rest of the camp is up and stirring, and close my eyes.
When I open them again, the sun is turning the orange walls of the tent a glaring tangerine and Maddie is gone.
Chapter Four
Maddie
The walk of shame has never been so shameful.
I skulk across the campground in the hazy morning light, gaze glued to the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the smattering of people already stirring outside their tents, poking fires to life and nursing mugs of coffee. The coffee looks—and smells—amazing, but I don’t dare stop to ask any of the strangers where they scored their caffeine.
I’m too mortified.
Not only am I wearing my clothes from last night—minus the panties I sacrificed to the ocean—but my semi-damp hair has dried into a rat’s nest, my eyes are gritty with smudged mascara, and my mouth probably smells like a wild animal peed in it.
I haven’t gone to bed without brushing my teeth since the last time I drank whiskey.
That time, Naomi and Mick rolled me up in a sleeping bag and sat on me until I swore not to go hiking up a mountain in the middle of the night. My sister and brother were afraid I’d wander off a cliff in the dark, and tumble to my death.
Now I wish I’d done something as relatively harmless as wander off a cliff.
Instead, I had a drunken sex-capade with one of my oldest friends. Jamison and I did it. We did it hard and dirty. And not just once or twice, but four times, over and over again, continuing to bang like bunnies long after I should have sobered up and had the sense to make a run for my own tent.
But I couldn’t seem to sober up last night. I was too drunk on orgasms and the feel of Jamison’s strong body leveraged over me in the dark, driving that amazing love-rod between my thighs.
You just called Jamison’s penis a love-rod.
What is wrong with you!?
“So many things,” I mutter, cringing at the volume employed by the inner voice.
Doesn’t it realize my head is already pounding?
I’m not hideously hung over, though I probably should be considering how much whiskey I drank last night, but the backs of my eyes throb and my temples feel bruised.
I need water, coffee, and aspirin, in that order, and I need them stat.
I creep quietly into my own campsite, relieved to see all four tents zipped up tight. I’m congratulating myself on not getting caught by anyone who might carry the sordid tale of my walk of shame back to my family—and plotting a trip to the showers with fresh clothes and my toiletry bag—when slow deliberate clapping starts up from my far left.
I spin to see Piper and Dawn beaming at me from camp chairs settled around the fire pit where they sit with steaming mugs of coffee and cinnamon rolls laid out on folding tables beside them.
“Bravo!” Piper exclaims, her clapping picking up speed. She’s like a supporting character in the final scene of one of those underdog sports movies, the ones where the plucky young athlete triumphs against all the odds and renews everyone’s faith in miracles. “We’re so proud.”
“So proud!” Dawn seconds, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. “We always knew you could do it!”
“Oh hush,” I say, motioning for them to cool it before the entire camp hears them talking. I glance around, making sure our nearest neighbors are still asleep before hurrying over. “Any more coffee where that came from?”
“I filled my thermos; it’s in my tent,” Piper says, standing and motioning for me to take one of the empty seats. “I’ll get you some—on the condition that you don’t start debriefing until I get back.”
“Debriefing what?” I settle into the chair, my best “who me? I’ve never banged anyone in the ocean in my life” expression on my face.
“Don’t play dumb, Whitehouse.” Piper narrows her eyes. “You’ll debrief or you won’t get any coffee, or the yummy aspirin I was going to offer you.”
I sigh in defeat. “Throw in a bottle of water and you’ve got a deal.”
Piper chuckles—an evil chuckle, born of taking pleasure in other people’s walks of shame—before hurrying over to her tent.