"Ice," she guesses correctly. "It's so cold." I pop it in my mouth and tease her clit with my tongue.
She bucks her hips, and I lap her wetness before moving up to kiss her lips, hard and long, feeling every part of her succumb to me. She deepens...
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Kyla
Bad decisions always seem like a good idea. Cozumel in the Spring probably wasn't the best choice for a woman like me. Noel's idea for me to come to a place like this just goes to show your therapist doesn't always know best. I mean, looking around, it's nothing but a bunch of college kids on spring break. There's rock hard abs in every direction, and string bikinis too.
Liquor of every variety is the drink of choice around here. It doesn't matter the flavor or taste, because the name of the game is how quickly you can consume your weight in alcohol in the shortest amount of time possible.
Crazy, really. Or maybe I am, for agreeing to this.
Maybe I'm in the middle of my mid-life crisis. Well, I'm only thirty, so hopefully I live long past sixty. Maybe it's a mid mid-life crisis. Actually... it's a divorce crisis. Never thought I'd say that. It's tragic how quickly things can fall apart. How the stress of miscarriage after miscarriage can weigh so heavy on something you thought was solid until it's suddenly fractured. But this vacation is just what the doctor ordered—a break from watching your world crumble to bits.
An oversized man-child, the size of a linebacker, barrels toward me as I step into the lobby of the Mirage.
"Sorry," he apologizes as he passes, slowing down to give me a once over.
I make a mental note to call Noel and tell her this place was definitely the wrong choice.
Ignoring the man-child, I slide my Chanel shades on top of my head and cross the marble floor toward the hotel lounge. I've been here a mere two hours, and already the bar is looking like the place I'll be spending most of my time. The tropical lounge is like being outside, without being outside—potted baby palms, bamboo everything, view of the beach, and colorful flowers draped along the bar.
"Pina Colada, please," I request from the bartender, sliding onto a wicker-backed stool.
"Make that two," a masculine voice orders from behind my shoulder before taking a seat right next to me. Ocean-colored eyes glance over at me. "How's the knee?"
"Just a scratch," I answer, unable to look away from the raven-haired man—definitely a man, not a boy— and his slow smile.
Finally, I tear my eyes from his ruggedly handsome face and watch the bartender pour the ingredients into the blender.
"Paradise, right?"
My attention leaves the blender, and I glance over at him. "Yeah, that's what they say."
"You don't agree? Look around." He gives a head nod toward the panoramic windows. "It's beautiful here."
"I haven't seen much besides the ruins."
"Trust me, you'll love it here." He plays with the coaster in front of him, spinning it in his hands as we wait for our drinks.
