With These Four Rings - Book Five: Wedding Bonus (Billionaire Brides of Granite Falls 5) (35 page)

“So this is what you’ve been hiding from us?” Kaya walked to the edge of the platform and looked out over the spread of white sand and the beautiful emerald ocean where flocks of brown pelicans dove gracefully below the surface to catch their evening meals. There was nothing else in sight but sky and water for as far as she could see. “I can’t even find the words to describe it. Where are we?”

“In the Caribbean, my love.” Bryce wrapped his arms around her from behind. While on vacation, they’d come to a decision about extending their family. She wanted to give him another son, and upon returning home, they’d gone to see Dr. Walsh who’d given them the okay to make their wish come true. With any luck, they might conceive on this very island, this very week. He couldn’t wait to make love to her, to place their next child securely inside her.

“Not just any island,” Mass said. “It’s our own private island—all eight of us together. We bought it, ripped down the dilapidated building that was on it and had Bryce’s architect build this.” He waved his hand around.

“It’s so lovely,” Michelle murmured, as she and Erik, and the other two couples joined Bryce and Kaya at the yellow wooden railing.

“We named it, but you’re free to change it if you want,” Adam said.

Tashi gazed at the beds of oleander shrubs sporting pink petals, and the blue and purple wreath-like clusters on the petrea vines running along the sides of the veranda, and the sprawling shrubs of sea grape vines extending toward the ocean, some with clusters of purple grapes hanging from the branches. “What did you name it?” she asked in a voice trembling with emotion.

“Baia degli Amanti,”
Massimo answered.

“Lovers’ Bay,” Michelle translated. “I like it.”

“Yes, darling. You each have your own island halfway across the world. We wanted something closer to home where we can escape to for a day or two without spending most of the time traveling back and forth.” Especially since they’ll be adopting soon. Adopting was something they’d discussed a while ago, but since he’d given Michelle the good news about his staying home, she’d decided that they go ahead and begin with a son, a little boy close to JP’s age. During his travels around the globe, Erik had met so many little boys and girls who needed loving homes. He was thankful to have the means to provide that happy home for some of them.

“We can come here together,” Kaya said.

“Or alone.”

“Bring the kids.”

“Or not.”

“Whatever. It’s conveniently close to home. But we plan to build a twelve-bedroom compound on the other side of the island for when our families visit. That way, we can all be together,” Bryce said.

“And when we want some privacy at night or in the middle of the day, we have our own little niche on this side,” Adam added.

“Where will we sleep?” Shaina asked.

“I don’t think we’ll be doing much sleeping, pussycat, but since you asked, those four garden paths,” he said, pointing with his finger, “each lead to a private one-bedroom bungalow complete with an en suite, a mini kitchen, and a lounge.”

“They all have ocean views in the front and natural rainforest in the rear.”

“There are no other islands in sight.” Kaya scanned the horizons.

“It’s as if we’re alone in the world,” Bryce said.

“So we can be as wild as we want and no one will see us or hear us. We can go back to the mainland with our dignities intact.”

“We tried to build the sleeping quarters as far apart as possible and still afford each an equal view of the ocean. But depending on how loud we are, we might hear each other.” Mass splayed his hand across Shaina’s stomach, as he recalled their hot night in the hut in Kenya a couple weeks ago. Soon, her little belly would be swollen with their second child. He hoped it was a son this time. He would so love to have a son.

“Well, it’s not like we don’t know what we do with each other.” Michelle flipped her wrist. “We talk. We’re all adults here. By the way,” she added, smiling seductively up at her husband, “I hope you don’t mind me wearing a wig with long black tresses when I dance—kind of like Shaina’s hair. I just want to fit in with the girls and their long hair.”

“We’re pole dancing together, in a group,” Kaya explained at Erik’s confused frown.

The men exchanged quick glances over their wives’ heads.

“Well, about that, ladies, we talked and as much as we love each other and share a lot of our personal lives with each other, watching each other’s wife pole dance is…”

“We don’t want to be that close,” Adam finished when Erik seemed to be searching for the right words.

“So we’re not pole dancing?” Tashi asked.

“Oh you’re pole dancing, just not as a group. We’ll have private sessions on the front terrace of each bungalow. You can pole dance for us every night if that’s your desire.”

“And we brought your whips, and cuffs, and the blindfolds you’ve been complaining about all afternoon.”

“Ladies, your poles await you.”

They laughed at the double entendre.

After some fun in the warm Caribbean sea and frolicking like children on the beach, the couples sat on the patio and enjoyed a delicious dinner of mahi mahi grilled on the open fire pit, a tossed green salad with papaya seed dressing, breadfruit fritters, baked red peppers stuffed with conchs, some tasty Australian wine and local passion fruit drink, followed by a variety of deserts they’d brought from the wedding reception. Then they’d bid each other good night, and walked hand in hand down the moonlit garden paths to their individual sleeping quarters.

Now, wearing nothing but white silk robes, each husband made himself comfortable on a loveseat on the private patio overlooking the ocean, and waited anxiously for his sexy bride to emerge from the bungalow unto the dimly lit stage where her pole was stationed. The men had been sexually starved for almost two weeks and although they wished for nothing more than to take their wives to bed, watching them slither, scantily clothed, up and down a pole, wasn’t something they wanted to pass up.

At a specific previously discussed time, the women simultaneously hit their stereo buttons and Janet Jackson’s “Nasty” flooded the air. The brides strutted unto the stages and up to their poles, wearing nothing but red high heel stilettos and the white lace garter belts they’d each worn under their wedding gowns. With their long tresses brushing the swelling mounds of their breasts and flowing freely down to their stomachs, they leaned back against their poles, and stood poised with their legs apart and their hips thrust forward for a few breathtaking moments before they sprang to life and danced across the stage, swaying their hips and rocking their naked bodies to the music.

Each of the men’s hearts stopped, their eyes bulged, and huge tents immediately appeared in their robes. Each watched, hypnotized, and open-mouthed as his wife danced back to her pole. She leaned her back against it and, leisurely reaching above her head, she wrapped her hands around it. Smiling at him enticingly, she began caressing the shiny metal. Up and down around and around. Short quick whacks followed by long slow strokes—gripping, squeezing, releasing, jerking, pumping in the exact same way she gave her husband a tantalizing hand job.

Nasty thoughts crept into each husband’s mind. Deep groans of carnal need, and wanton sighs of anticipation echoed like thunder beneath the starry night.

Grasping the pole, each wife gracefully turned around, giving her husband a tasty view of her long hair cascading like a dark silky cloud across her delicate back and tapering off at the delicious crest of her tight round buttocks. Enthused by the music, she spread her legs, dropped her shoulders forward, and arched her back, deliberately exposing the inviting slick folds between her thighs to her lecherous audience.

At the sound of a harsh moan, she began to gyrate her hips—back and forth, side to side, her slender body moving like a weightless cloud of flesh against the warm air, her buttocks and breasts jingling and glittering like globes of gel in the moonlight.

Her husband wiped at the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and, easing his robe aside, he began to stroke himself as his wife continued to tease him by thrusting her hips at the pole, rubbing into it, up against as if it had morphed into an impassioned lover, daring her to get closer.

As Janet gave way to the slow seductive ballad of “Behind Closed Doors,” each husband began to understand why his wife had insisted on making love by song lately. He squeezed his shaft as she scaled the pole like a barroom dancer, heaving her body against it on the way up, to finally wrap her arms and legs around it like a lover’s body.

Locking her thighs and legs in place, she curved her body backward and, swinging upside down, she spread her arms wide and rotated her head from side to side in time with the music. The locks of her hair flowed from her crown like silken threads and swept the mat beneath her.

Her husband moaned as visions of that lustrous mane brushing his naked flesh sent tingling sensations rushing up and down his spine.

When “Earned It,” began, she effortlessly brought her body upward, unwrapped her limps from around her inanimate lover and fluttered sensuously down to the floor. With a titillating smile, she sashayed to the front of the stage, working her hips to the music, shaking her breast and her buttocks to her husbands delight. Turning her back to him, she widened her stance, bent forward, and picked up a white satin scarf from the floor.

She passed the satiny material between her legs and holding it in place with one hand behind and one in front, she began to ride it as she twirled in circles on her toes as if she was seated atop a bucking bronco, twisting her body and undulating her hips, the muscles in her stomach churning like a skilled belly dancer’s as she worked the strip of cloth, making it earn her love, her passion, the feminine essence of her delectable damp body.

Her husband began to pump his rock-hard cock as his heart beat against his chest like a jungle drum. He swore his wife was trying to give him a heart attack. Not a bad way to go.

Facing forward, she met and held his gaze, her eyes dreamy and bewitching in the low light. She rolled the tip of her tongue across her lips in time with the music and her gyrating hips, and when the material was soaked with her juices she tossed it into the air and watched it float like a butterfly satiated with sweet nectar to land on her husband’s awestricken face.

He curled his fingers around the warm damp scarf, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance, as he remembered pumping his cock deep inside her to the tune of the song to which she now danced. It was going to be a long perfect night.
Oh yes
,
she would be punished for teasing him
.

Once “Temperature’s Rising” began, she slithered to the mat and stretched her sexy body like a lazy cat, before crawling on her hands and knees from one end of the stage to the next, stopping occasional to grind her hips into the mat, humping it the way she humped her husband in the woman-on-top position.

“Oh God, baby. Yes. Just like that,” he groaned in a husky voice.

Smiling, she fluttered onto her back, raised her feet high in the air, and gently caressed her smooth toned legs with her fingertip, moving along her shapely thighs, over her garter belt and up to her Venus mound. She planted her feet flat on the mat, raised her hips, and started to thrust upward against her middle fingers nestled just below the surface of her slick folds, as if her body was indeed yearning for love, for fulfillment.

Sensual! Hot! Sultry! Erotic!

Her husband groaned again as her fingers, now wet with her juices, slithered across her undulating stomach and over her temptingly swelling breasts. She molded her soft firm flesh and tweaked her pebbled nipples, and then her hands were caressing her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her lips, just like her lover had done countless times, and then to his wanton amazement, her crimson lips parted and her middle finger disappeared inside her mouth. She began to suck her digit, spreading her beautiful lips around it, making little slurping sounds as she simulated sucking her lover’s shaft.

OK.
He could not take anymore of this naked nymph, this beguiling strumpet teasing him with her lasciviously sinful wares. It was time to feast. Burning up with raging lust, her husband pushed his robe off his damp shoulders and rose from his seat.

He kept his eyes on the tantalizing body of his wickedly sexy wife, and eased down on the mat beside her. He ran his fingers down the length of her damp soft body as she continued to heave beneath him like an exotic danseuse.

His hot lips followed in the wake of his fingers, and when he reached her toes, he held her legs and spread her thighs wide. He settled himself between them and, gazing into the enchanting wonder of her lovely hypnotic eyes, he guided the tip of his shaft to the slick tight hot entrance of her body, and just as TLC began to sing “This is How it Works,” he took her deeply.

They held each other tightly and cried out together as the fiery hunger gripped them, melding them into one ball of sweltering rippling flesh. The ocean waves, lapping upon the white sands of the beach below them welcomed their passionate groans of ecstasy, and collecting the varying symphonies of pure delight, ferried them across the Caribbean Sea.

Oh yes
.
This was precisely how love worked
.

THE END