Love Letters Volume 4: Travel to Temptation Read online

  “God, I’ve missed you,” I said as I stared down at his hard cock jutting out from a nest of light brown curls.

  “I’ve missed you—” He cut off when I licked my lips.

  “I’m going to make you come so hard.” I knelt on the floor in front of him and wrapped my hand around his shaft. He moaned loudly and lifted his hips up as though asking for more.

  “All in good time.” I wasn’t about to rush through this. If it was my last chance to make sure Dillon understood just how much I loved him and his body, I was determined to make sure it was an experience he would never forget.

  I licked around his head, then quickly switched directions and repeated the action. Pre-come dripped from his slit and I lapped up every bit of it, thankful to have his taste on my tongue again. I started slow, taking him into my mouth a little at a time. With each addition, he groaned and moved his hips a little, trying to rush me. I managed to hold off though. Instead, I placed a hand on either side of his hips and restrained him.

  When I finally had his entire cock in my mouth, I waited. He felt so good inside of me and I never wanted it to end. I wanted to savor him.

  “Holy fuck. Move, Jason.”

  Torturing him had never been part of the plan, so I agreed and gave in to his demands. With each stroke, he groaned and cursed at me, always asking for more. I tightened my lips, providing more pressure. The more he yelled, the faster I moved. He deserved everything, which is exactly what I wanted to give him.

  I ran my finger around his anus. When he pushed toward me I pulled my hand back and cupped his balls instead. He whimpered as I did, returning my hips to their previous position.

  “Give me a minute,” I said after I pulled my mouth off him. He cried out, but said nothing. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time as I walked toward my suitcase and pulled out one of the packets of lube I’d stuck in the bag.

  When I knelt back down, I pulled him down a little farther, then picked up where I left off. I must have moved quickly, because he jumped when I did. “Fuck! At least warn me.”

  I smiled around his cock. I loved the way he cussed in the bedroom. Actually, the bedroom was about the only place he used that kind of language. Outside of that, his good-boy image was mostly intact.

  I tore open the package and applied the lube to my fingers. This time when I touched his ass, he pushed toward me and I didn’t pull away. I circled his hole with my forefinger and then carefully inserted it. Dillon’s back arched as he groaned. “Yes. God, yes.”

  I moved my finger in and out in time with my mouth. When he whimpered, I added a second finger, scissoring them and stretching him out more.

  “Stop,” Dillon yelled.

  I immediately let him go, pulling my fingers out and releasing his cock. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He’d never told me to stop before, at least not so forcefully.

  “I want you inside me. Now.” There was a look of fire in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Similar expressions maybe, but nothing with quite this much passion.

  He crawled backward on the bed, managing to lose his gray T-shirt as he went. I stood up and started back toward my suitcase.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Condom,” I said. I had hoped I wouldn’t have to explain to him why I’d brought condoms and lube on my vacation. I hadn’t exactly planned on hooking up with anyone, but I hadn’t wanted to rule it out either.

  “I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up.” We’d stopped using condoms a few years earlier when we’d both gone in to the clinic and brought home clean bills of health.

  “Me neither.” I’d kissed a few guys in bars, but at the end of the night, I’d always gone home alone. No matter how much I wanted to have meaningless sex to help me get over Dillon, I’d never been able to go through with it. I could barely deal with myself, let alone someone else.

  I walked back to the bed and sat next to him. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  I didn’t bother to answer that question. We both knew he never had. “Hands and knees.”

  He obeyed immediately, flipping over and positioning himself in the middle of the bed. While he did, I stripped off my clothes, adding them to the pile on the floor. Climbing up behind him, I found the lube packet and split the remaining portion between my hand and cock.

  He arched his back and stuck his ass out toward me. Good lord, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He probably knew that too the way he wiggled it back and forth. I spread his cheeks and inserted a finger again.

  “Yes. More.” His words were low and breathy.

  I knew exactly what he wanted. I added a second, then a third, making sure he was fully prepared before I tried to enter him. If I’d been his last, then it’d been four months since the last time he’d had sex. My plans for making this a memorable night did not include putting him through any excess pain.

  “You. In me. Now.” Dillon reached around and grabbed my arm. Following his directions, I knelt behind him and pressed my tip against his opening. “Fuck!”

  My sentiments exactly. I held still for a minute, waiting for him to make a move. When he pressed back against me, I followed through and pressed into him.

  The process was agonizingly slow. I wanted to shove him down on the bed and fuck him senseless. Not doing that took more restraint that I was typically capable of. When I was fully buried inside him, I held myself perfectly still again. It felt so amazing. I don’t know why I was surprised—it’d always been good with Dillon—but I was. We might not have started well and the ending was still to be decided, but the middle was fucking fantastic. Worth every bit of agony that planned to show its ugly face later.

  “Move, damn it.”

  His wish was my command. Long, slow strokes put me in a trance. Every time I thought of speeding up, I remembered this could be my last chance to be with him. Each movement counted and I wanted to make sure there were plenty of them.

  Reaching around him, I grabbed his dick and pumped it in time with each of my thrusts. He moved his hips erratically, trying to meet both my cock and hand at the same time.

  “Fuck, I’m going to come.” He tensed up, then shot long strings of come onto the comforter. Feeling his body shake as his orgasm swept through him set off my own climax. I held him tight as my body exploded. When I finished, I managed to wrangle enough energy to push myself off to the side and collapse next to him.

  Before I could even open my eyes, realization swept through me. I couldn’t let this be our last time together. I couldn’t let him go.

  And yet, I already had. My next move needed to be calculated and well thought through. A day ago I’d thought it impossible to make things worse. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  Standing, I rushed off to the bathroom to clean up. I needed a moment with my thoughts to figure out what I needed to say next. We’d agreed to one night. A nice reunion to allow us to say goodbye before we went our separate ways again. This time for good.

  My newfound need to keep him around was not part of the arrangement. If I told him and he turned me down, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find the strength to go on. I’d done it once, but not without a lot of prodding from friends and relatives. I turned on the water and wet the two washcloths I found on the rack. Returning to the room, I found Dillon sitting up at the top of the bed.

  I tossed him one of the towels and allowed him to deal with his needs before I said anything.

  “That was nice.” Nice? Apparently that was the best word I could come up with. Too bad I hadn’t brought my thesaurus with me on this trip.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “You can always tell me anything you want.”

  “I picked this place because of the brochure you brought home when you were trying to convince me to go somewhere exciting with you for our anniversary.” He stared down at his feet. “Even when I pick a vacation to get away from the memory of you, I pick something that remi
nds me of our relationship.”

  I took his hand. “I didn’t know you were listening to all my rambles about traveling.” I’d shown him a lot of places over the years. He’d always said no. “What made you finally decide to go somewhere?”

  “You did. You’ve always been this person who would go anywhere and do anything. I thought you were crazy or stupid when we first met. You were telling this story about the time you got food poisoning and almost died in China. In the next breath, you said you couldn’t wait to go back. What kind of guy does that?”

  “When you put it that way, I do sound stupid.” Sure, there’d been moments when I’d thought about packing it all in and staying home. For reasons I still didn’t understand, I never did.

  “That’s the thing though, you’re not. Maybe a little crazy, but I think that’s a good thing. It makes you happy. I used to make you happy. I figured maybe I needed to understand what exactly you loved about it to understand why we didn’t work out.”

  “Dillon, you never stopped making me happy. I stopped making me happy. I was so worried about making sure that I came off as a strong, assertive person that I forgot that you were the one person who always paid attention to my feelings.” The stupidity of that move had finally been made clear to me. Too bad my epiphany came a little too late. “I didn’t make you happy anymore.” It was the first time I’d said that out loud. When people asked, I gave them some bullshit response about how we’d grown apart. I never thought they bought it, but I figured if I said it enough times, it might actually be true.

  “Are we happy apart?”

  Good point. How did he always manage to do that? “I’m not.” For the first time, it wasn’t about whether I’d be happier in a relationship with him, but whether it was truly the right thing to do. If it was me, I didn’t know if I’d be willing to forgive all the shit I’d pulled.

  “Me either.” Dillon rested his head on my shoulder and I put my head down on his.

  “So how do we fix this? Do we get back together? Try being apart more? Keep hooking up when we randomly show up at the same hotel?” There was only one of those answers I really liked. It wasn’t my choice though. Breaking up had been my suggestion. I’d pushed him on it until he finally conceded that it might be the best decision. This time, it had to be him who decided. I was done treating him the way other people had treated me.

  “Are you asking me what I really want?”

  “Yeah, I am. No holding back.” This was the most honest conversation we’d had in over a year. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were naked or because neither of us had anything left to lose, but it was working.

  “I want us back. The version of us that used to make people jealous, not the one that could barely stand to be in the same house. I know that’s going to take work though. And time.”

  “I’m willing to put in the effort if you are.” My response surprised me. I could have said those words four months ago and avoided this whole thing. They wouldn’t have been true then, though. Now they were. They were perhaps the most truthful thing I’d ever said. “It’s going to take some work for me to get out of the habit of always trying to get my way, but with the right motivation, I can make it work.” I pinched his ass to make sure he got what I was implying.

  “Me too. I think we can come up with some compromises that will make us both happy.”

  I rolled over so I could kiss him. Our lips met and I got lost in his touch all over again. When I managed to pull away, I stared at him. “How long do we have?”

  “I have to be out front for a car at eight tomorrow morning. I have a flight back to the U.S.”

  “I won’t be home until next week.” I hadn’t even been in India a full twenty-four hours and I was already wishing I could leave.

  “We’ll make a date to sit down and do some serious talking then.”

  “Like the conversation we tried to have earlier?” I winked at him.

  “No, more like the one we should have had months ago. Open and honest. The extra days will give us both some time to figure out what we want to say.”

  “That’s so far away.” I hated that idea. Mostly because I worried that he’d change his mind. Once we weren’t naked, he’d realize that forgiving me was a mistake. He could find a new guy. Maybe someone who hadn’t been shutting him down and telling him what to think and do for the past few years.

  “We’ve been apart for four months and neither one of us has managed to get the other out of his mind. I don’t think a few more days will change anything.”

  Once again, he had a point. “In the meantime, we have a full six hours left before you need to get ready to leave. I’m sure we can find some way to fill the time.”

  *

  Q Is for Quarrel

  By Ginny Glass & Christina Thacher

  Tara ran the length of the concourse, past the overpriced restaurants, past the newsstands selling neck pillows and bestsellers, past those odd displays of sunglasses and trail mix and gummy worms. She ran, her heels rapid and staccato, her calves aching in protest.

  When she got to the correct gate, she looked for Warren, her eyes scanning the seats and the people milling around waiting for the flight to be called. He wasn’t there.

  Tara checked her watch. He was later than she was. She checked her phone. No messages. She looked back at the concourse to see if he was running madly to meet her. No sign of him. That wasn’t like Warren, who always picked her up on time, or was waiting at his hotel when she met him for dinner. They’d only been dating for a few months, and then only when he could get to Phoenix on business, but it seemed like a solid relationship. One that Tara could count on. One going in the right direction.

  God, she hoped he hadn’t gotten stuck in traffic. They were already lining the passengers up for first class.

  She looked again. Maybe he’d been in the men’s room?

  Tara had his hotel on speed dial and asked for Warren’s room.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice answered. Not housekeeping, not with that East Coast accent.

  Tara opened her mouth to speak, frowned, squinted at a couple holding hands as they giggled together. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Why Warren was vague about where he lived. Why he discouraged her from calling him except when she knew he was in Phoenix. Why he was eager to sleep together but cagey about meeting each other’s friends and family.

  The biggest piece just about fell on Tara’s head—why she hadn’t quite believed in a happy ending with this guy.

  He was married.

  She closed her eyes, then opened them good and wide.

  “Hi,” Tara said in her best professional voice. “So sorry to bother you, Mrs. Randall. I’m calling from Mr. Treadwell’s office. Is Warren there?”

  “Just a moment. I’ll get him.”

  Tara heard the handset being placed on the hotel room desk. She and Warren had fooled around on that desk—with their clothes on, but still…

  She heard footsteps, and then a murmur of conversation. His wife’s voice and then his deeper baritone. Tara had heard that voice utter many inappropriate suggestions. Very recently.

  Tara hung up. So much for their grand, romantic, let’s-finally-consummate-this-relationship vacation.

  The PA system at the gate squawked. “Now boarding passengers in rows twenty to thirty-five.”

  She looked at her boarding pass. The row number, twenty-seven, seemed to radiate with urgency. Abandon the trip and try to get her luggage off the plane, or board and leave Mr. and Mrs. Warren Randall in Phoenix?

  Tara did the only thing she could think of. She went to Majorca on her own.

  Why waste a perfectly good Mediterranean holiday, right?

  *

  Examining herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, Tara took another swig from a Moët & Chandon bottle which had started the evening out on a tray with two champagne flutes. She turned and arched her back, tossing her long dark hair, looking over her shoulder at the scanty confectio
n of satin and lace that barely covered her.

  Even if the man it had been intended for had turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, she had to admit that she didn’t look half bad in the racy lingerie. Another sip from the bottle. Her head was getting comfortably fuzzy, and the sting of embarrassment from yesterday’s debacle was fading with each drink. Fading, but not going away.

  When Tara’s friend Kit had offered the villa here in Fornalutx, swearing that she and her husband, Randy, were too busy to enjoy it for the foreseeable future, Tara had jumped at the chance for a spontaneous trip to the Balearics—one that would surely impress Warren. Too bad he had neglected to mention that he was too married to join her.

  She refused to cry anymore. No more tears for that bastard. Tara went to the bedroom window and threw open the shutters to get some air on her face. The view that greeted her—a lush landscape of golden architecture and misty mountains that resembled a Hollywood back-lot set—took her breath away for a minute. She felt her resolve strengthen. She had the unbelievable fortune of having this place to herself for the duration. She would stay in Majorca for the entire two weeks, and it would be a damned good trip. Warren might have been a mistake, but this trip wouldn’t be.

  Turning away from the window, Tara considered whether to get the other champagne bottle. It was so generous of Kit and Randy to ask the local woman who “did” for them to come in, spruce up the house and put some bubbly in the fridge.

  Tara just loved Kit’s use of Britishisms. She had taken an instant liking to Kit years back when they had started in advertising together. Now Kit worked in London and was married to a lovely English doctor, who Tara also adored. They were such a perfect couple. Everyone else got their fairytale ending, while Tara was right at the bad end of a string of potential princes who turned out to be frogs.

  She licked the last drops of Moët from the thick glass lip of the bottle. Screw Warren. He didn’t deserve her, anyway.

  Tara rather enjoyed the anger that kept bubbling to the surface like the carbonation in her champagne.