Page 63 of The Oscar Escape
Her bottom lip trembled. It was a minute movement, but Oscar had caught it.
“What you saw on the pages was me playing around. It’s not what I usually do,” she replied, keeping her tone even.
The judge nodded as the twitch of a grin pinched the corners of his mouth. He looked Aria dead in the eyes. “Perhaps it should be.”
Aria studied the man, but she didn’t say a word.
The judge glanced past them and peered into the cabin. “Make sure you tidy up in there. And you might want to turn in early tonight.”
“Why?” Aria asked, finding her voice.
“The island’s counting on you—on the both of you. You’ll want to be at your best.” The judge’s jowly expression deepened. “And no funny business with the lobster.”
Oscar eyed the plastic sea creature. “No, sir, of course not. We were . . .”
“I was kidding, Mr. Elliott,” the judge replied, still sporting a sly expression. Without another word, he ambled down the porch steps and started down the path that led to the Sweet Escape Inn.
For a beat, neither Oscar nor Aria spoke.
“What the hell was that?” Aria mused, breaking the bout of silence. “And why does the judge care what I do with my music?”
He wrapped his arm around Aria’s shoulders and watched the judge disappear into the misty darkness. “I don’t know, but I have the feeling we’re in for a hell of a lot more than your run-of-the-mill community service project.”
Chapter13
ARIA
Aria gripped the edge of the sink and caught Oscar’s eye in the bathroom mirror as he worked her body. She purred a lusty moan. The sound mingled with her fake husband’s sharp, punctuated breaths. She bit her lip, then hummed her satisfaction. “This is definitely not what I pictured when the judge told me I’d be using mytalentstoservethe island.”
Oscar flashed a wicked grin and doubled his pace.
She closed her eyes. All she could do was hold on and enjoy the ride. Truth be told, she’d been doing quite a bit of enjoying the ride.
Two days ago, Etta had tacked a note to their door with the community service instructions. It appeared that the Aldens believed she could best serve the island by—wait for it—cleaning the inn’s eighteen guest rooms. It sounded easy enough, but there was one problem. Aside from a bit of dust, there was nothing to tidy up. The rooms seemed to have been vacant for ages, which introduced an interesting situation for a man and a woman who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Left without supervision and with easy access to multiple isolated guest rooms, the last forty-eight hours had morphed into one hell of a boink-fest, aka their fake honeymoon.
Hello, orgasm-infused sweet escape!
It was a couple of days into her mandatory community service, and she and Oscar had barely interacted with anyone. Del and Etta left the inn early in the morning, headed up a path toward what looked like an old schoolhouse, and didn’t return until late into the night. She’d only caught glimpses of them. From the worry etched on their faces, anyone could tell they had much on their minds. And on the rare occasion when she and Oscar ventured out for a bit of fresh air and encountered locals, the islanders steered clear of them, making it evident that they didn’t hold her in high regard, which made sense. She had caused quite a ruckus and had a good idea that the judge—and possibly the Coast Guard—knew exactly the kind of hanky-panky she and Oscar had gotten into at the lighthouse. She and her fake husband were bona fide island crashers—a title she’d never expected them to hold. However, while she’d delivered a smattering of her signature sass during her court appearance, so far, she’d been the model delinquent. Okay, model delinquent might be pushing it. Still, she hadn’t broken anything or run wild through the village buck naked.
Sure, it was a low bar, but one had to start somewhere.
Had they figured out how to get their asses off the island before the twelve days were up? No, but thanks to spending the bulk of the last two days on the brink of sweet release, she’d barely had a second to worry about anything that didn’t involve Oscar’s normal penis thing and her naughty-down-there parts.
Hold up. That wasn’t entirely true. They’d made time for the sun.
That’s right. The sun.
She’d never been one to swoon over a sunrise or bask in the evening glow of a sunset until she’d set foot on Havenmatch Island and started waking up next to Oscar at the crack of flipping dawn. They’d welcome the day from their room’s little screened-in porch. With Oscar rhythmically clicking away on his camera, capturing the view, and the crisp, salty air nipping at her cheeks, she’d curl up next to him with her notebook, pen, and highlighter. She’d drink in the expanse of the shimmering ocean and compose melodies that mingled with the cry of the gulls and the ebb and flow of the waves meeting the land. They’d do the same thing each night and bid farewell to the day.
Quiet time had never been her thing. She ran too hot to spend hours silently musing about unicorns and the expanse of the universe or whatever the hell Zen people thought about while meditating. But here on Havenmatch Island, she’d tapped into a quasi-serene side. And that wasn’t all. While being relatively chill, this island vibe also had her in a state of near-constant arousal. She’d never sustained such lust, such yearning, such need to wrap her arms around Oscar’s shoulders and ride him like a dirty cowgirl as he catapulted her body into a sea of ecstasy.
And speaking of ecstasy, she was teetering on the edge of it at this very moment.
She opened her eyes and tightened her grip on the sink as Oscar slipped his hand beneath her lobster tank top makeshift bra. The man might not be a musician, but he was a maestro when it came to making her body sing. He massaged her right breast and gripped her left hip, taking her hard and fast from behind. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed in the compact bathroom.
He held her gaze in the mirror. “Can I tell you something about your talents?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” she moaned, greedily taking every rock-hard inch of him.
