Buster & Lacey - Bonus Content

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

Chapter 1
 
LACEY
 
The sun is shining, and a cool breeze blows through the palm trees. Barbados in January is perfect. I know, I know, I literally just left the desert. But winter is still winter, you know?
            I got to pick where we came for our honeymoon, and I’d heard good things about Barbados. Sun, sand, yummy cocktails – what more could you want.
            I’ll tell you what, for all these slutty women to keep their fucking hands off my husband.
I’m not standing out in the lovely sunshine. I’m hiding behind a potted palm, watching two women try to tempt my new husband into having a threesome – they aren’t even being quiet about it. Bitches.
            Poor Buster. He looks so lost. If we were back in San Remo and two groupies offered this, he’d tell them to fuck off. But he doesn’t know how to tell two WASPs how to fuck off without getting complaints to the hotel, so he’s just standing there, his eyes darting around, looking for me. Which is why I’m hiding. If he finds me, I won’t be able to laugh at his predicament anymore.
            Initially, I was hiding here to spy on how snackalicious he looks, standing there in all his muscled, tattooed glory. But then those women started propositioning him, and I stayed here to giggle.
            “Madam, can I help you with something?”
            I jump, looking over my shoulder at the porter standing behind me, peering through the palm leaves, trying to work out what I’m laughing at.
            “Uh, yeah. Actually. Can you take that man a Sex on the Beach,” I jab my finger at Buster, “and tell him really loudly, so those women hear, that it’s with his wife’s compliments.”
            The porter’s eyebrows raise, a smirk crossing his face. “Of course, madam.”
            “Don’t tell him where I am.”
            “Of course, Madam.”
            Perfect. The porter disappears, and I watch Buster’s cheeks turn pink. Oh, one of the women is getting really bold, telling him exactly what she wants to do to his cock. The man needs to walk away. Built like a Greek God, unable to say the words, ‘no thank you, I’m here with my wife.’ Hilarious.
            My porter approaches him, holding the red, sunrise-looking drink with its orange wedge and little tropical umbrella. Buster’s eyes land on him, relief shining through them.
            “With your wife’s compliments, sir,” the porter says with a flourish, handing Buster the drink.
            The look of relief is short-lived when the porter walks off, and I don’t appear. Now he looks betrayed.
            “Oh, you have a wife? Where is she?” the louder, bolder of the two propositioning sluts asks.
            “Oh, she’s here,” Buster replies, his eyes darting around, the drink clutched in his hands. “She’s watching. I just need to find her.”
            “We could help you look,” the other woman purrs, reaching out and running her hand over Buster’s rippling abs.
            I almost step out from behind my palm at the action. Almost. It’s the first time either of them has touched him. It’s also the jolt he clearly needed to find his inner asshole.
            He steps back, swatting the woman’s hand, slapping it away from him.
            “I’m on my honeymoon. I don’t want to have sex with anyone except my fucking wife, least of all either of you. Just take a hint and fuck off.”
            Yes! I do a little happy dance, my arm brushing the palm leaves, making the plant shake. Shit. Buster’s eyes snap to the palm, narrowing. Caught. A smirk crosses his face. He can’t see me. I know he can’t, but his eyes are glued to the palm, even while he continues to converse with the women.
            “There’s no need for you to be so rude,” the first one huffs.
            “There’s no need for you to come over and offer to suck my cock,” he retorts. “Let me give you a lesson in men. If you walk up to one and say, we’d like to both suck your cock, and he doesn’t immediately take you up on the offer, he’s not interested.”
            “You could have just said you weren’t interested.”
            “I was trying to be polite and hoping you’d take a fucking hint, but you’re clearly a fucking clueless idiot.”
            Ouch. I wince. That had to hurt. They flounce off, and Buster slowly stalks toward my palm. I should run, but that wouldn’t be very sporting. Or very fun.
 

 
BUSTER
 
Those two clueless bitches finally fuck off. They were getting annoying. I would have told them where to shove their offer sooner, but Lace read me the riot act on the plane. She said I wasn’t allowed to be rude to people, and saying ‘get the fuck out of my face’ definitely would have come across as rude.
            The second the porter handed me the drink – sex on the beach, ha ha ha – I knew Lace was here. Watching me. Listening to this fucking conversation. She didn’t come to save me, so I didn’t have to obey her fucking bullshit rule anymore. Fair’s fair.
            The bunch of palm leaves in the colorful pot are no longer moving, but they are the only place she could be watching me from. She has to be there.
            I round the plant, smirking down at my wife. She could have run, but my Lace has a backbone. Running and hiding from me wouldn’t be her style.
            “Hi,” she murmurs at me as I hold up the drink.
            “Sex on the beach?”
            Lace flutters her eyelashes, purring. “I wouldn’t say no to it.”
            Neither would I, but I have other plans for her right now. My eyes lazily trail over her glorious body, displayed in all its glory in a bright red bikini. Leaning down, I grin as she shivers when my lips brush her outer ear.
            “I want you to go to our suite, take all your clothes off, lay on the bed, and spread your legs.”
            Her breathing catches and quickens. “What are you going to do?”
            “Oh, I’m going to take my sweet time to finish this lovely drink you ordered me. I’ll make my way there eventually. You’ll be waiting for me when I decide to make my appearance.”
            “And if I’m not waiting in position?”
            “I’ll turn around and find something else to amuse myself with. This resort has plenty to do.”
            Lace steps away from me, her eyes flashing between amusement, desire, and annoyance.
            “How long will you be?”
            “You’ll have to wait and see.”
            Frowning, she sniffs, spinning on her heel and stomping away. I watch her go with a grin, admiring how her firm ass shakes a little with each stomp. God, I’m a lucky fucker.
            She disappears out of sight, and I slowly sip my drink. I need to give her enough time to get back to the room, get in position, and wait at least five minutes. The anticipation will have her dripping. Perfectly ready for what I intend to do to that body.
            As I sip my drink, I turn my eye back to the beach spread out in front of the building. Barbados really turned the weather on for us. It’s been perfect.
San Remo might not get as cold as other places in winter, but the desert nights can be freezing. Not here. We’ve slept with the balcony doors open every night. It’s been awesome.
            A uniformed porter appears out of thin air the second I finish the drink, holding out a tray for me to place it on. I tip the man, striding off in the direction of the stairs.
            Our suite is on the third floor, overlooking the beach. The sunsets are incredible. The mouthwatering sight that greets me when I step through the door is even more incredible.
            Exactly as I asked, Lace is naked on the bed, on her back, her legs splayed. Her head snaps toward the door as I step in, and she relaxes when she sees it’s me.
            I grin wolfishly, checking the Do Not Disturb sign Lace hung on the doorknob is still there, closing the door and locking it. My swimming trunks are off before I hit the bed, sinking to my knees beside it.
            “Beautiful,” I murmur. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous, babe, especially your pussy.”
            She moans from my words and my warm breath blowing across her sensitive flesh as I speak.
            “Buster, please.”
            “Did you have fun watching me squirm down there?”
            “Yes.”
            To reward her honesty, I reach out, brushing a thumb lightly back and forth over her throbbing clit. She gasps, her hips surging. I lift my hand, not touching her again.
            “No moving.”
            She grumbles but holds still, so I reward her with more soft, feather-light stroking.
            “You did well not to tell them to fuck off sooner,” Lace whispers. I snort.
            “Only thing keeping my tongue civil for so long was trying to keep my promise.”
Leaning forward, I skirt my tongue around her clit, careful to tease her without touching it.
            “You broke it in the end,” she sighs. I chuckle, Lace moaning again as my breath breaks over her in waves, her legs trembling where she’s holding them spread wide.
            “Only after I clocked your hiding place.”
            I give up on teasing her, curling my tongue around her clit, flicking it just how she likes.
            “God, yes, Buster.”
            As Lace’s fingers leave her knees, moving to grip my hair, her mouth starts up, filthy talk spilling off her lips, spurring on my tongue.
            She comes with a curse, lifting her hips against my mouth. Straightening, I smirk down at her. Lace attempts to glare up at me, but she’s too post-orgasmic for it to be effective.
            “Have I been adequately punished yet?” she mocks. My eyebrows shoot up as a grin plays across my lips.
            “Not quite. Off the bed, on your knees.”
            Lace smiles smugly, sliding off the bed, landing on her knees at my feet. I fist my aching cock, tapping my thumb against it.
Lace eagerly reaches for it – she’s come a long way with her blowjob fears. There’s a moment’s hesitation, my eyes searching her face, ready to call time on the attempt.
            But there’s not even a flicker of fear as she takes me in her mouth. Her fucking amazing mouth.
            “Finger yourself, babe. I want you to get yourself off while you get me off,” I groan. Immediately, Lace’s hand creeps down, curling at her crotch. Yeah. That’s what I want to see.
            A cool breeze blows the blue and white curtains through the open balcony doors, swirling around us. Barbados is fucking amazing. I never want to fucking leave.

 
Chapter 2
 
LACEY
 
While I enjoy the daily sight of Buster in nothing but flip flops and swimming trunks, flaunting his gorgeous body, I think my favorite sight of this honeymoon is when we have dinner.
            I have brought a selection of sundresses, working my way through them. Buster has worn linen shorts, boat shoes, and a loose, cotton, pastel-colored button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks almost preppy and so fucking hot.
            He catches me staring at him across the table as he digs into his meal. Waggling his eyebrows at me, he picks up his beer, tapping the glass with my cocktail.
            “Like what you see?”
            God, he’s so fucking cocky, and rightly so. I could stare at him all night and not get bored.
            “Very much,” I giggle.
            “You’ll be seeing more of it later.”
            Yes. Please.
 
Buster’s hand slides into mine, pulling me away from the lit-up beach area in front of the resort.
            “Where are we going?” I whisper loudly, letting him tow me along, the soft white sand sliding between my toes.
            “You’ll see,” he calls over his shoulder, leading me further into the darkness, along the beach.
            It’s getting more secluded, and the further away from the resort we get, the more stars appear above us. Eventually, I let him lead me, my head tipped back, staring in wonder at the absolute blanket of stars covering the sky.
            “I never knew there were so many,” I breathe.
            Buster stops, standing beside me, our fingers tangled together as he tips his head back as well.
            “You’ve never gone out into the desert and looked up?”
            I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me, still staring up at the millions of stars.
            “No. Have you?”
            “Yeah. I’ll take you sometime when we get back home.”
            “Oka… sounds amazing.” I choke on my words, changing my sentence halfway through the first word. Buster’s eyes tear away from the night sky, landing on me as he smirks.
            “Come on.” He tugs my hand, leading me off again.
            Beside us, the water is lapping softly against the shore. I have no idea where we are going, but Buster seems to know, and I trust him.
            We have to climb over a fallen palm tree at some point, and the resort is nothing more than pinpricks of light back along the beach.
            Buster stops, turning to me and sliding his hands around my waist, holding me against him as his head tips forward, his lips brushing over mine.
            “Are we there yet?” I murmur against his mouth.
            “We’re here.”
            I look around eagerly, but we’re just standing on a secluded little cove in the middle of the dark.
            “And where is here?”
            Buster’s quiet chuckle fills my ears. “Here is where you’re getting naked and getting in that water.”
            I step away from him, giggling, shimmying out of my dress and lingerie. There is enough light to see with all the stars, though it’s dim. Buster watches me silently until I’m completely naked.
            I turn, sauntering into the water, making sure to swing my hips, throwing a look over my shoulder.
            “Are you coming?”
            “After I enjoy the show.”
            I laugh, continuing to walk into the balmy water. It’s quite nice. Buster strips off his clothes, leaving them in a pile beside mine, and he is next to me in seconds, sliding his arms around my waist, his hands stroking everywhere they can find.
            We swim out under the stars until we are up to Buster’s shoulders. I lost the ground before he did, so I’m clinging to him like a monkey, my legs hooked around his waist, my arms around his neck.
            “Why here?”
            Buster laughs, his lips teasing the outer shell of my ear.
            “One of the porters told me about it. It’s far enough away that no other fucker can lay eyes on your body, and the cove means there are no huge waves or danger of rips. It’s fucking perfect.”
            “I’m not getting sand in unmentionable places, just so you can get a memorable fuck,” I warn him. Buster’s lips tease mine.
            “I’ll take one for the team and get the sand in unmentionable places,” he assures me, deepening the kiss. Well, okay. I can live with that.
            Buster’s tongue licks into my mouth, fencing with mine as my core rubs against his hard cock. The water swirling around us is the perfect temperature, like a tepid bath. One of Buster’s hands creeps around, finding my breast and palming it, pinching the nipple. I’m so glad I didn’t lose sensation there after my stupid piercing idea.
            “I think it’s time to take this party to the sand,” Buster pants, breaking the kiss as he thrusts his hips, rubbing his cock against my clit.
            “Sounds like a good plan to me,” I gasp back.
            Holding me tightly, he strides out of the water, carrying me over to our clothes. I’m set down for the briefest second – boo – while he lays out his shirt, sits on it, and tugs me down until I’m straddling his lap.
            Our mouths meet, our tongues clashing as Buster strokes my clit, lining me up and settling me down on his cock. I groan against his mouth as he fills me.
            “That’s it, babe,” Buster groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Ride me.”
            I don’t need to be told twice. I grip his shoulders, taking my weight on my knees, setting a comfortable pace. Every downward movement I make has my clit being rubbed the way we're positioned. So. Good.
            I’m panting, my fingers gripping his shoulders, my eyes fixed on the sand behind him as Buster grunts in time.
            “So fucking sexy,” he groans, his fingers tightening at my waist. “Come for me, babe.”
            I’m so, so close, losing my rhythm and grinding down on him as my head tips forward, my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I come.
            Buster grips my hips harder, manipulating me, his breath hissing through his teeth as he bucks and comes.
            “Enjoying your honeymoon?” I whisper against his ear.
            “So fucking much,” he growls back. Yeah. Me too.
 

 
BUSTER
 
We get a few knowing looks and smirks as we walk back into the circle of light on the sand shining from the resort. Lace blushes, but I tighten my hold on her hand, leading her up the stairs, bypassing the bar.
            Lace glances over, but I have tonight planned out. I already tipped a porter big to have something waiting for us in our suite. Sure enough, when we step through the door, Lace’s breath catches, her eyes glued to the balcony.
            There is a bucket of ice on the wooden table with a bottle of champagne sitting in it, two flutes beside it with a bowl of fruit, and flickering candles.
            “This is so romantic,” Lace breathes, dropping my hand as she hurries over to it. Two hibiscus flowers lie beside the champagne flutes.
            Lace’s fingers brush over them, stroking the soft petals.
            “Tulips are hard to come by here.”
            She looks sharply over at me, a smile playing across her lips. My arms slide around her waist, anchoring her in front of me, my cheek resting against the side of her head. In front of us, we can see the moon reflected on the sea.
            “These are pretty too.”
            “I’ll buy you tulips when we get home.”
            “I thought I wasn’t supposed to get used to it,” she whispers. Yeah. I said that. But I like spoiling her. I like how her face lights up like a kid who was surprised by a puppy on Christmas morning.
            “You shouldn’t get used to it,” I murmur against her ear. “It won’t happen all the time, but that doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen.”
            “Okay.”
            My growl rumbles low against her ear, and she laughs. Minx. She knew exactly what she was doing using that word.
            “What now?” she asks, still looking down at the table.
            “Now I’m going to feed you exotic fruit and fancy champagne like the princess you are.”
            She’s definitely giggling now. “You’re such a hopeless romantic.”
            “Only for you, Lace.” And only when we’re fucking alone. Her fingers trail over the lace cuff tattoo on my wrist.
            “I like that no one else knows how romantic you are. They think you’re all tough, but you’re just a gooey teddy bear.”
            “Careful,” I growl. There’s cute, and there’s taking things too far.
            Releasing her, I take a seat, snagging her wrist and drawing her down onto my lap. She wraps an arm around my neck, and I run my thumb over the tattoo on her wrist – a hawk holding a tulip in its beak. It covers her old groupie tattoo. Even though the cover job is amazing, I still know what is under it.
            My hand closes around her wrist, covering it with my palm. Lace’s hand closes around mine.
            “Sorry,” she mumbles, dropping her chin to her chest. Fuck that. Using my other hand, I place two fingers under her chin, lifting her head and turning it, so we are nose to nose, our eyes burning together.
            “I’m not. If you were never a groupie, I might never have met you. That would have been a fucking shame.”
            I brush a kiss over her lips, dropping her wrist and moving my hand from her chin. Reaching over, I pour two glasses of champagne, handing her one and plucking up a piece of mango.
            “Now, open up, or I’ll smush this in your face like a piece of wedding cake.”
            Lace’s giggles are back, all her sadness gone. “That ruins the romantic mood.”
            I waggle my eyebrows at her. “You’ve had my cock in your mouth. I know how wide you can open it.”
            She makes a noise of outrage, but grins, opening her mouth wide as I place the piece of mango in her mouth, juice dripping down the webbing between my forefinger and thumb. Lace grabs my hand, swallowing the mango and licking the juice clean. Growling, I tangle the fingers of my other hand in her hair.
            “I don’t know how many pieces of fruit I’m going to last.”
            Lace’s eyes sparkle with excitement and mischief.
            “Let’s find out.”
I can’t fucking wait.
 
The End.
 

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