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I do a pfft complete with a raspberry that makes me come off like a two-year-old. “Sorry, I do not care who you are, that’s a name you’re never getting. I’ve said so many filthy things about you on Twitter…” I can only shake my head. “No. Never.”

“Like the one this morning? Is your pussy really bare?”

My mouth opens and stays that way for several seconds.

“Would you like to know what my invisible tongue can do to it?” he asks.

I’m throbbing.

“Or would you rather try out the visible one?”

I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help it. And then before I can collect myself he jumps off the raft and starts walking towards shore. “Think about it, Grace,” he says, looking back over his shoulder as he gets to the concrete edge of the river and lifts himself out of the water. Every muscle in his back and arms is defined and rock hard as he stands up on the walkway and turns back to me, dripping wet. I glance down at his key lime shorts and see his bulge and then glance up quickly to find him smiling again. “Because that’s an offer. I’d be happy to play the part of soft tropical breeze caressing your bare pussy.”

And then he walks off, his feet slapping in the puddle of water his body is creating.

My mouth is still open and even though I’m still on the raft, he’s not the only one sopping wet.

Chapter Six

#GodIHopeHeLikesThatShit

H
OW
did he know my name?

This question runs through my mind all the way back to the bungalow. I saw him in the bar and outside of the lingerie shop.

Is he stalking me?

Grace, you have lost your freaking mind! He’s a movie star! He doesn’t stalk nobodies, nobodies stalk him!

I shake my head and laugh as I push the key card into the reader on the door. It flashes green and I push it open. The air-conditioning makes me sigh as I kick off my flip flops and fall back onto the bed.

I met Vaughn Asher.

I scream and kick my feet.
I met Vaughn Asher
!

Oh my God, I’m having a fangirl moment. I get my phone out and text Bebe.

You are never gonna believe who I just met
.

I add some hearts and flowers and then press send as I wait for her reply so we can play the guessing game.

He was every bit as much the Prince Charming in person as he is in the movies and magazines. Better even, because you never know how many of those pictures are retouched and how many of those interviews are fake. I barely got a look at his abs, but they were just as delicious as his back. And even though he was sorta dirty-talking to me, in his defense, I started it with the tweet. He is…

Lickable. Definitely fairy tale material.

I giggle and look down at my phone screen. “Where are you, Bebe?” I say to the empty room. They should be done parasailing by now. How long could something like that last? I need to tell her everything. I need to get her to tweet things to the Dirty Heaven list for me just in case he’s watching for his name. He cannot find out who I am on Twitter. No.

I blush just thinking about it. Jesus, the things I’ve tweeted about him over the years. I would never be able to look him in the face. I tweeted about things I’d like to do to his face—hehe, I have to stop and take in a quick breath at that. The man’s got a nice chin. I tweeted about how I imagine his cock looks. Another chuckle escapes. Thick and hard. And I should know, I saw it through his wet shorts.

Oh God. Whew.

The room phone rings and pulls me out of my erotic dreaming. I roll over on the bed, reach for it, and put it to my ear. “
Bueno
,
Señorita
Kinsella speaking.”

“Miss Kinsella,” a male voice says from the other end. “I have a message from Miss Chambers.”

“Oh, Bebe! Where is she?”

“She is spending the night on Water Island and will be back tomorrow. She sends her apologies.”

“Hmmm.” That’s disappointing. “OK, thank you.” I hang up the phone and roll back over on the bed. I’m really not clingy, but this is a little much. I mean, we’re on our honeymoon!

A soft knock pulls me out of my rant and I sit up and look over at the door just in time to see an envelope slide through.

I jump up, run over, and fling it open—I scan the pathway in front of our bungalow, but it’s twisty and thick with tropical foliage, so of course there’s no one in sight. I close the door and pick up the thick paper. This time the envelope says nothing, so I just take out the card.

Meet me. 9:00 Sunset Cove Beach.

Mr. B

What?

Mr. B? Mr. Buttinski? I gasp and clasp my hand over my mouth in shock. Is this note from Vaughn Asher? It has to be, that’s what I called him at the bar.

Oh my God, can my day get any more fantastic? Vaughn Asher wants to… well, he never said what he wanted, only where I’m supposed to go and when.

Maybe I shouldn’t go?

Ha! Like hell! I’m going. I get up and go over to the closet where my meager wardrobe is hanging. I have three sun dresses, six pairs of shorts, four bikinis, three sexy camis, two tank tops, and a pair of jeans.

A sun dress it is, I guess. I was not expecting to meet a movie star on this trip. I wasn’t even expecting to get lucky. Not many single guys my age come to a resort like this. It’s more for anniversary celebrations and honeymoons.

I check the time. It’s only four, and I’m wiped out from the martinis and sun, so I figure I have plenty of time to catch a nap, shower, and pull myself together for a date with Vaughn Asher!

I flop down on the bed and stuff my face in the pillow as I kick and scream with excitement. I grab my cell off the nightstand and I’m already pulling up Twitter to tell my bitches before Dirty Heaven tonight when I realize I can’t tweet about him! I already messed up and copped out to my past indiscretions, so there’s no way he can know.

In fact, I’m not sure I want my girls to know either. I mean, they will out me in a snap. All in good fun, to them, at least. But I will die of humiliation if he ever reads half the shit I’ve said about him.

Once I get home and have time to process all this, I will tell them all about it. And I’ll stalker-pic him all night so I have proof.

I’m smiling so big my cheeks are beginning to hurt, so I just roll over and hug the pillow to my chest, my eyes drooping as I daydream about what a night with a famous movie star means. I’m sure he wants it all on the down low. I’m nobody and he’s probably only looking for a one-night stand.

Am I up for a one-night stand with a sex god?

Ha! As if. Yes. Yes, yes, and more and more yeses. I’ve never had a one-nighter, but if a girl needs to lose her booty-call virginity, why not do it with—wait. If I sleep with him tonight he’ll think I’m cheap.

I am cheap. At least in this case. But I know better than to get involved in games. And I’m sure his game-playing skills are epic.

So no. I can’t sleep with him.

At least not tonight. Tonight I should just see if he’s normal or not. He could be a creep asshole for all I know. He could like choking or spanking or domination.

God, I hope he likes that shit.

Maybe he’s got a special room filled with accessories. I giggle at that. I’ve never done anything so adventurous. I’ve had plenty of dates and boyfriends, but they were all pretty vanilla when it came to sex. Only one got a little crazy, but when he started putting on my underwear, I knew his brand of crazy was not what I was looking for.

But Vaughn… I reach down between my legs and find my clit through my shorts and bathing suit.

Way too much fabric between me and my pleasure, so I shimmy out of my bottoms, then let my hand wander again.

I picture all the dirty things I’ve tweeted about his face. How I’d like to sit on it and rub myself against his scratchy chin. How his tongue would feel lapping against my folds. How my wetness would spill out and coat his lips, and then I’d scoot down and kiss him. Tangle my tongue with his so I could share in the taste of me.

I don’t usually get so excited sans vibrator, but the tingling between my legs begins to build, cresting higher until I have to pull my hand away to stop the release.

I don’t want to masturbate to his image anymore. I’ve done that hundreds of times. I want the real thing.

God help me. Because I’m not sure I could say no if he wants to have sex with me tonight. And from what I’ve read about him in the tabloids, he’s dirty. He’s a talker, one article said. Of course that was only from a “reliable source” so it could all be made up. And another equally suspicious one said he wished he was chosen to play Christian Grey in
Fifty Shades
so he could take a girl to the red room.

My fingertips are slick with my own juices again, my hand wandering down of its own accord. And I bring my fingers to my lips and suck, picturing what it might be like to suck Vaughn Asher’s dick.

And that’s it.

Dreaming about blowing him is all it takes.

I gush for him. I come for him. I moan his name and buckle my back for him. My body aches for more as soon as I’m finished. I bring my fingers back to my mouth as I imagine how hot the sex might be.

How thick is his cock? How long? Will he go slow and give kisses? Or fast and hard up against the wall? Will he eat me out? Make me beg? Will I beg? Fuck yes, I’ll beg. Will he have stamina? Or will he be a huge disappointment?

My eyelids become heavy and before I know it I’m dropping off as all these things flash through my mind.

I dream of hard cock.

Of my sopping wet pussy.

I dream of his fingers inside me, caressing my most sensitive spots. I picture his cock as it pushes past my wet folds and plunges into me for the first time, giving me the best orgasm of my life.

It’s the perfect fairy tale ending.

Chapter Seven

#MyFirstFairyTaleDate

I
JOLT
awake, not sure where I am for a moment. A breeze passes over my hot sweaty body and I smell the sea.

I’m on Saint Thomas. I’m on Saint Thomas and… I have a date with Vaughn Asher! I jump up and check the time. Only eight. An hour is not great, but it will do.

My bottoms are still missing after my solitary orgasm and my fingertips slide between my legs automatically. I’m still slick. I suck in a breath as the tingling starts again. But there’s no way I’m going to masturbate. If Vaughn Asher wants to have sex with me tonight, I want to be damn sure I come when it happens.

A cold shower takes care of my wanting and leaves my whole body with chills. My nipples are perky and hard when I slip the yellow sun dress over them. No bra tonight.

I look down at my pathetic pair of tighty-whitie underwear, wishing I could go commando on the bottom too, but I can’t. That really sends the wrong message when you’re wearing a dress, not to mention when you’re on a first date.

I reluctantly pull the underwear on. They are not so bad, really, I’ve seen girls at the gym wear these. Not the men’s variety—they were always some cute color and they were shaped for a woman’s hips. But these are not so different.

The front sags over my pubic area and no matter how many ways I try to fold the waistband over, the ass sags too.