Girls Playing With Fire 1 Read online

  “Safe sex on the back coming up,” the guy said.

  My cheeks turned even hotter when I thought of the pack of condoms I had bought for this holiday. How very optimistic of me to bring a twelve pack! I knew that being around Mr. Sinclair was going to drive me crazy. What I hadn’t counted on was that I couldn’t tear myself from the man enough to find a guy to fuck and take the edge off.

  For the past two weeks I’d been creaming my panties and my bathing suits every damn day. My body hummed with unslaked sexual desire, but when opportunities appeared, I couldn’t spread my legs for someone who wasn’t… him.

  He was the only secret I kept from Diane. Sharing a room with her had made it impossible to masturbate. I didn’t allow myself to do it even in the shower if anyone was in the house, for fear that they would hear me whisper his name.

  Paul.

  The rest of the evening crawled by. I hadn’t hooked up with anyone the whole two weeks, but I was getting desperate. I had to find someone for tonight. After dancing with him, I was jumping out of my skin with sexual energy.

  None of the boys on the dancefloor looked like they could scratch my itch. I was about to abandon the search and head for the bar when I saw that he was there. Maybe I imagined it, but I could swear he looked away when I looked at him, like he didn’t want me to know he’d been watching me.

  He signaled the bartender for another drink, and made himself comfortable on the bar stool. Damn. If he stayed there, I couldn’t go get drunk. I envied Diane, who had started working on that a while back. She must have noticed I was looking at her because she came over. We started to dance close to each other, piquing the interest of every male around us.

  She leaned into me, with her eyes half-closed. Her lips brushed my cheek when she said.

  “Sarah, I’m sleepy.”

  And pretty seriously drunk, I realized as I breathed in her alcohol vapors. I took her hands in mine and guided her to her father. She didn’t fight me. When we got there, she slumped against him.

  “Looks like it’s time to call it a night,” he said, supporting his daughter with an arm behind her back.

  “Nooo,” Diane mewed, her drooping eyelids contradicting her protest.

  I didn’t want to stay without them, but I needed to find someone who would release this unbearable pressure inside me.

  “Can you get Danny?” he asked while I was working on a way to tell him I wanted to stay.

  I nodded, giving up on the plan to hook up with anyone tonight.

  We walked in silence to our bungalow. I was holding Danny’s hand and Mr. Sinclair carried the sleeping Diane in his arms. As soon as we got in, Danny pulled his hand from mine, like the grown-up fourteen-year-old he was, who didn’t need to be holding anyone’s hand like a baby.

  I held the bedroom door open, and Mr. Sinclair laid Diane gently on her bed. He pulled a bedsheet over her, and caressed her head. He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, and bent over to kiss her temple.

  “Sweet dreams, baby.”

  Nothing about that should have turned me on. If Diane would have imagined kneeling in front of my dad, it would’ve turned my stomach. I couldn’t stop the images from forming in my head. Being on my knees before him. My hands trailing the curve of his back as he lowered himself on top of me. Tugging up at the hem of his t-shirt to peel it off his torso. His mouth nipping at my breasts. His strong hands pushing my thighs apart to make room for his body.

  When he stood up and turned around, I saw that the sadness was back in his eyes. I stood there, frozen in the doorway, looking at him in the light coming from the other end of the hallway. He put his hand on my shoulder and nudged me aside.

  “Good night, Sarah,” he said, and left.

  “Good night,” I squeaked, watching him walk away.

  I closed the door and pressed my shoulders against it. My knees finally gave up, and I slid to the floor. I sat there in the dark, mapping the sound of his steps. He hadn’t gone to his room. Or to the bathroom. That left the open space living room.

  A wild storm wreaked havoc inside me. It wasn’t fair. He was so close. Maybe for the last time. I had to go to him or I would burn alive. I had to do something. Anything. Everything.

  “Diane?” I whispered.

  My bestie’s soft snoring was my only answer. I crawled to the foot of the bed. I sat on my knees, pressing my forehead against the wooden frame.

  “I want him so much,” I confessed quietly. “Please forgive me.”

  My eyes had adapted to the near total darkness. Faint moonlight came through the window, allowing me to see the shapes of the objects in the room. I stood up, and walked stealthily to the wardrobe.

  At the back of a drawer, under my skimpy crop tops, I found the unopened pack of condoms. The ripping of cellophane sounded unnaturally loud. My hands shook so badly, I dropped the first condom I took out of the pack. I picked it up, dropped it again, and the third time, I managed to hold it.

  Where the hell do I put it?

  If everything went according to my desires, he would need easy access to my pussy, so wearing jeans was out of the question.

  I knew exactly what I should wear. The white beach dress. I put the condom back in the open drawer, and let my skirt and my panties fall to the floor. I took off my top, and the bra. My nipples puckered, adding to the fire inside me. I ran my hands over my breasts, closed my eyes and squeezed them the way I wished he would.

  Dear God, this had to work.

  My hand trembled when I riffled through my clothes. There it was. The dress that covered and uncovered me at the same time. He had clearly liked it. He’d been very thorough in soaking it during our water fight on the beach. I couldn’t forget the momentarily unguarded desire in his eyes at the sight of my breasts visible thought the wet fabric.

  That was all that I would wear. No panties. No bra. And no place for the condom. Damn! I couldn’t count on him for carrying, and I certainly didn’t want him to use this pretext for resisting me.

  I stared at the little square of plastic. Where could I put it? I couldn’t very well take a purse with me.

  What other options did I have?

  My bra dangled off the back of the chair. Well, that was on option. I slid the spaghetti straps off my shoulders and slipped the dress down, past my breasts. I put on the bra, placed the condom in it, then pulled the dress back up.

  It was a strange feeling to have a bra on but no panties. Stranger still to feel the plastic square outlined against my skin, a very obvious and dirty reminder of my impure intentions. But nothing was as strange as what I was about to do.

  I slipped out of the room, and headed for the living room.

  Chapter 6 – Seducing Mr. Sinclair

  He was there. Standing by the fridge with a bottle of water to his lips. He seemed bewildered to see me, and carelessly set aside the bottle. A few drops spilled at the corner of his mouth, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  He made an effort to figure out what was going on.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His voice was soft, genuinely curious, like he wanted to know if there was anything he could do for me. Somewhere deep inside him, he had to know why I was there.

  He was so incredibly sweet when he was all messed up like that.

  “Nothing,” I said, staring intently into his eyes.

  His green eyes were slightly unfocused. Maybe he didn’t want to believe what was staring him in the face. He took another gulp from the bottle of water. I extended my hand with the palm up and he gave me the bottle without hesitation. My mouth was dry but I couldn’t afford to break eye contact with him. I reached past him and placed the bottle on the counter.

  “Are you going out?” he asked, a little out of breath.

  I had caught him on the wrong foot for sure. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind me of the rules he had set up for me and Diane.

  “No, I’m not g
oing out,” I answered, keeping my eyes on his, slowly advancing.

  He didn’t step away when I crowded him. He stood there, with his lips pressed in a worried smile and his back against the fridge.

  “Are you going to sleep?”

  The words slipped out of his mouth like he was afraid of the answer.

  I didn’t break eye contact with him, fearing that if I did, I might lose my nerve.

  “No. I’m not going to sleep.”

  His shoulders were ever so slightly slumped forward. His hair was a mess. The goofy smile on his face betrayed confusion, anxiety and something else. Shame? Hope?

  I launched myself up and pressed my mouth on his. His lips puckered in an instinctive response, but remained closed. He jerked his head back, breaking the kiss.

  “No, no, wait, no,” he mumbled, looking at me utterly confused.

  I walked away, watching him out of the corner of my eye. It gave him the false impression that I had abandoned this quest he didn’t seem to understand. But standing next to the fridge was not a good spot to get what I wanted.

  The couch. Now that was more likely.

  He was observing me warily as I headed for the couch, all too aware that he was in a situation he didn’t control.

  I turned around, and looked at him when I sat down. My short dress rode high up my thighs, almost uncovering my pussy, as I knew it would. He seemed determined to look only at my face. No, that wouldn’t do. I put my hands on the bottom of my dress and slid it all the way up my thighs until the patch of soft brown hair was clearly visible.

  His gaze had followed the movement out of instinct and it was now glued to the apex of my thighs. I held my breath and spread my legs to give him a clear view of my pink, petal-soft folds coated in nectar. I hoped that he could see the honey glistening on the engorged lips of my aching pussy. He had done that to me.

  I ran a finger along my slit, gathering the moisture of my arousal, and using it to slide over my clit in small, delicious circles.

  He took a few hurried steps toward me, with his arms raised in a placatory gesture. He kept muttering no, no, no. He sat down next to me on the couch and pushed my legs together. His palms didn’t rest on my thighs for a moment longer than necessary.

  “Everybody is asleep,” he said.

  Had he meant that as an encouragement or he thought it would be a reason for me to stop? It didn’t matter. All the years of pent-up frustration had pushed me past the point where I could stop. I gathered my legs under me on the couch, and leaned forward. I kissed him again. He pulled back slowly, and I went with him. He let me kiss him a moment longer than he had by the fridge before he wrapped his hands around my wrists and pushed me away gently.

  “No, no, no, you mustn’t do that, ok?” he whispered and he was so close, I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

  The smile on his face was a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. I nodded in false agreement, and the instant he relaxed, I swooped in for another kiss.

  He closed his eyes and let it go on longer than the previous one. He pushed me again, weaker than the time before. He rubbed his palms up and down my upper arms in what might have been a soothing gesture. He shook his head stubbornly and I mimicked the gesture, pretending that I agreed with him, then swung a leg over and climbed into his lap, my sopping pussy rubbing against the fabric of his shorts.

  He leant back, in a feeble attempt to withdraw from me. All that did was give me more freedom of movement. I kissed his jawline, and searched for that muscle in his neck that had obsessed me for years.

  I felt him throw his head back when my mouth found it. He let me kiss my way down to the side of his neck until I buried my face in his collarbone. He was breathing hard now and under my pussy, his cock was getting hard, too.

  He pressed his face against my shoulder, nuzzling at me for a moment, but he pushed me away again. He angled his body forward, beginning to stand up, causing me to slide off his lap. His face remained close to mine, our cheeks almost touching, until he lowered his head, like he was ashamed.

  “Stop,” he rasped, his shuddering breath scorching the skin on my neck. “Sarah, no…”

  He pulled back a little and looked at me again, with a trace of that kind smile I knew so well. Mr. Sinclair never shouted at us when we did something wrong. He smiled understandingly when we had done something silly and frowned, also understandingly, when we had done something dangerous.

  This smile was saying you’re acting silly, Sarah. You know better than this.

  A twinge of shame shot through me as the smile grew warmer, more earnest, as if he was chiding me for something silly.

  “You have to stop,” he said patiently, as if he was explaining something simple, but important. “You have to stop now,” he repeated, although I wasn’t doing anything, except burn with desire to finish what I had started.

  He cupped my cheek for an instant before he stood up. For the briefest moment, understanding had faded from his smile, leaving room only for sadness and confusion. And then he bolted away from me.

  I prayed with all my heart that he wouldn’t go back to his room. As much as I wanted to follow him, I couldn’t crawl into his bed in the room he shared with Danny.

  To my relief, he went out through the French doors. With that, I knew I had won.

  Chapter 7 – Sex on the Beach

  He hadn’t stopped on the terrace. He was walking unsteadily toward the sea. I caught up with him easily, and took him by the hand. He followed without protesting. I took advantage of his momentary compliance to drag him behind a bunch of palm trees and kiss him again. His palm rested on the small of my back. After many, many seconds, he stumbled half a step back.

  “No, Sarah. We can’t…”

  He shook his head a few times, like he was trying to get rid of something from his own mind.

  I closed in, as if we were dancing again, except this time, I was the one leading. His tousled hair made him look so much younger. The gray at his temples was barely visible in the dim light. I couldn’t help myself mussing it up even more.

  He closed his eyes when I threaded my fingers through his hair. A small sign of surrender. I fisted my hands in his hair and stood on tiptoes to kiss him.

  His cracked lips trembled. I desperately wanted them to part, to let me in. He put his hands on my shoulders, not allowing me to get closer, but not pushing me away either. I sucked his lower lip lightly between mine, holding back the urge to scrape my teeth against it. He moaned quietly against my mouth.

  The sound seemed to jolt him out of the trance. He pushed me a little way away. His hands remained on my shoulders, the pressure of his grip mounting to the point of pain. A sweet, sweet pain that poured fire in my veins.

  His usually silken voice sounded hoarse, strained.

  “Sarah, you don’t want to do this.”

  But I did. I’ve been wanting it since before I admitted it even to myself.

  He fought to snap out of the daze. His shallow breathing sounded as if he’d been running. I’ve been wanting to make him pant like this for three years. And here he was, so close, it drove me to distraction.

  We were alone on the beach, or at least I hoped we were. Maybe people from the bungalows could see us, like a couple of shapes in the night. I didn’t care what any insomniac would see. I could only wish that in a few moments they would see a man and a woman making love under the pale half-moon.

  “I want,” I whispered, cupping his face in my hands. “I want you.”

  My voice was laden with all the weight of my long-thwarted desire. He must have felt it. His rigid self-control finally snapped. He slammed my back against the palm tree and kissed me. I tasted the scotch on his tongue, and felt myself getting drunk on alcohol vapors and bold caresses.

  His strong chest pinned me to the tree trunk while his mouth explored my mouth, my cheeks, my neck. His rough hands were on the outside of my thighs, sliding up, gripping my hips, bunching
up my dress.

  I heard the jingling of his belt buckle and the swish of denim as his jeans slid off his hips. His hard cock pressed against my belly, large, growing larger all the time, and burning hot. I needed it inside me. I wrapped one leg around his hip and his hands came immediately to my aid, supporting my weight. His large palms kneaded my buttocks, holding me up while I locked ankles behind his back.

  He pressed his chest harder into mine to make sure I didn’t slide down while he took one hand off my ass. His body molded on mine. I could feel him all over me. His was chest crushing me into the rough tree bark. I wanted to lose myself in the pain. I hanged on to his shoulders and angled my legs to make sure I stayed in place.

  My pussy rubbed against his cock with an obscene squelching noise. He seized his full, throbbing erection with his free hand and guided the wet tip between my lips. The whole world pulsated when I felt his bare cock force open my tight entrance.

  He cupped my breasts over the lace bra. His hands seemed too big for what I had, but he seemed to love playing with them. He fondled my breasts, kneaded the flesh, squeezed. The pressure mounted, spicing up the pleasure with the edge of pain. Something scraped at my skin and I wanted him to yank down my bra so I could feel the heat of his palms on my flesh.

  The condom, I remembered. I took it out of my bra and offered it to him. He tore open the package with his teeth and I whimpered when he withdrew the tip of his cock from my pussy. He fumbled between us for a few long, frustrating seconds, but once he put on the condom, he glided inside me, inch by glorious inch, filling me how I dreamt to be filled.

  He moved slowly in and out of me, kissing me languidly, panting even louder than me. The sound of his jagged breathing, the knowledge that I was the one causing it, pushed me closer to the edge. I couldn’t believe I was already close to coming.

  “That feels so good,” he said between deep moans. “God, you feel so good. So good.”

  A thrust of his hips buried him deep in me, and he stayed like that, tremors coursing through his body. He was trying to hold back his orgasm, but he was precipitating mine. There was something overwhelming about being filled by an enormous cock. About being crushed by the body of the man I loved. I dug my nails into his back. My body arched up, pushing back into his. My body screamed its release, and I took a running jump off the cliff.