My laugh is dark. “I’m really not that nice.”

She traces the edge of my fingers pressed against her skin. “You’ve been nice to me.”

“It’s very self-serving, Amalie.”

She tips her head up, defiance in her gaze. “How?”

“Look where I am right now.” I motion to her bed. “I don’t want anyone else to be invited back here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re vulnerable and you’ve been drinking.”

“I had two martinis and too much sun. I’ve consumed a gallon of water in the past half hour. I know what I’m doing right now.”

I don’t know why I’m being such a pussy about this, why I can’t commit one way or another to a decision. Do or don’t. Give in or get out. “Regardless, I can’t knowingly take advantage of you, not when you’ve been hurt the way you have.”

“I don’t need you to protect my poor heart, Lex.” Anger makes the words sharp. “I’m not about to let anyone else get near it after what Armstrong did to me. The least you can do is stop chasing guys away and let me get laid while I’m here instead of sending all these mixed signals and messing with my head. It’s already messed up enough.”

“I’m not letting some random douche take advantage of you.”

“What if I want to be taken advantage of?” She heaves a frustrated sigh. “That didn’t come out right. I’m on an island, on what’s supposed to be my honeymoon. I should be fucking my brains out, having the best sex of my life, but instead I’m hanging out at the bar alone, getting hit on by questionably sleazy guys who can probably sense how messed up I am, and then I’m forced to come back here and get myself off. Also alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to think about how fucked up my life is. I just want to get laid. I just want to feel something other than this goddamn emptiness that’s sucking all the fucking fun out of this trip.”

“You just wanna get laid?” Out of everything I could’ve taken from that, this is a bad question to lead with. The worst and the best question ever. But fuck it. There’s no way I’m letting another nameless Fuck-me Eric have her. If anyone’s going to get to put their hands on her it’s going to be me. She has two weeks left here. She should enjoy it. And if she wants me to, I’m going to make sure that happens, and that it includes lots of orgasms. And toys if she’ll let me into her tickle trunk.

“Yes, I want to get laid!” She throws her hands up in the air. “I’m tired of seeing all these happy couples, knowing they’re all going back to their little huts to fuck their faces off and I don’t get to.”

“Do you want me to fix that for you?”

Amalie’s eyes go wide as I move in closer.

“If you’d like some assistance with the fucking your face off part, I’d be happy to help out.” I loosen my tie.

She pushes on my chest. “Don’t play with me!”

I grab her hand and fit myself between her legs, pressing my hips into hers. I’m hard. I’ve been hard since I walked into the bar and saw her in this skimpy little nothing of a dress. Her mouth drops open.

“I’m assuming you can feel that.” I roll my hips, just to be clear what that is.

“Yes.”

I lower my head so my lips are inches from hers. “What does that feel like to you, Amie?”

“It feels l-like—”

“—like I’m playing you?” I skim the length of her throat with my free hand.

“No.” It’s the softest whisper.

“Does it feel like I’m being nice?” I rest a finger under her chin and tip it up so she meets my gaze. “I assure you, there’s nothing nice about the things I want to do to you, the ways I want to have you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good to know.” The wide eyes and innocent stare morph into the same wild look I caught a glimpse of in her bridal suite. “Because I’m pretty sick and fucking tired of nice, polite sex.”

She grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers. It’s not a soft, gentle kiss. It’s sure as fuck not polite. It’s tongues battling, her nails digging in to my skin, lips fusing, fire in my veins invoking. Her tongue finds mine, aggressive and searching. She slides her hands down my chest and works on my belt buckle. Jerking hard on the clasp, she whips it through the loops, tossing it on the floor.

Amie yanks my shirt free from my pants, then pushes on my chest, breaking the kiss. For a brief moment I think maybe she’s decided this is a mistake. But then she says, “Sorry about your shirt.” Instead of unbuttoning it, she grips the sides and pulls. A couple of buttons pop off. She does it again, and this time the rest of them come free apart from the two at the top since my tie is still around my neck. “Hmm. Didn’t work as well as I’d planned.”

I laugh and sit back on my heels, loosening my tie enough that I can unfasten the remaining buttons. Before I can remove the tie, Amie’s there to push my shirt over my shoulders.

“Look at you.” Her tongue peeks out as she drags her manicured nails across my chest and down my stomach.

The muscles jump under the lightness of her touch.

Her eyes flip up to mine. “Are you flexing?”

I shrug. Maybe a little.

“God. You’re so . . . Look at all these ridges.” She sighs when she reaches the waist of my pants. Eyes flipping up to mine, her smile is anything but innocent as she pops the button and drags down the zipper, chest rising and falling faster with each breath. I need to get her out of this dress.

Amalie keeps her gaze focused on where her hands are. She drags my pants and boxers over my hips. My dick, which is already really fucking hard, springs free.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Wow.”

I chuckle.

Her fingers flutter to her mouth and she lifts those wide, shocked eyes. “That’s, um . . . God.”

“If that’s what you want to call him, go right ahead.” I shove my pants and boxers off the rest of the way, leaving them in a heap on the comforter.

She brushes her fingers along the length. “I wasn’t sure if I’d exaggerated to Ruby when I told her about this, you know, when you flashed everyone at the Halloween soirée? It’s good to know I didn’t.”

She rises up on her knees, her dress hiked to her hips, those pretty pink panties totally on display now. Amalie pulls the cuffs of my shirt free from my wrists, then pats the pillow behind her. “You come here.” She takes me by the shoulders, encouraging me to lie where she was a second ago.

I don’t argue. She’s had little control over the things that have happened during the past week, so if she’s looking for power, she can sure as hell have it. As soon as I’m reclined on the pillows she lowers the zipper on her dress and lifts it over her head.

She’s braless, which I should’ve expected with the cleavage she’s rocking, and my cock jerks at the sight of her nipples. All that’s left is the pink lace panties with pale gray satin ribbons woven at the edges. Everything about her is fucking perfect.

Her expression is the tiniest bit uncertain until I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a slow stroke. “How long are you planning to torture me from over there?”

That gets a grin out of her. She hooks a finger under the lace band around her waist and drags it slowly over her hips and down her thighs.