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Ding, ding! Round one goes to Arabella Dexter.
Sometimes winning could be so fucking sweet.
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* * *
Losing round two sucked, but at least it came with lovely scenery.
Grant was one of those men who looked even more ridiculously good naked than he did fully clothed. And he was gloriously, splendidly naked.
She wanted to tell him fighting fire with fire wasn’t very gentlemanly, but the view was far too lovely to complain about.
The man was covered in freckles and tattoos. He made the freckles look so good she had no idea why other men didn’t get fake ones tattooed on. At some point since the last time she’d seen him nude, he’d gotten a few more nasty-looking aliens tattooed up his right leg. Not the cute green kind, but the ones with sharp, dripping fangs. Ones that didn’t look even remotely human. The only reason she’d even noticed them, however, had been because she was desperately trying not to stare longingly at Grant’s dick.
It had been a long fucking time since she’d slept with anyone other than Grant. She knew what Grant and everyone else at the club thought, but for the past year—ever since they’d slept together the first time—she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do the deed with another man. Or woman. She’d had plenty of offers, and had played with at least a dozen Dominants and switches at the club and in private, but when it came right down to it, he was the only one she wanted.
Hell, she wouldn’t even have played with anyone else if he hadn’t started mocking her about her dry spell at one point. Now, with Grant in front of her in all of his glory, she sort of wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair for him to be so perfect and so goddamn stubborn about not touching her again unless she agreed to being collared.
He didn’t have any pity for the fact that she was way too jaded to buy into the illusion of permanence that came with a collar. It was a pretty lie she wouldn’t let herself believe anymore. Only children believed in fairy tales, and although she was only in her midtwenties, she was way past the point of believing in forever.
It bothered her that he’d gotten new tattoos—and such extensive ones—without telling her. He was supposed to tell her everything, even when they’d been fighting nonstop. The new aliens on his leg were like a slap in the face.
“Nice ink,” she lied. Well, the ink was nice, just her cheery sentiment was a lie. “When did you get that done?”
“Not long after we were together,” he said absently, his attention on the sand beneath his feet as he waded into the water.
The beach was a lot larger than she ever would have guessed, stretching along this entire side of the island. Large sections of the beach had sand that was silky and fine, but in other areas it graduated up to small, smooth pebbles. They’d walked along the shore from the beginning to the end of the beach, inspecting the dock where the smaller fishing boats and canoes launched from, and the boathouse where they were stored. After that Grant announced he was going for a swim.
She’d watched him strip, just as helpless to look away as he’d seemed to be when she’d done the same in their room. The bastard. Now she was standing on the beach, watching him wade into the water, drooling over his taut, muscular ass. Without meaning to, she felt her teeth click together in a bite that would have ended with him yelping in surprise if she’d been closer. Bad idea though. Experience had proven he didn’t appreciate having his ass bitten.
Frustrated, she tore her gaze away and looked out over the water. The mosquitoes were starting to get bad, but the sun setting on the horizon across the lake was too beautiful to miss.
They were dusty from their explorations, but she’d rather take a shower when she got back to the lodge, rather than deal with the hypothermia she’d get from swimming.
“You might not want to go in too far,” she teased. “The fish here don’t see a lot of humans. They might bite your dick off—especially with the shiny steel you’ve got through the tip of it. You have a built-in fishing lure.”
“You say that as though you care.”
“I don’t think I’ve made a secret of the fact that I’m pretty attached to your dick—or would be if you allowed it.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, arching a brow at her. “It’s yours if you’re willing to pay the price. The ball’s in your court.”
“I’d prefer your balls in my mouth, if we’re being completely honest.”
He grunted at her, glancing at her mouth before turning away and wading farther into the water. As he got to his groin, he went up on his toes and hissed, then dunked himself under and came up with water streaming down the bulges and planes of his muscled torso and arms. He slicked his hair back and swiped the water out of his eyes and Dex groaned loud enough that she startled herself.
Luckily he didn’t notice. The last thing Grant needed was an ego b
oost.
The man should be illegal, really.
Both he and Will were obnoxiously attractive, but she’d always been a Team Grant girl. Will was more serious in day-to-day life and, from what she’d seen in the club over the years, he was less rough with his slaves. Grant loved to laugh, but he could be an absolute bastard in the bedroom. She’d heard it, but hadn’t really believed it, until she’d gotten firsthand experience. She’d been sore for days afterward. Although she hadn’t slept with them, the Norwegians had left her in a similar state, but they didn’t have the same sort of existing bond with her, and didn’t know how her mind worked.
There was something to be said for the emotional connection between her and her sexy, redheaded BFF.
Grant could read her like no one else.
