A deep baritone with a Southern drawl intruded. “Is there a problem here?”
She looked up to see Travis standing in front of the table, his arms crossed against his wide chest. He wore a familiar look on his face. The one that said he thought the entire world was a joke set up solely for his amusement.
“Mind your own fucking bus—” Sully began to say, until he looked up. He saw Travis and shut up real fast. He dropped his hand from her arm. For all his blabbing about fight training, he didn’t seem too eager to try it out. Probably a wise decision. Travis was the size of a semi-truck, if that truck was pure rock-hard muscle.
“I think the lady is done dumping your ass, so you can get the hell out,” Travis said cheerfully. He was almost always annoyingly cheerful. His backing soundtrack would be bouncy, but with an underlying sexy groove of a bass line thumping away.
“I’ve got it under control,” she said to Travis. “Go bother someone else.”
“Whatever,” Sully muttered. “Like I want your skanky ass anyway.” He got up and stomped away. But he made sure to take a path that skirted Travis.
Tiffany watched him leave, avoiding Travis’s gaze. Her anger couldn’t completely displace the sick pit of humiliation twisting in her guts. She dreaded seeing the pity that would be in his dark eyes.
Travis slid into the scarred booth, taking Sully’s vacated spot. She forced herself to look up. “If you were interested in slumming it, why didn’t you come to me?” His grin flashed his dimple and showcased his white teeth. There was no pity in his eyes.
Once, this past summer, she’d seen him wearing nothing but swim trunks, rising out of the ocean like some golden-skinned god. She’d almost swallowed her tongue. He was smooth skin stretched over taut muscle complete with a six-pack she could scrub laundry on. Her knees had actually buckled. She’d wanted to hit it like a screen door in a hurricane.
But, Travis wasn’t just a ridiculously hot body, he was also a well-established member of her friend group. His best friend, Alex, was seriously dating her friend, Becca, thus merging their social circles into one orbit. There was no avoiding him. Even if the sex were great, the orgasms she gave herself with her hand would be far less trouble.
Travis was, thankfully, unable to see inside her head to know she was currently indulging in impure thoughts. “Was that the best you could come up with?” he asked. “It’s not you, it’s me?” He gave a snort. “You could have told him the truth, that it was his greasy hair and tacky-ass shamrock tattoo.”
“If I refused to date guys with shamrock tattoos that leaves out three-quarters of the guys in the state of Massachusetts.” She pushed her shoulders back, and gave her best sex kitten pout. “Besides, maybe I just wanted someone to toy with.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Are you having a stroke?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Don’t try and be Kirsten,” he said.
Her cousin Kirsten, a drop-dead gorgeous Viking, was notorious for stringing guys along before ruthlessly dumping them. Tiffany loved her, but she was a tough act to follow. Sometimes it felt as though her entire life had been spent in the echo of Kirsten’s sexy snare drum shuffle. “What I’m not pretty enough?” she asked. It was supposed to be a joke, but instead it sounded like a plea for validation. She dug her fingers against the wooden tabletop.
He made a waving away gesture. “You’re fucking gorgeous and you know it,” he said. Travis continued on like he hadn’t just dropped a compliment bomb in her lap. “But you’re not jaded. You’re still looking for hearts, unicorns, and gentle sex with lots of eye contact.”
“You don’t know me.” He didn’t know anything about the dirty, shameful things she thought about in the dead of the night.
“It explains the douchebag, Richard. You almost married him just because he matched the wedding cake topper.”
His assessment stung. “So, I should be like you?”
“No, I mean—” She hummed a few bars and then starting singing a Blondie tune.
“I’m an early eighties pop song?”
“No, it’s the theme to American Gigolo. I’m calling you slutty.”
“Don’t slut shame me just because you’re a repressed prude,” he said, flashing his dimple.
Tiffany’s blood sang in her veins. Her face flushed. She leaned forward to really let Travis have it. But before she could blast him, Becca and Alex came strolling up, hands entwined.
Up until last July, Becca had been living in DC. She’d come back home to Cape Cod for Tiffany’s wedding, met Alex, and stayed. It’d been like something out of a fairy tale, except for the part where they got busted getting it on in the employee bathroom here at the Whaler. That was a different kind of tale.
A single pang of jealousy poked Tiffany in the heart. She shoved it down firmly. She wasn’t jealous of Alex. He was really good looking and one of the nicest guys she’d ever met, but she’d never wanted him. Before getting involved with Becca, she’d only known him in passing but he’d seemed almost lifeless in his perfection. Becca had turned him into a real boy…man.
No, what she wanted was what he had with Becca. The way they teased each other, the way their love shone in every little action. The way they had each other’s backs. How Alex supported Becca’s new law practice, bringing her takeout on nights she worked late. The fire they had for each other. That’s what she wanted. But the more she tried to grab it, the more it slipped through her fingers.
Tiffany jumped up and moved backward until the back of her legs hit the bed. Travis’s face was a stranger’s. No twinkle in his eye, no dimple softening his face. Her butt hit the mattress. He advanced, broad shouldered and menacing. She trembled. He slid the belt from his trousers. An answering rush of moisture came from her pussy.
And then he was on top of her. She struggled against him, banging her fists against his solid chest. But each movement only brought them into closer contact. He reached down and, with one hand, wrenched her legs open. She gasped. Her dress pushed up around her waist. His hard length settled against her, just where she needed it. She bucked up. He ground down.
His strength pressed her into the mattress, holding her steady as she thrashed. She was safe to struggle as much as she wanted. He wouldn’t be dislodged. Not unless she wanted him to.
He brought his mouth to hers. His tongue pushed past the barrier of her lips. She raked her nails down his back. The fabric of his dress shirt against her skin angered her. She tugged on his shirt, wrenched it apart. Buttons flew everywhere. But then her hands were running over taut skin and muscle. She’d never felt anything so delicious.
He moved off of her just long enough to pull her dress over her head. She lay bare breasted before him, her nipples painfully hard. The sound of his zipper added to the noise of their ragged breathing. He shimmied out of his pants and boxers, tossing them aside.
His cock jutted out long and thick. She closed greedy hands over it. She gave it a squeeze, not enough to hurt, but enough to let him know she meant business.
He came back down atop her. His hands jerked her legs apart, tore her panties off and flung them aside. And then one finger was probing her entrance, thick and insistent. She bucked against the intrusion. But it only forced him in deeper. She was aching now. Desperate. He added another finger and then with began stroking her clit with his thumb. She moaned and raked her nails across his hard buttocks.
And then his hand was gone. She made to sit up, but he pushed her back down on the bed. His hands spread her legs open wider. And then his mouth was on her pussy.
She bucked up, but he stayed. His tongue swirled and teased. There was no way he would stop. He wouldn’t stop. She was panting now.
He sucked her clit. Her heels dug into the comforter and her entire body tightened. The orgasm rushed over her, more intense than anything she’d ever felt before. While her pussy fluttered with the aftershocks, he gave her one last lick.
Then, a flash of movement as he sprang off the bed, only to return seconds later. She ran her heels over the comforter, her hips jerked up involuntarily. A crinkling noise. Then, something hot and hard pressed up against her.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
He pushed forward, but paused to look deeply into her newly opened eyes. His held the unspoken question, “Is this all right?”
She almost screamed in frustration. Instead, she jerked her hips. There was a moment of pressure.
“Take it,” he growled.
He slid all the way in. She heard a strangled moan emerge from her throat. A sound she didn’t even know she could make. But there was no time to feel embarrassed.
Because he moved. His hips pumped forward, slamming into her. She met his thrust. Again and again and again. Their bodies brutally straining toward each other.
Ripples of pleasure turned into waves. She was almost there, but her orgasm was just out of reach. She’d never come twice before. It probably wasn’t possible. But her body stretched toward it anyway, only for the orgasm to dance away. And still his cock slid in and out keeping her on that painful plateau. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.