Page 25 of Match Made in the Maldives

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t worry about what your family wants, or your friends, or anyone else. Not what you imagine’ll look good or will win whatever game you wanna play. Put all the bullshit aside. Because I know what I want.”

“What’s that?” Her subdued voice gets half-carried out to sea.

I swallow, hoping I can still talk. “I want to learn everything about you. Find out what you like and what you don’t. Where you love to be touched. What drives you crazy in the best way. Good, bad, simple, complicated, messy, and imperfect. That’s what I want. And if you don’t, that’s fine. I’d understand. But I can’t put everything on the line for something you see as just a good time. So I need to know.”

“I—I want that, too.”

“What?” I swallow, though my throat feels full of sand.

“You.”

I drag her toward me and our mouths meet in a flurry—her arms around my neck, mine around her waist, our bodies pressed together as we stumble to regain balance as one. Her purse flies to the ground, and I trip over one of her flip-flops. She’s passion and sunny afternoons; her kiss is forward and seeking.

Jasmine—she smells like jasmine with a dash of spice.

I cup her head in one hand, willing us to somehow get closer. She matches my urgency with each nip and lick and whimper, so I can’t tell if I’m devouring or being devoured. Either way, I don’t want this to stop. She slips a palm under my shirt, and my breath hitches.

“Cold hands,” I murmur against her mouth.

“Warm me up, then.”

“How?”

“However you’d like.”

Her eyelids are at a sultry half-mast when I pull back. Lou might think she has to play along with whatever I want to do, but this needs to be for both of us.

“Lou,” I say in between kisses. “You’re not here to let me live out my fantasies. I’m interested in what turns you on. Doing things you like. So show me, or tell me.”

I trail my lips down her neck to her shoulder while she decides. How many times have I seen Lou’s shoulders in tank tops or strapless dresses? They’re downright divine up close.

“Mmm. We could…” She paws around at my zipper. “I could go down on you.”

The suggestion gets me harder, my cock pressing into my clothing and making my pants impossibly tight. “Is that for me or for you?”

“Uh,” she says, breathy.

“I don’t want to have all the fun. What about you? Do you want to come?”

She moans at this. That’s a yes, but she growls out an excuse. “We don’t have enough time.”

I give us both a little space, searching her eyes for an answer.

“We—Dinner’s in like fifteen minutes,” she says. “I need more time than that.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Her face breaks into a laugh. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I trace the strap of her dress with my forefinger, and she shivers against my touch. “Neither of us loses. You either have an orgasm, or you have a great time getting close.”

“And you?”

“I get to give you an orgasm.” I’m salivating at the thought of Lou coming. After years of admiring her from the sidelines, I could think of nothing better than hearing her sounds and seeing her face overtaken with ecstasy—and for me to be the reason. “Let me make you come. Please.”

“You can try.” She leans against the palm tree behind her, grabbing a fistful of my shirt so I follow her into a kiss.

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