Enjoy this Excerpt from Love Me Fast...
 

“Stop touching that!”

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Belle’s four fingers crack like a belt over the bridge of my hand. 

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I snap it back from the soundboard. Hiding my fist underneath my armpit, I rub the sting away while I cross my other arm over my chest, pretending it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.

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“Give it a rest, Yankee,” I say, gruffly.

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To be honest, I don’t care that Belle has hit me. I’m used to corporal punishment from a woman. Growing up, whenever my twin sisters took offense at something my older brother, Dash, and I had done—and my parents were looking the other way—they took turns hitting us. If I learned a damn thing from having two big sisters, it’s how to get under Belle’s skin.

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Except, what I currently care about is giving Belle the solid advice my predecessor gave to me whenever the resort guests, who’ve been shaking their money makers, begin moving back to their deck chairs.

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Belle growls. She gets offended when I call her Yankee.

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“You’re losing the crowd. I’m just helping,” I say.

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The management likes the illusion of happy guests.

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Happy guests dance.

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Happy guests get thirsty.

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Happy guests go to the bar for another cocktail. The more they drink, the more they dance. The more alcohol they consume, the happier the bosses are.

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Now, happy bosses have never ranked high on my priority list. But I’ve been hiding in Mexico for eighteen months for pissing off my last one. Ever since, I’ve been collecting those foil gold stars that school kids stick onto behavior charts to prove I’m a stellar employee. So, if keeping the management smiling keeps them off my back, I’m all for making everyone happy as a fucking clam at high tide.

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Especially me.

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My contract as a DJ at this resort expires tomorrow morning. I have to admit; it was fun while it lasted. But I’m amped and ready to go home. Belle is my replacement. She’s been shadowing me since she arrived last week.

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I’m responsible for training her on the audio equipment. I’ve given her my best tips and tricks to troubleshoot some of the glitchier outside speakers for when the audio maintenance guys get backed up with the hotel’s inside stage sound systems. My final tasks have included getting her up to speed and give her a general lay of the land. No pun intended, since I’ve fucked Belle more than once. She hasn’t turned into a stage five clinger which puts her at the top of the list of great lays.

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 Everything about Belle, from her tight body to her whip-fast comebacks, has been an unexpected parting gift. The ultimate bonus for a job well done, so to speak.

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“Here, I queued up an old favorite,” I tell Belle. “At the refrain, fade into this song. The forty-plus crowd over there is going to love it.”

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I point to a pack of cougars who flirted with me yesterday. They must be on a girls’ trip because I haven’t seen a husband or boyfriend with them anywhere around the hotel.

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“I know what I’m doing.” The end of Belle’s sentence has that sing-song lilt to it. Her piercing eyes might reflect the cerulean blue water, but they’re shooting icy daggers at me.

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Under my breath, I huff a laugh. Then I toss back the congratulatory shot the bartender slipped me.

The combination of Belle and tequila makes me crazy. With jet black hair and a nose ring, Belle isn’t my type by a long shot. But when the lights are off, a woman doesn’t have to be your vision of perfection to be a great lay, does she? She might not be shiny and malleable, but when Belle acts as fiery as the sun, she’s the kind of fucking hot that makes me need to adjust myself.

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“Check your knickers. I think you have sand in your crack.” I torment her, pulling on the ends of her jet black hair.

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When the sun’s gone down, she’s taught me how much she enjoys having her hair pulled. Which is why I’ll take the cookie-grabber hand slap from her. On some level, I deserve it.

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Belle’s faded blue and red Sox cap rides up. She claps the hat down, arranging the braided raven locks that make her blue eyes pop over the triangular white bathing suit top she’s wearing. It draws my green eyes straight to her cleavage. Belle’s t!ts are perky and the perfect handful. Her dusty pink n!pples are sensitive. My mouth waters thinking about the sounds she makes when I suck on them.

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Her skimpy ruffled skirt falls an inch below her pert ass. It’s the same tropical pattern as my board shorts and every other employee’s uniform as well. The baseball hats the powers that be allow us to wear are the only thing differentiating the deejays from other resort workers. We spend a lot of time in the sun, mingling with guests and team gear from where we’re from gives a friendly, approachable vibe.

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My cap has been the topic of lengthy conversations with football fans from Texas, so the bosses must be on to something. Although, I keep under wraps that it’s my dad’s team. As in, my father played his entire professional career in our home state.

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Near as I can figure from Belle’s accent, she is from Boston. She doesn’t talk much about herself and, bonus; she doesn’t ask much about me or why I started working here.

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What we’ve gotten to know about one another in seven days is best described as (1) basic; she likes baseball and I like football and (2) carnal; our relationship is a series of rum-induced, no strings attached one-night stands. Both of which work for me. I sure as hell am not going to admit what I did to wind up here to a woman I’m never going to see again.

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I flip the brim of my hat backwards to get a better view of Belle’s Storrow Drive curves and flash her a filthy grin. There’s zero reason to pretend I’m not checking Belle out.

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“I could’ve sworn we agreed you could skip out early. Go!” my agitated co-worker demands, shooing me with her slick-coated black-fading-to-royal-blue-at-the-tips nails.

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I’ll never understand how Boston Belle does her job with daggers that size sticking out of her fingers. You’d think they’d get in the way of all the buttons and dials. Plus, how can she tap the touch pads on the volume controls with those talons in the way? I wouldn’t trust her not to scratch my precious vinyl collection back home in a million years.

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However, the pleasure those five talented little switchblades have shown to the underside of my balls makes me see the appeal. The image of Belle on her knees with her pouty lips wrapped round my d!ck pops into my head, and I’m sporting wood.

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It’s a good thing that tonight we’re spinning tunes by the largest of the pools. Belle should feel right at home in the booth with a domed half-roof that shades the pricey mixing equipment from the sun and rain. My family traveled a lot when I was a kid, so I know it resembles the landmark Boston  venue the Hatch Shell, but in this case its in actual shell form with scalloped edges to match the nautical theme. The flat front counter, facing the pool, comes to my hips. The perfect level to hide how turned on I am.

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I move closer so that my hard-0n brushes against her thigh.

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Boston Belle’s tongue finds her back tooth, and she shakes her head. A pretty blush rises from her neck, heating her cheeks.

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Undeterred by me acting like a complete asshole, Belle throws a few switches and turns a knob, fading the song that’s on to something sultrier than I’d chosen. Three couples get up and start swaying to the music. Another single guy who’d been prowling around the cougars asks one woman to dance. The others beeline to the bar.

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I should’ve known if anyone was capable, it was Belle. It took her a split second to figure out how to drive me wild.

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“Nice, new girl,” I concede, proud of her.

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Nah, that ain’t it. Maybe I’m just elated that I’ve been balls deep in Belle, and I want a curtain call on last night’s performance.

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Amused that she’s shown me up with her choice of songs, Belle glances at me smugly. Below the brim of her tattered hat, her brows raise. Her tongue presses against the cupid’s bow of her upper lip. There isn’t much stopping me from grabbing her and kissing that smart look off her face right now.

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I mean, what are they going to do? Fire me?

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Belle’s not running to report me for practically humping her thigh, and it isn’t as if I haven’t given HR a reason to fire me before. Losing my last job is how I wound up spinning Gen-Xers’ favorite Top Forty hits to Millennials and teaching line dances to tourists at an all-inclusive tropical resort. Plus—praying hands—Belle isn’t the boss’s daughter with her sights set on a shiny diamond on her finger.

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Our time together was fun, but we’re ships, you know?

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“What’s the frown for, pretty boy?” Belle runs her dangerous fingertips through my hair. “Are you worried a female can’t do this job or that I’ll show your ass up?”

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I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I school my expression. Then I grab her wrist with one hand and my other palm finds her waist.

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Belle’s been snippy with me since our shift started.

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I growl low in her ear. “I’d take you over my knee—”

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“You’ve taken me every other way. So what’s stopping you?” Her nose sharpens as her mouth draws up at the corner when she mocks me.

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If I wasn’t f*cking hard for her already.

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Belle’s ungodly bright blue eyes dart to the side of the dance floor before landing on me with a sinful glint.

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Annie, a blonde cosmetologist, who has worked here longer than I have, has appeared.

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“Are you leaving, or what?” Belle rolls her eyes and shoots a bored look at me, acting as if she’s eager to get rid of me.

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My bags are packed, and my plane takes off in twelve hours. I planned to blow off the end of this shift and meet up with Annie. We graduated from high school together. Not that it’s any of Belle’s business. Despite both of us being flirts, nothing has ever happened between Annie and me. We’ve known each other too long. I also heard she got burned by the owner’s son, thinking whatever they were doing was monogamous when it wasn’t. It makes Annie more leery of me. She knows relationships aren’t my style.

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That’s the thing about working at a resort; There’s no better place for an abundance of young commitmentphobes. All of us can go to bed together, but none of us are going home together.

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If I settled down with Annie, it would be the kind of love story my mom and her romanceaholic friends can’t get enough of.

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Two kids.

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Same map dot.

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Hometown far away.

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Don’t think I didn’t contemplate making the most out of tonight with Annie.

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But that was before Belle screwed the whole thing up. Literally. Screwed.

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From the moment she stepped onto the sand, Belle’s wit and comebacks put me in my place and my dick was begging to f*ck her.

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Well, not begging. I don’t beg.

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But I wasn’t letting the opportunity slip by, either.

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It isn’t as if I don’t know where to find Annie when she’s home.

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“Okay, Casanova, do you want the next song sultry or uptempo? Personally, I think slow is the way to go. Though, once you get Annie’s pants off, it might be a snooze fest. She might lay there, and it’ll be like sticking your d!ck into a hole in a board,” Belle taunts. “But maybe that’s what you’re in the mood for. It’s hard to tell with corn-fed types like you.”

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I’m about to say that Mom’s family owns a winery, not a cornfield, and that generations ago, Dad’s side were cattle ranchers. But she and I? We don’t share.

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Belle cuts me off before I can think of a retort. “Geez, Gatlin, make a freakin’ move. Are you finding out, or am I?” she says in a tone that sounds a helluva lot closer to “which one of us is f*cking her tonight?”

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Her comment makes me wonder if she’s curious, experienced, or flat out interested in a threesome. But I let it go.

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All of a sudden, I don’t feel like sharing tonight.

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Belle snaps her arms to her chest when I reach around her to queue the next song. It’s fast, loud, and long. The kind you sweat to, even when you aren’t dancing at a beachside Mexican resort.

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“Gatlin, you’re going to miss your chance if… What are you doing?” She taps me on the shoulder when I crouch down, pretending to fix a cord.

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“Hmm?” I look up at her with a cocky grin plastered on my face. What I’m doing is shimmying to sit between her legs.

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“You’re going to get us both fired.” She laughs, lifting her feet like her sandals are stuck in something sticky, giving me more room.

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I position myself with my back against the counter. My fingertips slide up under the flirty ruffles covering her ass. I drag the bathing suit bottom she’s wearing in place of panties down her legs. Then I flip her skirt up over my head and press my nose to her mound. Belle’s knees buckle when the tip of my tongue hits her cl!t.

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“Oh!” The fabric and the heavy beats of the music muffle her gasp.

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I grab her ass to keep her upright and indulge in one final fantasy.

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©2024 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved

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