Page 76 of Awakening
I groaned low in my throat as she leaned back, smug and seductive. Knox caught my eye and gave me a knowing look, clearly aware of everything being said. I just smiled. This was going to be one hell of a trip.
Bora Bora didn’t look real. I’d only read about places this beautiful, this scenic, this whimsical. The moment we touched down and stepped out onto the private dock, it felt as though the world had cracked open and revealed a dream. Crystal-clear water in every direction, a soft ocean breeze that smelled like jasmine and salt, and colors so vivid it was like God had oversaturated paradise.
But the villa? That was something else entirely. Our private beachfront escape looked like it belonged in a billionaire’s daydream: four bedrooms, all with ocean views. A private chef greeted us with cold hand towels and mango-lavender juice. The bar was stocked to suit everyone’s needs, top-shelf everything, and they told us it would be restocked daily, as if we needed that kind of temptation.
There was even a massage pavilion tucked into the edge of the palms that held two stunning Polynesian masseuses on standby. I had to keep reminding myself we weren’t filming a music video.
But I think the thing that made my jaw drop the most wasn’t the floating candles in the pool, or the outdoor showers, or even the playroom hidden off the far wing of the villa, equipped with padded walls, ropes, cuffs, silk throws, and a cabinet that made my throat dry.
No, the most breathtaking thing was the people I came here with.
That night, after we’d unpacked, showered, and let thesalty air seep into our bones, we all gathered on the terrace for dinner. The chef laid out a menu rooted in French Polynesian culture:
Poisson cru in coconut milk, citrus, and chili, roasted taro and sweet potatoes with hibiscus salt, grilled mahi-mahi with a tamarind-lime glaze, crispy duck breast with mango chutney and island greens, complete with Tahitian vanilla crème brûlée served with caramelized pineapple.
Knox was in culinary heaven, even taking to his phone to take notes and see how he could incorporate the flavors into Olive & Oak’s menu. We toasted with champagne, laughter bubbling through the air, flirtation flowing as easily as the drinks. Caleb and Ahmir were already shirtless. Dana’s sundress kept threatening to fall off one shoulder. Knox looked like he stepped out of a luxury spread, barefoot, in loose silk pants, and a gold chain gleaming against his chest, but Ajaih had been quiet, sipping something dark and sweet, a glint in her eye that I didn’t fully catch until it was too late.
Yanna leaned against me, her thigh brushing mine, memories of the way she bounced on my dick a few weeks ago still fresh on my mind. The sun was long gone, replaced by lanterns and moonlight. I took a sip of my drink and looked around, relaxed for the first time in what felt like weeks.
Then I noticed Ajaih was missing. I was about to call out when the soft sound of heels echoed against the wood floors.
And then she appeared.
Red.
Head to fucking toe.
A red leather bra with gold hardware wrapped acrossher chest like molten fire. Matching harness panties that cupped her thick thighs like worship. A strap glinted at her center, already attached, already commanding. Her skin shimmered under the soft lights, and her expression?
Focused, dominant, sure.
Every conversation stopped. Glasses paused mid-sip. Yanna sat up straighter beside me. My whole body went hot, and hers too, because out of the corner of my eye, I could see her clinch her thighs.
Ajaih walked—no, stalked toward me, her hips rolling in a rhythm that made my pulse skip. Her eyes flicked to Yanna briefly, then back to me.
“Get up,” she said.
I obeyed before I even registered it. Yanna stood with me. Heat crawled up my neck, something primal and submissive stirring deep inside me. Ajaih had always been seductive, drawing her power from her submission, but this was different; this was command, this was her switching.
I looked down at her, breath caught halfway in my chest.
“Sit,” she told Yanna as she smirked and did just that, lips parted in anticipation.
Ajaih stood between us, one hand on my chest, the other caressing Yanna’s jaw, her voice dropping an octave.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
Then her mouth was on mine, hungry, claiming, pulling a groan from the base of my spine.
I felt her thigh press against me, and it took every ounce of self-control not to melt into her touch right then. Around us, I could hear the sharp intake of breath, the subtle rustle of someone adjusting in their seat. They were watching, and I didn’t give a fuck, I welcomed it.
She kissed Yanna next, slower, deeper, fingers tangling in her curls.
When Ajaih pulled back, her gaze locked with mine. “Strip.”
My knees almost buckled as I stood in the center of the room, stripped completely bare, my heart thudding like tribal drums in my chest, my dick so hard it nearly hurt.
“You and you,” pointing at Yanna and me, “Playroom, on your knees, now.”
