Stranded With a Billionaire by Jessica Clare

Logan’s mouth was firm against her own, and he tasted sweet, like fruit. His tongue flicked against the seam of her mouth, urging her to open for him, and she was helpless to resist.
    A low mew escaped her when his tongue plunged into her mouth, turning the kiss from an exploration into decadent conquering. It stroked against her own, confident, assertive, and bold.
    Each thrust of his tongue told her what he’d be like in a relationship, in bed. He’d take control of her body and make her hum with desire. If she encouraged him even a little, he’d rise to the occasion. He wasn’t the type that would take no for an answer.
    And she
really
didn’t want to say no at the moment.
    He tasted so good. Even more than that, he felt good against her, sun-warmed and wet and hard. The waves caressed at their waists while Logan continued to kiss her as if nothing else in the world mattered, and her toes curled in response, desire surging deep inside her.
    All he’d done was kiss her, but she felt keenly aware of every bit of his skin pressing against her own: her nipples brushing against the fine hairs of his chest, the press of his cock at her belly, his fingers on her neck as he held her close, his thumb stroking her jaw. His lips caressing her own. His tongue thrusting wickedly, as if suggesting much more than just a kiss.
    After what seemed like an eternity, Logan pulled away, and Brontë staggered, her knees suddenly weak and useless. His hand went to her elbow to steady her, and he pulled her body against his.
    She gazed down at his biceps, at the mysterious tattoo. It was . . . well, it was rather hideous. The circular blob turned out to be a skull with a twisted two-dollar bill sticking out of the eye sockets. That was not what she’d expected to see on someone like Logan.
    He leaned in for one more soft kiss, his tongue grazing her lips and distracting her from her study of his tattoo. “Was that what you wanted?”
    That was a rather arrogant question. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her mind. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted until just now, actually.”
    “And now?”
    “Now I think I’m rather glad we’re alone on the beach,” she told him breathlessly.
    He grinned, his expression confident and self-assured, and leaned in for another kiss.
    Just then, a wave rose up. It slapped the two of them sideways, splashing them in the face and covering them with tendrils of seaweed.
    They sputtered, breaking apart, and Brontë was hit with a fit of giggles as Logan pulled a handful of seaweed off his shoulder and flung it away from him in disgust. Logan looked over at her with a sour expression. “More nervous laughter?”
    “No, this time I’m totally laughing at you,” she said, and yelped when he leapt to dunk her.
    The spell was broken, and they started splashing each other and riding the waves, or simply floating in the water. It was nice to just play and relax, and even when she dunked Logan, it didn’t turn sexual again.
    It was as if a question had been answered, and now Logan was content to wait for the right moment. Which made her feel a bit like prey being stalked by a predator. A very masculine, sexy predator that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to escape. She rather liked being his prey, and what did that say about her?
    ***
    For the first time since going on vacation, Brontë spent a day in the sun and enjoyed every moment of it. She played in the waves, lay out on the sand, hunted for seashells, and laughed her ass off when Logan built the sorriest looking sand castle ever. They played like children all afternoon, right down to making sand angels and wrestling in the water.
    Once out of the water, Brontë put her bra and boy shorts back on, not quite brave enough to run around stark naked. To her relief, Logan followed her lead, and they walked up and down the beach a few times examining debris floating in the water and talking. They were covered in sand and their underwear was more wet