Page 126 of Hawaii Can Suck It

Then her eyes drift to the shipping label, and I catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“That’s cheating.”

“The rules were not established up front.” She shakes again. “Is this some sort of new sex toy? Like fuzzy handcuffs?”

I grin. “Maybe.”

Her mouth falls open. “Oh my God, is it butt stuff?”

“Jesus, Cam.” I chuckle.

“Hey, I don’t judge. I simply need to know how prepared to be.”

I press my lips together, biting back a smirk. “Will you open it already?”

Cam tears into the box, the sound of cardboard ripping filling the room, and when she sees what’s inside, her jaw drops.

Hundreds of scrunchies in every color imaginable spill out as she reaches in and pulls out a giant handful. Reds, blues, yellows, patterns, glitter—she tears into another box, and another—each packed to the brim with more scrunchies, an avalanche of hair ties tumbling onto the carpet.

“¡Dios mío! You can’t be serious!”

Her laugh explodes out of her, head-tilting-back, full-body-shaking, stomach-clutching laughter. And my entire body unclenches in relief.

I grab a handful of scrunchies and start sliding them onto my wrists. “Call me selfish. But I made sure you’ll never, ever,everbe without one again.”

Her gaze locks on to mine, that spark flaring back to life—pure mischief and heat. Her robe slips slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder, and I’m yearning to press my mouth to that spot and work my way down.

“You must really, really,reallywant to fuck my tits,” she says, her tone dropping to a husky register that makes my cock instantly hard.

I let my gaze drag over her with deliberate heat. “Is it that obvious?”

Cam leans forward, closing the distance between us, and presses her lips to mine. I pull her close, grateful for the embrace after the strange coldness mere minutes ago. My hands slide to her waist, sensing the soft terry cloth of her robe and the curves underneath.

She pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Then what are you waiting for?”

My breath catches as she takes a deliberate step backward, maintaining eye contact as her fingers find the loose knot at her waist. She shrugs, and the robe obeys, sliding down her arms before slipping off completely, pooling at her feet. Her breasts break free—soft, full, utterly perfect.

I drink her in, lingering on her tight, erect nipples. My hands twitch with the urge to squeeze. With a flirty look, she takes the scrunchie in my hand, lifts her arms above her head, and gathers her damp hair in a messy bun.

The transformation is instantaneous—from freshly showered resort guest to absolute seductress. The moonlight streaming through the balcony doors caresses every inch of her naked skin, highlighting the curves and valleys I’ve come to know so intimately.

I’m suddenly faced with a dilemma—as if I’m being asked to choose between oxygen or water. I came here to talk, to get everything out in the open, and to find out what caused her sudden distance. But my body has other, very insistent ideas about what should happen next.

My dick, currently straining against my shorts with enough force to bend steel, reminds me that we can do both. Fuck now, talk later.

You’re a genius, I silently tell him.

Cam’s eyes darken. A devilish glint that spells the best kind of trouble—the kind with her flat on her back and praising whatever God sent this woman to ruin me. Cam drops to her knees in one smooth, sinfully confident motion, her hands gliding up my thighs like she owns me. They reach the waistband of my shorts, and with torturous, cruel patience, she pushes the fabric down, freeing my already rock-solid cock.

Seeing her like this—naked, kneeling before me, hair up in a scrunchie—threatens to shatter my last thread of control.

She edges closer, her tongue swirling around the tip of my cock with a teasing lick—sparks shoot up my spine. Wrapping her hand around my base, she pumps slowly while her mouth engulfs me, sucking harder and deeper with each bob of her head before pulling back with an obscene pop that echoes in the quiet room.

When she glances up, her expression shifts slightly, her head tilting as she studies my face. “You’re trying to decide if you want a blow job or a titty fuck, aren’t you?”

“What? No. I—” I pause. Then sigh. “Okay, yeah. How the hell do you always know what I’m thinking?”

It’s unsettling how easily she reads me, how she can take one quick glance and know exactly what filthy scenarios are playing in my mind. Sure she’s written her own playbook these past few days, but this girl has direct access to the darkest corners of my desires.

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