Don Puerto wasn't just an island. It looked like a semi sort of Heaven. Palm trees, blue lagoons, and a resort so perfect it felt morally wrong to breathe in it.
Jordan was there for his publicity tour. That was the official word — a meet-and-greet, some beach photos, a few rehearsed smiles for the cameras.
I was there for something entirely different.
To stop him from dying.
But first of all, I think I needed to stop myself from dying at the opulence of the room in the hotel I had made a reservation.
Or planned to make a reservation before discovering to my astute surprise that a reservation had already been made for Night Gloomsday Carter.
I snort and resist the urge to throttle Jordan's throat if I caught a glimpse of it. Because why in God's name would he outrageously fumble my middle name.
Even Persephone was a hotter pick anyday that the really outrageous Gloomsday.
Of all the words in his cantankerous brain.
The audacity of that pompous brat.
But one look at the room and my previous irritation with Jordan vanished. At this point, I could be called Doomsday and I wouldn't bat an eyelid. ..
I was afterall Night Persephone Carter.
The bed was monstrous and ridiculous and perfectly made, flawlessly adorned with a white island of pillows. Crisp sheets lay , patient and lickable. A stack of plush towels bore the hotel crest then there was a silk robe hung from a hook, as if the suite expected me to be theatrical about comfort.
Little details tried to humanize the extravagance. A handwritten card sat atop the minibar—Welcome to the Azure Pearl. For any need, contact concierge. The stamp of the hotel's concierge number glowed on the pad, crisp and polite.
The television, enormous and black, waited like an unblinking eye.
The bathroom was a temple of indulgence. Black marble, a freestanding tub shaped like the hull of a ship, and a shower with so many heads. Luxury items—oils, lotions, perfectly rolled hotel slippers waited crisply.
I set my gown down on a chair—Jordan's gift—and it looked elegant on the arm of the chair, too elegant to be ignored.
Standing naked in the bath tub, I imagined him seeing me in it and felt my skin heat and my pulse tighten with something close to fear and something dangerously like hunger. Ridiculous, I told myself. Dangerous, I reminded myself. Forbidden, the universe added in italicized thought.
"I like it when your mind wanders in my direction" A dangerously arrogant voice cooed on my naked shoulders. I stiffened, my hand suddenly paralyzed on it's way to turn on the shower.
Jordan Files. Stark Naked. In the bath tub with me.
My face wore the colorless colors of a frown "There's no word for private in your dictionary, I guess" I sigh.
Not with frustration. With something dangerously close to a longing. Stupid stupid forbidden longing.
"I deal in words of a less pristine nature" He snorts, his naked hand meeting mine on the shower button. "Welcome to Don Puerto"
"Gloomsday" I scoff "Your idea of a joke?"
He laughs "Sounds like a Victorian weather report, doesn't it ?" He turns on the shower, and I watch the water slowly slide to my hardening nipples and my bare back. In tantalizing slow drips.
I say flatly "Atleast Persephone was mythic".
Jordan waltz closer, his hands stay stamped on my waist while the water ripples down on his hair and trail to his straight thin nose "We could make our own myth and keep on making them..."
"If you stay alive" I finish dryly
"Which I intend to do " His hands locate my navel in a dizzying dance "Afterall, you are here to save me, aren't you".
Hell, I cannot even save myself from you, I say to myself.
"I heard that" He whispers on my neck.
The water has gone from cool to molten, or maybe that's just us. My breath hitches before I can command it back into my lungs. He's not even touching me anymore, but the space between us feels touched.
He reaches for the sponge, an almost casual motion that surprisingly jolts my heartbeat.
Warm foam glides over my shoulder; his hand follows, slow, certain.
He's only washing me—I tell myself that twice to steady the haunting treacherous heat simmering between my naked thighs.
"You shouldn't..." I start to say in a fluttering hurry, never one to trust my very flimsy dwindling restraint.
God. I was silently wishing I could fuck him right here in the sizzling bath tub, his arms would cup my naked ass and carry my weight while my legs would wrap around his irresistible waist.
At this point, I had to gladly accept that I was a feral dog when it came to Jordan. Fuck, why did he have to be so damn irresistible and juice dripping and ...
"I shouldn't what" He asks and the tempting innocence is enough to scald me further.
"You know what" I snort, catching the scent of the soap rising between us, something citrus and salt.
"Well you are the one who's standing naked in my arms" Water traces the hollow of my spine; his hand doesn't hurry.
"I am standing in a hotel shower" I retort,
my skin prickles with every place he's already been. "You are the one who miraculously appears. In really tempting situations."
"Lupine Teleportation " He reminds me, washing the curves of my breasts with a ridiculously disarming slow motion .
"One of your many flaws" I bite my lips , letting my hand wander the flawless horizon of his wet , dripping chest in unhurried strides down to his naked waist "And the one I am beginning to like."
"Fortunately, I have a reservoir of other things to like" He grins. I am hovering undecided on his waist. Afraid to let my hand haunt downwards. Afraid of the warmth threatening to burst through my chest. Afraid I might pounce on him too soon. Too fast. A hungry Wolf.
"They might not interest me" I am biting my lips too hard I'm sure I'm bleeding. Jordan's hand caresses the wall, flicking the shower off in one swift motion. His other hand touches mine on his waist and he's pushing my hand downwards, to the place I had been hesitant to tour.
"Prove me wrong then"
"Cocky boy" I gasp, as my hand lands on the rock solid bulge of his erection.
"My sweet girl" He mumbles. I let my fingers shamelessly cup his pleasure pistol. A moan leaves his throat. "Your fingers are working wonders. "
"My mouth can cook a more savage dose." I am stroking his hardened cock, stroking and watching his frost eyes stay pinned on mine in a frozen limbo.
He licks his lips " Cook me then in that wonder pot".
I need no further invitation. I drop down with the maddening hunger of a feral dog.
Jordan's dick fills up my greedy mouth till there's no space for breath. But why would I need air when I was gorging on something so deliciously wonderful I was wavering somewhere between heaven and hell.
His hands stuck fast to my hair while his back nestled against the wall.
My knees creaked softly against the bathroom and my tongue lapped up the erect cap of his erect manhood. Shit. Did he have to be so sweet.?
I sucked him further, using one hand to pin his waist Incase he thought of disappearing. His slow moans filled out the length and breath of the bathroom and his fingers dug deeper into my hair, urging me on.
I sucked and sucked. He moaned and moaned, I took him in my mouth more and more until he was fully in and slowly he began to thrust.
And thrust.
And thrust.
My mouth adjusted to the rhythm of his thrusts and I sucked even more while my throat burned and my hand caressed his shaft.
He kept moaning till his hand on my head burned tighter as if my scalp was about to pull out and my tongue worked at a tripling speed.
Till something wet drizzled into my throat.
He came in my mouth and I swallowed it whole.