Just This Once by Evelyn Jeannie Hall

Five

Initially, Zane thought he wanted the isolation of his bungalow to shower and prepare for bed, but when he saw the stretch of white sand gleaming beneath the crescent moon and stars, he changed his mind. Altering course, he strode barefoot down a section of beach that flowed opposite from where Benjamin and Kat had taken their vows. There, tucked between two coconut trees was a hammock, and he aimed for it.

He stumbled on the way, going down on one knee. Stupid uneven sand. Beside him was a hunk of bark the size of a dinner tray, and it occurred to him that maybe bringing a piece of delicate crystal out here on this treacherous sand could be a recipe for injury. He set the flute down on the bark, then satisfied with his choice, noted how from this angle the fabric of the hammock reminded him of a smile.

“Zane?”

He jerked around as he staggered back upright, not expecting to hear anyone say his name. Through the shadows came the silhouette of a woman with curly hair, long legs, and a curvy make-a-man-drool figure. Based on sheer physicality, it could’ve been any of the three Farrell triplets, but Zane already knew which one it had to be. No one but Lacey would follow him out here.

He grunted in response.

“Where you running off to?” she asked.

Whether due to the sourness of reliving his own failed marriage or her questioning what he’d decided to do with his own goddamn time, Zane snarled at her like a Doberman.

“What business is it of yours?”

“Whoa,” she said, throwing her hands up but holding her ground just the same. “What’s your damage?”

He liked that she didn’t back down. A nice boisterous argument sounded like a fabulous notion to him right then. “My damage is that I came out here to be by myself, but you chased after me, anyway.”

“I didn’t chase after you,” she countered, her posture stiffening like a board.

He motioned back and forth between them. “What would you call this then?”

“I would call this you skulking off without explanation.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, certainly not you.” Christ, that’d been harsh. Also, his words hadn’t sounded overly clear even to himself.

“What is wrong with you? Did you get shit-faced or something on all that fancy bubbly?”

He concentrated on formulating his next sentence prior to speaking it.

“I do precious little drinking. Putting extra strain on my organs like that would be the epitome of dumb,” he told her, which was the gospel truth even though he’d lost track of how much he’d imbibed tonight. Four flutes? Five? How his language didn’t sound even more slurred was beyond him.

“Oh.” That brought her up short.

“Why are you out here?” he demanded again.

“Maybe I wanted to see how you were doing, ever consider that?”

“Don’t need no babysitter. I’m a grown-ass man, last time I checked.”

“God, if you wanted to be left alone, you could’ve just said so.”

He knew this, yet he couldn’t seem to stop pushing her buttons, one by one, another sign that he’d become far more polluted than he’d meant to.

“What I want is none of your concern.” Up till this point, they’d been keeping their volume to a more conversational level, but this last bit he’d bellowed like a foghorn.

“You’re right, it’s not,” she yelled back, in a full-on snit now. She pivoted on her heel to storm off, and the next actions Zane took seemed to come from some unleashed beast deep within him. He snatched at her wrist and whipped her towards him like a Neanderthal. “Hands off, bucko—”

“Hands off isn’t what I have in mind,” he interrupted her, and despite not making the conscious decision to do so, in less time than it took his heart to beat, he had his mouth on hers.

Only once his lips made contact with Lacey’s did his rational brain kick in again. What the fuck did he think was he doing? This was not his regular modus operandi with women. Hell, this wasn’t his regular modus operandi, period. In the past two minutes he’d lost his inebriated mind and taken total leave of his senses. He backed off.

“Lacey,” he gusted out, huffing and puffing as if he’d gone scuba diving without oxygen. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

He waited for her to get in his face and shout at him for taking liberties. Or even to slap him. He deserved it. Zane felt more unmoored and unsettled than he had in ages, but that was no excuse. Even on the rare occasions when he knocked one or two back, he hadn’t ever lost control like that. But Lacey didn’t do what he anticipated.

Instead, she leaped at him. Or actually, on him. He barely caught her in time. She smashed her face against his, kissing, nipping, devouring his lips and making every ounce of his blood fly below his belt to make his dick stand at rebar-like attention. Since she’d thrown him off balance—and his brain synapses weren’t exactly firing at peak efficiency, anyway—he had to take a few steps to stay upright, teetering toward the hammock behind him. He landed ass first into it like a graceless albatross, rather than the athlete he’d honed himself to be.

Due to a stroke of luck, it was the type constructed out of rugged canvas rather than flimsy netting. The cot-like contraption took their combined weight without issue, even if it did swing precariously. Digging his foot into the sand to cease their momentum, he blinked up at Lacey, laying there half reclined as she perched on top of him.

Good thing he’d put down that champagne glass.

Zane waited for her to have a revelation that this was a mistake. He’d been a rude son of a bitch, and Lacey had suffered the brunt of his turbulence. That turbulence had escalated into well… this, but that didn’t mean…

She kissed him again. Hard. “Liar. You totally got into the Dom. I can taste it on your tongue,” she accused him playfully before diving back into his mouth.

Lacey reached between them and unbuttoned his linen trousers. Once those nimble fingers of hers snuck past his boxer briefs and made contact with his erection, he gasped as his hips jutted forward without permission. Continuing to nibble his bottom lip, she stroked her thumb over the head of him and down his slit. With that, any protest he might’ve made about this being a bad idea sailed straight out the window.

Right then, it felt like an exceptionally good one.

She scooted down, dragging his pants with her, the dusting of sand coating the fabric making sure he felt every movement she made. Then, wet warmth encased his bulbous tip and he slammed his eyes shut, falling into the sensation of her mouth taking him in. Her tongue swirled around his shaft, testing and tasting, and all the worries he’d been obsessing over simply drifted away.

Lacey worked him over, licking along the underside of him, nibbling at his broad mushroom shape and lapping at his precum. The woman knew precisely what she was doing. Bliss had him skyrocketing into pleasure as she deep throated him, and when his balls tightened, he tapped her on the forehead to push her away. She didn’t let him, though. Instead, she continued on with an even greater amount of gusto.

He hadn’t been with anyone since her—between the opening of their new firm and other obligations, he hadn’t had the additional time to go out and find a hookup—and his lack of stamina became readily apparent as he lost his battle to hold on, coming down her throat with a stifled groan and a climactic shudder.

Zane felt all his muscles relax, regaining his breath as a sense of satiation rolled over him. He felt better and worse at the same time. He’d needed the release, no question, but coming first struck him as selfish. The moon shone overhead, and despite the dimness of their surroundings, he could see her eyes watching him as she rested her head on his abs. He allowed himself another thirty seconds to recuperate then reached for her.

“Here, Lacey. Let me make you feel good.”

She spoke to the skin of his navel. “This was more about making you feel good.”

He smirked down at her. “Mission accomplished. But I don’t believe in taking a turn without giving you one.”

“What, trying to prove you’re a saint among men?” Her tone goaded him.

“Woman, I’ll have you know I am a saint among men, no proof necessary.”

She snorted, and he chuckled at the unladylike burst of sound.

“Whatever you say.” She didn’t move, though.

“You gonna let me take care of you or what?”

“Well, I hate to bring this up, but I don’t have a condom in this getup.” She gestured toward her clingy bridesmaid dress. “Do you?”

He didn’t, which proved just how fucked up a place his mind had been. Ordinarily he kept a few stashed in his wallet or his pockets—he was downright religious about it—yet he hadn’t done that today. Fortunately, there were other solutions to this problem.

“We don’t need one. I can still take care of you.”

She sat up. “Do you want to switch places?”

“Nope. Scoot on up.”

She paused as if confused. “Huh?”

He could tell this girl was from the sticks. Not an “excuse me” or a “pardon” but a “huh.”

“Get on up here,” he told her, tracing the seashell pendant of the necklace she wore. He remembered it from the first time he’d ever met her. “Trust me.”

Lacey shifted her weight on him, sitting on him more squarely, and he could tell by her tentativeness she still didn’t get it. So, planting both his hands on her shapely ass, he hoisted her skirt skywards, struggling a bit since it fit her so snugly. Applying himself to his task, his hands inspected her, searching for her panties. When he didn’t discover any, he gulped, then shook his head at himself. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been wearing any the other times they’d had sex, either.

Evidence that Lacey Farrell and predictability had never met.

“Commando?”

“Don’t like putting on underwear when it’s not needed,” she told him in a prim voice, and he was the one snorting this time. She didn’t have a prim bone in her knock ‘em dead body.

“’Course not.” Besides, he didn’t care. It made his job easier. Also, just like that, imagining her going about her daily to-do list sans panties made him rise to the occasion again in two-point four seconds flat. Since he’d already gone there once tonight, though, he concentrated all his efforts on her.

Wrapping his arms around her bare hips, he drew her core to where he wanted it. During their other bouts of sexy times, he hadn’t tasted her, so this was his chance to remedy that oversight. Her warm feminine essence surrounded him, the tender flesh absolutely smooth as he took in a scent both salty and sweet.

When he skimmed his tongue along the edges of her folds, she shuddered, and delighting in this, he plunged in further, analyzing her flavor. Her taste was even more delicious than her aroma, and he flattened his tongue and kept up his gentle assault. He detected her saltiness—possibly due to her earlier dip in the sea—mixed with sweetness, but now he could put a name to it. It made him think of an earthier version of salted caramel, and as he probed more deeply into her, he hardened even more, not able to get enough.

She squirmed, nearly toppling over, and he pulled free of her. “All right up there?”

“Um… I don’t know. I need to… Maybe if I hold on to this…” He heard her sputter out fragments of sentences. Once she grabbed on to the tree trunk the hammock had been tied to, she became more stable.

This suited him fine. Still holding her core right up to his mouth, he took his time exploring her reactions to the various methods he employed. Licks resulted in shivering quivers. Kisses gave him these wonderful little gasps. Nips made her frame jolt upwards, and sucks made her tighten her thighs around his head.

He kept his scalp shaved, but he suspected that if he’d had hair, she would’ve tugged chunks of it out by now. Her folds grew slicker, wetter, her panting more labored as he tortured her with sublime pleasure. No woman he’d ever done this to had complained afterwards.

Not once.

But seldom had he himself enjoyed it to this degree. Sampling Lacey’s core felt like indulging in the richest dessert, and since he did that only on the scarcest of occasions, he took full advantage. He’d whipped her into a frenzy that had her mewling softly and swiveling her pelvis against him so that the hammock crashed to and fro like the tides. Only after several moments of this did he decide to take pity on her. Drawing the delicate pearl of her clit into his mouth, he sucked, deftly sliding two fingers into her simultaneously.

The effect was instantaneous. She clamped down onto his fingers like a vise, bucking wantonly against his mouth, his tongue… hell, against his every feature of his face. He knew the honeyed fragrance of her would linger in his goatee, and he liked the decadence of that, how filthy the thought of that was. Zane liked it a lot.

After she settled and let her legs go limp, he drew her back down his torso to lie stretched out on top of him. For a limitless amount of time, the two of them reclined in that hammock gazing out at the spectacular image of the heavens spread out above them.