Chapter Seventeen

Marshall turned slowly to the furious whispering of his guardian angels.

Angel 1—Dude, you’re screwed.

Angel 2—Hashtag told you so.

“Gus?”

Marshall’s heart drummed almost as loud as the water that was sluicing down his neck and back and running over his shoulders. She didn’t say anything, just took two paces closer until she was a few inches away from his dick, which was pointing like a compass needle right at her belly button. She could have reach out and touched it.

Marshall swallowed, his gaze seeking hers and searching the blue-gray pools. “Gus…what are you doing?”

She shrugged. “You look like you need a hand in here.”

Jesus. His cock bucked, actually bucked at her silky suggestion. He waggled his fingers of his right hand at her. “I’m managing.”

Her gaze dropped as she shuffled closer again, his dick a hairbreadth from touchdown. “More fun with two.”

He cleared his throat of its tightness. “I thought we weren’t doing this thing? You know…the contract? The no-kissing one, remember?”

Raising her gaze for a moment, she used his words from the jetty back at him. “Who said anything about kissing?”

And she sunk to her knees, gasping at the coldness of the water.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.

Marshall had to lock his knees at the sight of her kneeling before him, her lips lightly parted and oh so goddamn close, her eyes feasting on his dick.

“Gus.” He shut his eyes against the temptation.

Her hands slid onto his thighs and they clenched beneath her touch. “Figured it was time for some quid pro quo.”

Her fingers inched up to his hips and Marshall slid his hands over hers, halting their progress as he opened his eyes. A fine mist was spraying off his body and filming her face and neck, her shoulders and chest.

“Augusta.” She blinked up at him, and it was sexy as fuck looking down on his cock and seeing her there, too, her mouth just below the jut of his shaft, her knees pressed into the tiles like a willing supplicant. But…

“It’s not necessary.”

Marshall wanted her mouth on him so badly, but what had happened on that jetty had been about her. Not about seeking any kind of payback. He’d wanted to make her come.

And that had been it.

“I know.”

Her husky voice wrapped cool fingers around the taut globes of his testicles. Did she know, though? Did she know that not every guy was like her ex or the other ones that had obviously made her so gun-shy?

“I want to do this. For you.”

Dear God. Where had he heard that before? “More therapy, Goldilocks? This another pity thing?”

Sitting back on her haunches a little, she quirked an eyebrow. “I’m on my knees about to blow you. Do you really give a shit why, Elmer?”

Marshall had to admit, she made a good point. He was so fucking horny and, with his cock practically poking her in the eye, it was a little hard to pretend he wasn’t. He had no idea why he was being so damn…difficult when the equation was very simple.

One—she wanted to suck his dick. Two—he liked having his dick sucked. Three—win/win.

Angel 1—Mutual satisfaction, baby.

Angel 2—Yeah, dude, what’s your fucking problem?

“Come on, Marshall.” She smiled up at him, through the tiny water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. “Isn’t this what all guys want?”

Angel 1—We do. We definitely do.

Angel 2—Hashtag fuck yeah.

Clearly done with his indecision, she rose up on her knees and took things into her own hands. Or…mouth, as it were. Which instantly silenced dumb and dumber.

And she didn’t fuck around. She opened those sweet lips and plunged them all the way down his shaft until he could feel the taut spongy flesh of the crown bumping the back of her throat.

Fuck.

Marshall groaned and staggered backward a little, his ass and shoulder blades hitting the tiles as Gus followed. She shuddered and made a noise deep in her throat as the cold water sluiced down her back and shoulders, and it vibrated all the way down his shaft and hummed through his balls.

He shut his eyes. Jesus Christ.

Her mouth was hot, the suction just right, the depth eye-rollingly good, her tongue action all kinds of freaky, twisty, slurpy perfection. His pulse beat like a train, hot fingers of lust buried themselves deep in his ass and his lungs struggled to exchange air.

It felt so. Fucking. Good.

And he was so damned primed he was amazed he hadn’t already shot his load. But Jesus…what the hell did she mean by isn’t this what all guys want?

Was she lumping him in with every other dickwad who’d treated her like some prize, some eye candy to brag about, a fantasy woman for a spank bank? Marshall didn’t want to be just like any other guy. He wasn’t any fucking guy. He was her guy, damn it, even if she didn’t know it yet, and he needed her to know the difference.

Angel 2—I think she is lumping you in with all the others, man.

Angel 1—Dude, seriously, she’s sucking your dick. Concentrate.

Christ…Marshall opened his eyes. “Okay, wait.” He slid his hand onto her head, but it only seemed to encourage her more, and when he looked down?

Jesus.

She was completely soaked now, her bra transparent, her wet butterscotch-blonde two shades darker, and watching his cock disappear into her mouth almost cut him off at the knees. His head thunked back against the tiles for a moment or two as the muscles low in his belly dissolved a little more with every pull of those lips.

Isn’t this what all guys want?

God-fucking-damn it. What the hell kind of men had she been involved with?

“Stop,” he murmured, opening his eyes again.

But she either didn’t hear him or was deliberately ignoring. He went with the former, what with the noise from the spray and the thunder of his heart beating through his ears.

Christ on a cracker.

“Stop…” He glanced down his body, his breath hitching at the sight. Her masterful mouth bobbing, his hand sunk in her hair. “Augusta,” he said, louder this time. “For the love of God…stop.”

He pulled out, reaching down for her as she turned her water-spattered face and cloudy blue-gray eyes on him, questioning. He hauled her up onto her toes and flush against him, his cock clamped between them, their foreheads pressed together, their mouths achingly close.

“What?” she asked, her voice a rough pant, their lips almost brushing as her eyes bored into his, demanding an answer.

“It’s not,” he whispered, angling his head a little so his mouth tickled her cheek while his left hand slid under the wet, heavy curtain of her hair, his fingers gripping her nape, anchoring their foreheads.

Water ran down both of them and pooled in between. His thumb made a lazy sweep from the fluttering pulse in the side of her neck to the bony prominence behind her ear.

“It’s not what all guys want, Augusta.”

She made a strangled little dismissive noise at the back of her throat. “God…Marshall…just let me—”

He shook his head, cutting her off, his right hand sliding between their bodies to fist his cock again. He sensed, rather than saw, her gaze drop and zero in on the action. So did his, the plump head of his cock, snug and smug between the two of them.

“Sure,” he said, his voice low but rumbling intimately within their circle, water trickling down his temples, traversing his cheekbones and nose and along the line of his mouth, dripping off his chin. “I like having my dick sucked as much as the next guy, but it’s not what I want from a woman.”

Marshall ran his hand up his shaft in a lazy sweep from root to tip. He suppressed a groan as Gus’s swift intake of breath filled his head. He took his hand down again. “I like it when a woman uses her mouth for other things, too. Like talking and laughing and smiling.”

He punctuated each one with a quick jerk of his dick, his balls pulling tight.

“And kissing.” His mouth turned toward hers—close, so close. But he didn’t cross that line. “Lots and lots of deep, wet, open-mouthed kissing.”

More quick jerks of his cock, faster now, and she moaned, her breathing heavy between them. Marshall’s entire body had become one giant beating pulse.

“I like it when she uses it for eating and for cussing and for telling dirty jokes.”

His hand was moving really fast now, quickly dispelling any pooling water. Her breathing fell into sync, sharp and rapid. Marshall gripped her nape harder as muscles deep inside his belly started to pulse and the outer edges of his control began to fray.

Watching himself, knowing Gus was watching, too, was like an accelerant to the fire that had been smoldering for weeks.

“I like it when she uses it in a courtroom to call me a moron.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You liked that, huh?”

“Christ, yes.” The nerves at the base of his spine lit like a fuse.

“I always knew Elmer Fudd was a masochist.”

Marshall tried not to think about her as some kind of Jessica Rabbit madam, walking all over Elmer’s chest in her those spiky high heels. “You walked in like you owned that place.”

“You underestimated me.”

“I was a fool. That skirt…those heels…” Marshall was panting now, his climax just out of reach. “They totally fritzed my brain.”

“You liked the skirt, huh?”

He groaned, his hand a blur, his lungs all but seizing. “Hell yeah.”

“You wanted to get me out of it?”

“Hell no…I want you to…wear it…everywhere.”

She laughed, but it was low and throaty with a catch that scraped against the underside of his balls, propelling Marshall’s climax nearer.

“What do you like?” he asked.

“I like watching you touch yourself.”

“Oh yeah.” The undulation in the muscles of his ass and thighs and belly became a ripple. Christ. “What…else?”

“I like knowing I can get you like this.”

Marshall panted. “Like what?”

“Hard, puffing, straining. Losing control.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Another ripple swelled from deep inside his belly.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

Fuck. “You want me to?”

“Yes.”

He gripped and released her nape as the ripples gathered momentum and the burst of pleasure hovered. “Then tell me to.”

“Come.”

It was nothing more than a whisper, but it might as well have been a clashing cymbal from on high. The rough command in her voice was unmistakable, and Marshall came—hard.

He cried out, his hand coming to a halt for one protracted moment as the ripple became a contraction and everything squeezed and tightened before it erupted and washed over him. A jet of ejaculate shot straight out his dick and splashed down between them.

“Yes,” she muttered, the thready excitement in her voice tickling his balls. “Yes, yes yes.”

Marshall’s hand started up again and he fisted himself to the very end, groaning and panting his way through an orgasm that felt almost supernatural in its intensity.

He was surprised it hadn’t knocked him on his ass.

“Christ,” he muttered, shutting his eyes as it finally released him from its grip. His hand fell away and joined the other on her nape.

Marshall was conscious only of the press of her forehead, their breathing, and the loud thump of his heart as it used his ribs for a punching bag. But slowly…gradually his body quieted, his rhythms returned to normal and the roar of the water drumming on their heads filled his ears.

So much for it being cold. It felt about a hundred degrees.

Gus was the first to break away, pulling her head back. Marshall’s hands slid from her nape as she eased back a step. He’d like to be able to say he was an utter gentleman and didn’t stare at the large round discs of her nipples clearly visible through the wet white cotton—but he did.

Briefly. Before returning his gaze to her face.

Her hair hung in limp strips around her head, her lips were a reddish-purple from where she’d been pressing them together in concentration as she’d watched, and there was a kind of dazed expression in her blue-gray eyes. She looked wrecked, and damn if he didn’t want to see that again and again.

He felt more than a little wrecked himself, still trying to get his head around the series of events that had lead to her being in his shower. On the surface it’d be easy to pass off as a direct consequence of whatever the hell had gone down in the bedroom before, but he suspected it had its roots in the shirtless photo shoot.

Or, more likely before that—in a series of events.

From being buck naked on day one to the kiss at the bonfire, from the jetty to earlier today.

All he knew for sure now was Gus had that look. That I’m over-thinking look and well…some things just shouldn’t be over-thought. Some things just happened. Which seemed to be their relationship in a nutshell.

“You’re going to be unbearably smug now, aren’t you?” he said, deliberately echoing her words after the jetty that night, desperate to put her at ease.

He didn’t want what had happened just now to become a thing. To be another reason she put up a roadblock to them evolving into a different kind of thing. After Hitchkin. Because he really wanted that. He’d wanted it since that day in court; he just hadn’t realized it or let his mind wander to the future with Gus still hurting so much.

She smiled, obviously remembering her own words. “I think, once again, you did all the hard work.”

Marshall shook his head. “If you think I ever have orgasms like that by myself, then you’re crazy, Goldilocks.”

A half laugh. “I joined you in your shower, sucked your dick, then watched you jerk off. That makes me certifiable, Elmer.”

He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a walk on the wild side.”

“For you, maybe.” She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “I don’t do this stuff.”

Marshall wanted to bellow like a Neanderthal at her admission. He had made her lose control. He had tempted her out of her shell. But it killed him to think Gus had spent so long protecting herself from disingenuous men that she didn’t know the real deal when it was right in front of her.

Because, fucking A, he was the real deal.

He sincerely hoped he’d get a chance to show her, but for now, she needed some concrete reason for what had just happened, other than the obvious—they were falling for each other.

“Relax,” he said, his voice teasing. “It’s the island. It’s like the…Bermuda Triangle. The place where all your inhibitions go missing. Just…more rabbits and fewer umbrellas in the drinks.”

Laughter bubbled out from her chest and Marshall joined in, relaxing a little at her smile. “Bermuda Triangle, huh?”

He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

She nodded a bit, but it didn’t take long for her smile to disappear. “Well, anyway. I’m not sure how to make an exit after what just happened, but—”

“Why don’t you stay?” Marshall said, jumping in quickly. “I’ll wash your back.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And your front.”

For a moment, she looked tempted, her gaze fanning down his body, and Marshall held his breath. But as quickly as it had come, it had gone, and she was shaking her head. “I think we’ve wasted enough water.”

Then she was turning away and stepping out of the cubicle. But not before she’d flashed him the back side of her panties. A round fluffy bunny tail was printed dead center along with the words kiss my furry ass. Marshall laughed as he eased back against the wall.

One week. One more week and he could kiss her senseless. Like he’d wanted to do as he’d jerked off for her. He wouldn’t start at her ass, her mouth definitely had that privilege, but one day he hoped she would let him make it all the way down.

…

How Gus managed to walk out of the shower without falling in a heap, she had no idea. Her legs were weak as blades of grass. She grabbed her towel and made it to the bed before they gave away. Rambo, who was sitting in the middle of the bed, blinked at her with judgey eyes.

“Give me a break,” she whispered. “We’re in the Bermuda Triangle.”

The bunny’s expression was plain. Don’t give me that Bermuda bullshit. “Yeah well…I got nothing else.”

A crazy-ass conspiracy theory was something at least. And they were on an island. A vacation island. Of sorts. People sometimes acted uncharacteristically on vacation. Sometimes with inappropriate people. She’d read it in a magazine.

Sure, it wasn’t Myrtle Beach, but she wasn’t an eighteen-year-old sorority girl, either.

It wasn’t her behavior, however, that was the most stunning part. What was more puzzling, was Marshall’s behavior.

He’d stopped her—actually stopped her—from giving him a blow job. Hauled her up off the tiles. She’d known a few men over the years and none of them had ever said no to a BJ. It was so abnormal that, for a beat or two after he’d pulled out of her mouth, she’d been completely disorientated.

It was stunning and puzzling and a little embarrassing given how she’d not attempted to stop him at all when he’d been doing his thing down in her business.

Frankly, stopping him had never occurred to her.

Christ…should she have stopped him? Instead of lying back like some…renaissance nude letting him…eat uninterrupted.

And then he’d stunned her even further by holding her close, locking them together from their foreheads down to their thighs, and staying that way. He hadn’t asked her to take off her bra so he could get off staring at her tits, maybe fondle them with his spare hand or shoot his load all over them.

He hadn’t asked her to perform some kind of erotic show. He hadn’t treated her like a hooker or lap dancer or some sex-shop doll he could manipulate to his liking. He’d pulled her in close and created a cocoon of intimacy, his voice a hot whisper in her ear as he’d touched himself.

Hell, the man hadn’t even talked dirty to her.

But his focus on her—not her the woman, her the human being—had been so freaking hot.

Just her luck to stumble across a guy who ticked all her boxes only to find his track record at sticking around was lousy. Marshall was the kind of guy she’d been starting to think was a female construct that didn’t actually exist. Some kind of collective figment of female imagination. A freaking unicorn.

Shame about the fiancée thing.

The muffled noise of running water cutting out sliced into the loud tick of Gus’s thoughts. Fuckity fuck. God alone knew what Marshall might think if she was sitting here when he opened the door.

He might get entirely the wrong idea.

Leaping off the bed, which scared the hell out of Rambo, she grabbed her towel and some fresh clothes and fled.