HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
No seriously, it's actually my birthday today.
I don't think I shall tell you how old I am, I shall just let you continue to think me immortal if you wish. But either way, I am back with another Undercover Lover episode. This one has been cheesily titled "Indian Jones and the Island Adventure". Really, it's just me practicing my smut writing so if you have some pointers please leave them in the comments - that can be your gift to me. I think that's it, though; nothing else to report.
ON WITH THE SHOW!
“My friends call me Indy.” He was nearly shouting in her ear
but she could barely hear him above the pulsing rhythm beating through her body
in time with her heart. The music had such an intoxicating sound, an exotic
seduction of words and soul that possessed all the dancers on the floor to do
something they’d never done before. For him, it was this; dancing with the
woman in the sunset beach dress wrapped tightly around her curves. The drums
were almost as intoxicating as her scent, invading his nostrils for the sheer
proximity of their bodies. She continued to grind her body to the beat, her
limbs flowing perfectly around him but rarely touching. All around them,
affairs equally as drunk were grinding and kissing as passionately as the night
would take them, throwing caution – and clothing - to the wind. He didn’t
remember meeting her exactly and he had no idea when they had started dancing
but when her hand came around to cup his shoulder blades and pull him flush
against her fiery body, he decided he didn’t really care.
“Miranda.” She introduced herself. He felt a shiver of
arousal and he knew in an instant that she felt it, too when her sweet smile
became seduction and he knew he was dancing with the devil herself. Suddenly,
he didn’t care. She continued her dance and he tried to follow but then she
slipped down further against his body, arching her back to him and slinking up
without ever losing contact.
She had closed her eyes to the outside world and he knew he
had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. It was only when her
ass met his front that he placed his hands against her hips to slow her
movements down. More pressure in her calculated rolls, and grinds making slow
circles as she came around to face him, their eyes never leaving each other’s.
He saw the arousal in her eyes, blackened to dark chocolate pools against her
bronze skin. Every detail of her being was hard to miss.
And if he didn’t stop her soon, he would be on the verge of
doing something he would sorely regret. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’m in a relationship.” Her breath was hot in his ear, even
as she continued to grind against him.
“Then maybe we’ll make it two.” He offered his hand out to
her like a gentlemen which may have been the most ridiculous thing anyone had
or would do all weekend. She tilted her head and looked at him, bemused but
nodded once and allowed herself to be led through the crowd of forgotten
weekends and affairs to remember to the bar in the corner, littered with empty
drinks, better left abandoned than unattended.
He summoned a bartender and leaned in close “Whiskey; neat.”
He shouted before inviting her to order with a hand placed firmly below
necessary.
“Vodka martini,” she glanced over at her new acquaintance
with appraising eyes and turned back to the bartender with a smirk “dirty.” The
man nodded and bustled about with an air of sex appeal to every movement – a
fact accentuated by his shirtless attire and lack of inhibitions towards the
guests. It felt like a lifetime in a single moment before the man returned with
their drinks, placed on the mysterious tab that he seemed to have everyone set
up on.
They held their glasses to each other, close enough to touch.
“To new friends.” He offered and she echoed it with a secret smile hidden
behind her drink. “So,” he leaned against the bar while she stood before him,
clouding his vision more than any alcohol could accomplish “where is your
mysterious lover? Surely they have to be crazy to leave you all alone in a
place like this.”
She leaned forward, invading all semblance of personal space
a long time ago but now, with the added bonus of stealing his breath at the
ample display of her breasts uninhibited in her dress. He didn’t dare try to
look away; even as she pulled away, having placed her drink on the bar behind
him. “He knows he can trust me.” Even had he been breathing, he still would
have choked on irony of the situation. But she was already moving on “so what
brings you to paradise?”
He almost said it was her that brought him to paradise but
he thought better of it and instead played a casual hand to test her limits.
“I’m a history professor, actually. Not the most glamorous of jobs but I also
do a sort of part time job of recovering ancient artifacts. It takes me all
over the world but usually to places not nearly as beautiful as this.” She was
watching him with a precise eyes – he was suddenly struck with the notion that
her eyes were cat-like; always watching and waiting for the exact moment to
pounce – licking her lips slowly as his chest heaved deeper with each swipe of
her eyes. “And-” he cleared his throat “and what do you do?”
“I…” she stepped into his space with no more pretence, only
lust. When she spoke, her tongue came out to tease his earlobe and he was
completely gone “I get turned on by smart, sexy men with dangerous jobs.” He
hadn’t realized how far down her hand was until she cupped his crotch and gave
a light squeeze before trailing up his thigh with a delicate, manicured finger
and grasped his hand. She led him along the edges of the room, away from the
crowd to where the pounding beat was no longer a sound but a feeling.
It was surreal to leave the room. Everything was blindingly
bright; the air was fresh and everything had a peach haze to it from both the
alcohol and the lighting. It was pristine and manicured in its very nature,
every floral arrangement on the corner table every scrap of European wallpaper.
The pounding rhythm of their former lives was muffled by the double doors that
acted like a gateway to a new world. In this world there was no music except
the ringing of the phone and the plastered smiles of the front desk welcoming
their guests to Paradise. They passed it all in a haze of colour and muffled
sound until they reached the elevators.
The moment the doors closed, sheltering them from the
outside world, her body fused to his in a searing kiss that melted away the
last of their inhibitions. His hand came down to her thighs, pressing into the
soft flesh there as he massaged his way higher and higher until he met what was
supposed to be her panty line. To prove his theory, his hand travelled to her
center and rested there, feeling nothing but her warmth. “You aren’t wearing any
underwear, Miss Miranda;” he bit down on the tendon of her neck and she melted
against him, her strength long ago abandoning her. This was all him. “Were you
expecting something to happen tonight?”
“A girl always has to be prepared.” She breathed against
him, sinking into his embrace as his kisses and bites travelled down the side
of her neck to the top of her breasts but never further. Her heart was beating
out of her chest when he bit softly as the pulsating skin there and she moaned
in delight. He massaged her flesh but his fingers never passed her lips, and
desire alone – combined with his heady cologne –had her seeing stars. As the
car slowly came to a stop, he slowed his movements, lightened his kisses and
let his caresses fall short of ecstasy but she was already burning with
temptation and there was no way she was going to stop now.
She wasn’t sure how she heard the elevator through her
lust-induced haze but the moment the doors opened behind her, she grabbed him
by the lapels of his black blazer and shoved him out of the car hard enough
that he hit the opposite wall with a stumbling thud. Not that he seemed to mind
as he used the momentum to pull her to his hips by the hem of her dress.
They were rolling against each other, their most intimate
selves never far from mind or body. The heat of anticipation painted their skin
a sweet pink as the battle for dominance continued. They had to break free or
they would never make it to the hotel room alive but neither was willing to
part. So they kept close to the wall and shoved their way down the hallway, all
regard for safety or silence left in the lobby downstairs. They reached the
door and he was left breathless when she shoved him against the wall and
watched him with a chest-heaving, animalistic hunger.
Really, it should have come as no surprise when she suddenly
tugged the material of her dress down, stretching to its limits, so all but her
nipples were exposed to his feasting eyes. Admittedly, he temporarily lost
focus of the task at hand by visions of what her rosy skin looked like, and
smelt and tasted like. He imagined would it be like to take that mound of flesh
and dine on her while the only sound heard through the thick fog of desire
where her moans of pleasure and her cries of delight.
He was trust back on topic by the site of her fingers
emerging from between her breasts with a card key.
They watched each other as she inserted the key into the
slot, eyes as fiery and dark as their desire. A breath later they were in the
bedroom, both too distracted to register any discernible features except for a
king sized bed made neatly by the impeccable service in the establishment - the
last of his coherent thoughts were spent remembering to tip the maid tomorrow.
If he survived the night.
His jacket began a short train of clothing from the living
room to the bedroom door featuring their shoes, and his belt buckle. His mouth
was still fused to the edge of her sanity, nipping at her neck and shoulders
while his hand kept her pinned to the door frame; the warmth of his flesh
against her, set fireworks through her eyelids on an explosive track to her
core.
Something had to be done or she would burst from the
anticipation.
She gave up on properly unbuttoning his shirt and he didn't
even blink when she gave a firm tug and the sound of misplaced buttons filled
the air behind them.
He smirked “you’re very aggressi-”
He choked on air as he suddenly found himself flung onto the
mattress. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” She lay on top of him, grinding her
hips in slow circles while her lips came down on his with a fierce passion,
enough to leave a bruise the next morning. He could care less. He was too
distracted by the torturously slow motion of his hips against his open pants;
the slither of her torso against his burning skin and the surprising gentleness
of his palms against his neck and chest like she was trying to keep him
grounded while she used him for her own desires.
Maybe he was too grounded – or maybe he was just incredibly
stupid – because he was suddenly telling her to stop, pulling her back so she
could no longer attack him. “Wait, what about your boyfriend?”
She was rolling her eyes; not literally, but in her head,
she wanted to smack him. Again, she leaned down to whisper in his ear, the mere
proximity of their skin enough to set them both on fire. “What he doesn’t know
won’t hurt him.”
Alright, he was in. She let out a startled ‘o’ when he
gripped the small of her back and her thigh and rolled them over, pinning her
down and entered her body with two fingers. She lost the power of speech long
before static filled her vision but the rest of her senses were alive and
fizzling with desire and a prolonged sense of what heaven and hell must feel
like at the crossroads. Peace and passion and a burning from the inside out
that scorched the skin with pleasure.
He pulled the material of her dress down even further – she swore
she heard a tear in the seams – so he could continue his assault of her skin
from neck to shoulders, biting at the flesh of her breast until he took her
nipple in his mouth and devoured the last of her senses. Every nerve in her
body was hyperaware and numb to any sensation but the pricks of his skin
against hers until the stars and the static burst into flames and she wasn’t
sure if she screamed or flew around the room.
As she came down from the ceiling she held his gaze, still
glossy and black with desire and she smiled before hooking her trembling legs
around his hips. “This is going to be fun.”
He woke up alone in the bed the next morning. The sheets
were still rumpled and stained with their sweat and pleasure. A quick
exploration of the hotel room revealed that she was not there so he thought it
best to make a hasty exit.
It was practically a treasure hunt looking for his clothes
and each article brought on a new memory and a new sensation of his tryst with
the island beauty last night. However, it didn’t take him long to realize that
two very important articles of clothing were missing; his jacket – which held
his wallet and room key – and his underwear.
Well crap; he quickly pulled on his pants and tucked his
torn shirt inside before slipping out of the room and heading down to the
lobby.
He found her sitting alone in the corner of the dining room,
nibbling a blueberry muffin, sipping imperfect coffee and reading the local
newspaper. She barely acknowledged him when he slipped into the chair opposite
her.
“That was a dirty trick.”
She sipped her coffee, still reading the paper “may I remind
you that it was your idea to play Indian Jones while we were here? What else
did you expect me to do?”
“Okay, I get why you took my jacket.” He grabbed a large
chunk from the muffin and began to pick at it. “But why take my underwear?”
“A girl can’t take a souvenir?” She still hadn’t looked at
him and he was this close to just grabbing the paper away so he wouldn’t have
to hear her casually smug tone.
“So you’d agree that this vacation was much better than our
first one to the Hamptons?”
“Nobody died.”
He hummed and popped another piece of muffin into his mouth “and
I think the island life suits you.” He smirked “maybe next time we’ll actually
leave the hotel.”
She looked up at him and he was so startled that he barely
registered her words. But he never forgot that predatory smile. “I wouldn’t
count on it.”
Nicole has been writing for
almost as long as she can remember. Her writing career started in grade four with Enid
Blyton's *Naughtiest Girl in the School* fan-fiction and quickly spread across
to problematically titled short stories about a group of school kids with
super powers called *Twilight Zone*. (12 year old Nicole was unfortunately
unaware that there was another popular series sharing this title...)
