“I think we’ve allowed ourselves to be sidetracked for long enough,” Sophie teased after feeling Rourke’s engorged cock throbbing in reminder against her thigh.
She shifted slightly until she was able to lightly stroke her fingers along his thighs and along that burgeoning length, from the root surrounded by dark curls to the red and glistening tip, surprised at how velvety soft his skin felt against her palm.
“Oh God…” Rourke groaned, arms falling from about her waist as he leaned back on his hands.
Sophie took that as encouragement to slide off his lap and back onto her knees between his parted thighs.
Rourke’s cock was just as much of a work of sculpted art as the rest of him—long and wide, with a thick vein running along its length. The mushroomed top was a fierce red and glistening with pre-cum. His skin was like velvet over steel as the fingers of one of Sophie’s hands curled about that thickness and began to pump along its length while her other hand cupped the taut and heavy sac beneath.
Because she wanted to taste that pre-cum and lick that deliciously soft skin, that’s exactly what she did. She parted her lips and took the whole of that bulbous head into the heat of her mouth.
“Sophie…!” Rourke gasped. He was too aroused to be gentle with her as his palms moved to cup each side of her head, his long fingers becoming entangled in her hair as he held her steady while he controlled the thrusting of his cock into that hot, moist, and welcoming cavern.
Sophie’s mouth felt like a blanket of wet heat surrounding his cock as he thrust inside. After each thrust, he allowed her time to adjust to that new depth before moving deeper still.
If anyone ever looked at Rourke and thought “enjoyable but vanilla sex,” they were way off course. In the last fifteen years, Rourke had tried a little of everything. Even that vanilla sex, which definitely had its place in a loving relationship. He had explored hardcore BDSM for a couple of weeks and found that wasn’t for him either. He didn’t want either a doormat or someone who liked being physically hurt. What he wanted was somewhere in between those two. A woman who could give as good as she got, resulting in giving them both pleasure.
After his previous caution where she was concerned, Rourke was starting to believe Sophie was that woman.
For instance, he had felt Sophie’s gag reflex when he thrust just a little too deep for her comfort. But not for long, because she immediately counteracted by relaxing the muscles at the back of her throat and allowing him to slide deeper still. She made no sound of demur as he remained lodged there for several seconds and could stroke his own length inside her throat. Her eyes were a little moist when Rourke finally pulled back, but no tears fell.
Time after time, she not only allowed Rourke to repeat that pleasure, but her fingers now gripping and digging into his thighs encouraged him to do so.
She groaned with pleasure after Rourke leaned forward to pull up her top and unfasten and push her bra aside so that he could cup and squeeze the softness of her breasts as he pinched and pulled her aroused nipples downward.
“Do you like that?” he prompted gruffly.
Moist blue eyes looked up at him as Sophie nodded.
“And this?” He alternated pulling on her nipples.
The low groan in her throat vibrated along the length of Rourke’s cock and into his balls, acting as a spark to the tinder of his barely contained control.
“I’m coming, Sophie,” he gasped. “I want you to come with me,” he demanded, feeling her body quake as she did exactly that and his release shot the length of his cock before it exploded in pulse after pulse of hot cum down Sophie’s relaxed throat.
Sophie woke to the smell of coffee and the knowledge that she was alone in bed.
The first was a little odd because, living alone, there was no one in her apartment to make her coffee.
The second was even odder because she was pretty sure this wasn’t her bed.
She also felt as if she was rocking slightly, but not in a steady and soothing way. No, this was more like—
“We’ll be landing in about thirty minutes.”
The sound of Rourke’s voice nearby, very nearby, definitely meant Sophie was dreaming. A pleasant dream but—
What the hell—?
Had that familiar voice said they would be landing in thirty minutes?
Sophie opened her eyes and sat up so suddenly, she almost hit a fully dressed Rourke on the nose as he sat on the bed beside her. She would have done so if he hadn’t flinched back in time.
Which was when the events of the past forty-eight hours all came rushing back at her.
In Technicolor.
Zachary Tillman’s threat.
The wedding.
The man who had attacked her at the hotel.
Rourke’s rescue.
His lovemaking yesterday.
Then leaving England on Gregori Markovic’s—the head of the Russian bratva in London—private jet, and which he was personally piloting.
Sophie’s life had taken on a surreal quality the past eight days since she learned her father was a thief, but that last one was definitely the most out there.
She was a twenty-three-year-old university dropout, working as a receptionist in a security company. In the normal course of events she would never have met someone like Gregori Markovic, let alone be travelled on his private jet to a set of islands in the Caribbean that were one of the world’s biggest financial centers. Which might have something to do with the fact the Caymans were also a tax haven.
She was being accompanied there by the man Sophie had secretly been in love with for the past three years.
Her breath caught in her throat as she also recalled she had sucked and licked Rourke’s cock earlier until he shot his hot and delicious cream into her mouth, which she had eagerly swallowed down her waiting throat. Not once but three times. She hadn’t known men were capable of coming in such quick succession as that, but Rourke certainly was, and Sophie was more than happy to continue giving him that pleasure until he begged for mercy after his third orgasm in such a short time had caused him to tremble and shake during that release.
Sophie had excused herself to go into the en suite bathroom, cleaning her teeth and washing her face and hands before removing her clothes and taking a shower. She had kept her mind deliberately blank as she dried herself before pulling on a silk robe she found hanging on a hook behind the door.
By the time Sophie returned to the bedroom, the blinds were drawn and the single lamp in the room showed Rourke was lying on his side on the farthest side of the bed. He watched with glittering eyes as she remained standing in the doorway of the bathroom, before turning back the bedcovers beside him in invitation for her to join him.
Sophie recalled the heated blush in her cheeks and avoiding meeting his gaze as she crossed the room and slid into bed beside him, still wearing the silk robe, before lying on her side, turned away from him.
Rourke hadn’t spoken a word of rebuke about her keeping on the robe or her physical distance but had instead moved his arm about her waist to pull her back against him before he spooned her body with his. “Go to sleep,” he then murmured against her ear.
Sophie had been convinced she wouldn’t be able to do that with Rourke’s naked body cuddled up behind her. But if, as Rourke said, it was now only half an hour until they arrived at Grand Cayman, then she must have been asleep for hours.
She gave an exaggerated yawn as she pulled the bedcovers high enough to cover her breasts. “I think I must have missed lunch.”
Rourke nodded. “And afternoon tea. But Candi has prepared some sandwiches for you to eat in the car on the way to the hotel.”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “I thought her name was Candice?”
He shrugged. “She prefers Candi.”
“You and Candi seem to have become very friendly while I was sleeping.”
Any other time, from any other woman, Rourke would have immediate shut down the slightest hint of a jealous accusation with a few abrupt and cutting words. But not when it was Sophie showing that jealousy. She could be as jealous as hell of other women, and he would revel in it rather than feel the usual irritation he experienced when a woman tried to make any sort of claim on him. It was different with Sophie, because if she really was jealous, then it gave Rourke hope she might be starting to care for him in the same way he did her. A long shot, maybe, but even an unrepentant sinner was allowed to hope.
He shrugged. “You were asleep for a long time.”
“And Candi kept you company for all of it?”
His eyes narrowed at her continued emphasis on that shortened version of the hostess’s name. “She served me lunch and afternoon tea.”
“You didn’t manage to sleep at all?”
“I dozed for an hour or so, but then I got up so that I didn’t disturb you with my fidgeting.” He stood up. “I’ve already showered if you want to use the bathroom.”
Sophie wasn’t sure what she wanted.
To be on her way to the Cayman Islands in the search for her errant father was obviously top of the list of things she didn’t want.
But that ship—or plane—had obviously departed, leaving Sophie with no choice but to deal with it. After all, she was the one who had insisted on accompanying Rourke to the Caribbean.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She gave Rourke a brief glance, long enough to see the wariness in his eyes. “I’m fine.” She reached out for the mug of cooling coffee on the cabinet beside the bed before taking a welcome swallow.
Rourke winced. “Was I too much for you earlier?”
Sophie raised her brows. “In what way?”
He snorted. “I have this…ability to continue making love long after most men would have fallen into a satiated sleep.”
Her brow cleared. “That’s really hot.”
“It is?”
She chuckled. “Of course it is.”
“That hasn’t usually been my experience.”
Sophie sobered. “Then maybe you’ve been making love with the wrong women.”
“I’ve had sex dozens of times, but I’ve never made love with any other woman but you,” he corrected firmly.
Again, Sophie wasn’t quite sure how much or if she should read anything at all into Rourke’s comment. It sounded as if Rourke considered her as being different to those other women who had been in his life and bed, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by making assumptions.
“That’s good to know,” she said noncommittally. “Now, I think I’d better get dressed if we’re landing soon.” She breathed a sigh of relief when Rourke left the bedroom without pushing her for any more answers.
Mainly because she didn’t have any.
Making love to Rourke had been an experience Sophie knew she would cherish and a memory she would keep. Always.
She even managed to smile at Candice when she refused the sandwiches the other woman had prepared for her to take with her. She also felt less uncomfortable this time when Gregori Markovic came out of the cockpit to shake their hands and wish them a pleasant stay in the Caymans. Yes, the watchful bodyguards said he was still the head of the London bratva, but for the moment, he was also the man who had generously offered his jet and his time to fly them safely to these sun-drenched islands so that Sophie might find her father. No doubt he would conduct some business while he was here, as he said he would, but he had timed his visit around what she and Rourke needed.
He smiled at her. “I, my plane, and crew will be staying on the island overnight and leaving at eight o’clock in the morning, if you should decide to make the return journey with us.”
“I appreciate the kindness of your offer,” she returned politely, having no idea how long this visit to the Caymans was going to take.
He turned to Rourke. “Give me a call if you need a ride home tomorrow.” A silent message seemed to pass visually between the two men.
Rourke nodded. “I’ll do that.” He warmly shook the other man’s hand.
After the pleasant temperature inside the jet, the heat outside hit Sophie the moment she walked down the steps to the tarmac. It wasn’t oppressively hot, but definitely more so than the mild English summer she had left earlier today.
Because she’d been asleep and then showering and dressing, Sophie had missed any sightings of the islands as they came in to land. But within a few minutes of being driven by cab to their hotel—driving on the left-hand side of the road, as it was in England—she was looking at palm trees along white sandy beaches and a turquoise sea that was as clear as glass.
“The beaches and places for snorkeling here are spectacular,” Rourke supplied beside her. “I could teach you if you’ve never done it before.”
There were a lot of things Sophie had never done before that Rourke could teach her, and snorkeling was only one of them!
“Thanks,” she accepted noncommittally, surprised when, just a few minutes later, the cab turned off the palm-fringed road to park in what was obviously the forecourt of a hotel.
“Grand Cayman is approximately twenty-two miles long and four miles wide,” Rourke supplied dryly as he got out of the car. “If you’re feeling energetic, everything is within walking distance.”
Sophie stared up at what a plaque on the wall outside said was a five-star hotel, while Rourke paid the cab driver and a porter efficiently took their luggage from the trunk of the car into the hotel.
The hotel had been built in a curved shape and was at least ten stories high. The fronds of the palm trees in the garden swayed gently in the breeze. There was a pool at the front of the hotel too, and then behind that, another of those beautiful white sandy beaches so abundant on the island. There were maybe two dozen people on the beach, either swimming or sunbathing on comfortable loungers, while attentive waiters or waitresses brought drinks or food to them from the bar situated at the edge of the hotel pool.
Sophie’s surroundings only added to how surreal this trip already felt, after flying here on a privately owned jet.
Rourke took it all in his stride, he and the rest of his family obviously used to traveling on and staying in first-class accommodations.
If Sophie had thought the outside of the hotel was impressive, then the inside was even more so.
Vaulted ceilings. Venetian glass chandeliers. Cream marble floors and ceilings. Original works of art on the cream-silk-papered walls. There were also several beautiful life-size sculptures of half-naked men and women.
Sophie felt slightly numbed by the elegant opulence as she stood to one side and waited the few minutes for Rourke to book in and be given the keycard to their room. The luggage was already on its way up, apparently. He took her arm as the two of them stepped inside the glass lift, allowing them an unrestricted view of the beach and sea as the lift traveled up the front of the building.
She swallowed hard. “Is my father staying at this hotel too?”
Rourke was more than a little concerned by Sophie’s near silence since they had left the airport, and he didn’t think it was due solely to the spectacular views.
The mention of her father explained some of her preoccupation. Neither of them was completely sure what going to happen once they found Stephen Hammond.
Although, with the information Haydn had found, Rourke had a pretty good idea. “He is, yes,” he confirmed. He had thought it best if they stayed at the same hotel as Sophie’s father. That way, there was less chance of the management asking them to leave the premises if a scene should ensue once they met up with Hammond.
Sophie swallowed before speaking. “So while I’ve been in England for the past week, fighting off threats and attacks from men who are nothing more than common criminals because my father stole from them, he’s been here, staying in a five-star hotel and living the high life?”
“Pretty much, yes.” There was no point in Rourke trying to sugarcoat what he knew to be the truth.
If Hammond felt any remorse over the danger he had left his daughter in, then it wasn’t apparent from his days spent lounging on beaches and his evenings wining and dining his female companion, either at the hotel or one of the other numerous excellent restaurants on the island.
Sophie straightened. “Then let’s hope he hasn’t spent too much of the five million pounds he embezzled, because he’s going to pay it all back. Every penny. I don’t care how, but he is!” Her eyes glittered with angry determination.
Rourke was more than willing to make up any shortfall as long as it meant Sophie was no longer in danger.