Paradise

I sat alone on the beach, waves crashing over my body as my feet carved deeper trenches in the sand. My shirt clung to my chest, soaked through with saltwater, and every breath I took filled my lungs with the scent of seaweed and coconut sunscreen.

Most people would be distracted by the women in bikinis splashing nearby. I could even use that as an excuse for why my cock strained against my trunks, but that would be a lie. The real reason had to do with what happened thirty minutes ago, when I kissed my wife goodbye and watched her walk toward the hotel bar to meet another man.

Gemma and I were in Hawaii celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. Even after all these years, she still made my pulse race when she tucked that blonde hair behind her ear and still gave me that smirk like she could read every thought in my head when she caught me staring. Maybe that was why tonight she'd decided to wear the blue sundress that matched her eyes, the one that was cut so low that it made it impossible to concentrate.

We were married in a small chapel just outside her hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio. Both of us were new lawyers at a small firm, so the honeymoon had to wait. She'd always dreamed of coming to Hawaii, and I promised her one day I would make that dream a reality.

A seagull cried overhead. I let sand run through my fingers and tried to remember how we'd gotten here. How the thing that would make any normal man red-hot with jealousy and anger made me so hard it hurt.

The waves pulled back, leaving foam around my ankles. Somewhere behind me, in the hotel's tiki bar, my brilliant, beautiful wife was letting another man tuck her hair behind her ear, stare at her perfect body while she laughed way too hard at one of his jokes. And I was left wondering if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, or if our marriage was about to get a whole lot more fun.

It was our wedding night that changed everything. When our boss, with wandering hands and a bit too much alcohol, asked Gemma for a dance.

***

The reception was just starting to wind down. Everyone drunk, or getting there as champagne flutes reflected the last flicker of candlelight. The DJ, a guy with a man-bun and designer glasses, turned on some new age pop song and dozens of drunken guests rushed the makeshift dance floor. I watched Gemma, my new bride, as she made her rounds thanking guests for coming, and laughed every time her sister would whisper something in her ear.

I still couldn't believe this beauty had said yes to a guy like me. Not that I'm some scrub. At just over six feet, I hold my own. I played football in high school, ran track in college, and kept the build to prove it. But Gemma... in that dress... Her blonde hair shimmered under the moonlight, the faint glitter in it catching every flicker of light. She looked almost angelic, if not for the way that low neckline made my thoughts anything but holy. At the ceremony, her arms and the top of her chest had been hidden beneath a wrap. Now they were bare, smooth, and close enough to make me restless. I shifted in my seat, the bottle cold in my hand as I took another drink, watching those blue eyes sparkle with laughter.

I was lost in watching her when a voice beside me broke the spell. "Hell of a party." I turned around and saw Richard Carver, our managing partner, materialize beside me. He was in his early fifties, with a similar build to me that suggested that despite his age, he'd kept up with the gym. In fact, the only hint of Mr. Carver being older at all was his salt-and-pepper hair. He clapped me on the shoulder, pulling me closer with his handshake like a man who was used to being the one calling the shots.

"Mr. Carver," I started, but he waved me off.

"Richard, please. We're family here." He gestured around the venue, a restored Victorian mansion overlooking the river. "I hope this place is to your liking," he said with a smile that could disarm the hardest of criminals. "You two certainly clean up nice." He was speaking to me, but it was clear his attention had shifted to just over my shoulder.

Gemma appeared at my elbow, her hand sliding around my waist. "Richard, thank you again for everything. I still can't believe you arranged all of this." She released my waist, reaching out to take his hand. "When you said the firm wanted to do something special for us, I never imagined--"

"Nonsense. We are a family at Lockheed and Carver. It doesn't matter if you've been a part of it for ten years, or ten days." He raised his champagne flute in a toast, taking a slow sip while his eyes shifted from Gemma's face down to the exposed skin where her wrap used to be, then back up again. The look lasted maybe three seconds too long. Long enough for me to notice, long enough to feel something shift in my chest. I waited for the surge of anger, the protective instinct that should have had me stepping between them. Instead, I found myself studying Gemma's reaction, wondering how she would react. She was still smiling, still radiant, like she didn't notice at all, or just didn't care. That realization sent an unexpected bolt of lightning through my system.

"You're a lucky man, Paul. If I were a few years younger she could have been ex-wife number three."

His laugh was infectious, even if his joke made us give each other a concerned look.

"Oh Richard," Gemma swatted his arm playfully. "You know I'd only marry you for your money." A playful smile danced across her lips. She had always been comfortable with attention, knew how to handle compliments with grace and just enough flirtation to make someone feel special.

"Ha! Just like wife number two." Richard's eyes danced across her exposed skin and I felt heat rising up my neck.

The band shifted into a slow ballad, and Richard straightened, extending his hand to my wife. "May I dance with the bride? I promise to return her in one piece."

"Of course," Gemma said placing her hand in his.

I headed to the bar, ordered a vodka Redbull, and tried to look casual while watching them on the dance floor. Richard's hand settled respectfully on her waist as they began to sway. Gemma tilted her head back to say something, and he leaned in to catch her words over the music. She laughed, in the same way she did with everyone. Her smile bright and genuine, like you were the funniest person in the room.

The song stretched on. Richard's hand had shifted lower, not dramatically, just enough that his fingers now rested along the curve of her hip. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, taking a long drink as I watched his fingers extend, getting closer to what would be considered inappropriate. Gemma was just as animated as ever, telling some story that made Richard's eyes crinkle in amusement, and allowed him to pull her a little closer.

A metallic taste mixed with the redbull and I realized I was chewing so hard on my cheek I drew blood. Richard leaned in, whispering something to Gemma that caused her to throw her head back in laughter. Richard's gaze never left her chest. I nearly dropped my glass, my hands suddenly clammy as that comment kept echoing in my head:

_ex-wife number three_.

A mix of emotions twisted in my stomach. A deadly combination that made my pulse quicken, my pants tighten, and my stomach feel like I was going to throw up at any moment. I was transfixed, I couldn't stop staring at them. The way Gemma laid her head on his chest, the lack of any gap between their bodies. Richard's hands slid over her ass, just for a second, and I swear I thought I was having a heart attack. Then, the song ended and his hands were at his side.

I downed the rest of my drink, suddenly feeling like a fish stranded on a desert beach. Richard kissed Gemma's hand, then leaned in and whispered something else in her ear. This time, her eyes went wide in shock, then she giggled and swatted his chest playfully before the two walked back in my direction arm in arm.

"Ready to call it a night and head up to our room... husband?" It took a second to process her words. Her cheeks looked flushed, her breathing faster than normal. Was that because of Richard, or the thought of going upstairs?

I got out of my own head before Gemma realized anything was wrong. We walked toward the elevator as husband and wife, Richard Carver all but forgotten at the bar.

Gemma was all over me the second the elevator door closed. She pressed her lips to my cheek, then peppered my jawline with soft kisses. Her hands already pulling at my shirt, wanting to feel the heat of my body against hers.

"What has you all worked up?" I asked, helping her with my shirt.

"Can't a new wife just want to consummate her marriage?" Her nails scraped against my bare abdomen, making me sigh in pleasure.

"You sure it doesn't have anything to do with how handsy Richard was on the dance floor?" I cursed myself the moment I said it. Her body went stiff, and she pulled back examining my face.

"Are you jealous?" That was a great question, and one I wasn't sure how to answer.

The elevator dinged at our floor, saving me from having to respond immediately. We walked down the hallway in silence, her heels in her hand, I hadn't even noticed her take them off. I fumbled with the keycard, my hands still shaky from whatever the hell had just happened downstairs.

Our suite was exactly as I'd left it. Rose petals stretched from the doorway to the king-sized bed where champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice. But I could barely focus on any of that. All I could see was Richard's fingers on her ass, the flash of her eyes when she'd giggled at his whisper. My pulse kicked harder.

"Well?" Gemma turned to face me, arms crossed, that direct stare that meant she wasn't dropping this. "Are you going to answer me?"

Instead of responding, I kissed her. Hard. My hands found her face, pulling her against me with a desperation that surprised us both. She melted into me immediately, her body pressing against mine as if she'd been waiting for exactly this response. My hand slid down her body, ending at her ass, just like Richard. I grabbed her taut cheek, more possessive than I'd ever grabbed her before, and pulled her sex into my thigh.

She pushed off me with a sigh, her eyes blazing with desire. "Help me with the zipper."

I slid the zipper down slowly, revealing the smooth expanse of her back and the white lace of her lingerie. She stepped out of the dress, skin flushed pink from champagne and excitement, then turned to face me. My jaw went slack. God, she was beautiful. The bra pushed her breasts high, not that they needed much help, the sheer cups giving just enough away to show the outline of her nipples, pale pink and tight with excitement. The panties matched, riding high on her hips and dipping low in front, the lace framing smooth, bare skin.

"You're overdressed," she said with a smirk, pushing me back onto the bed and sending rose petals flying.

She kneeled between my legs and began unbuttoning my pants, looking up at me through her long lashes. Her fingers brushed the inside of my thighs as she eased the zipper down, the faint rasp of metal sending a shiver through me. When she slid them past my hips, a soft moan left her lips.

Gemma leaned forward, pressing a kiss just above my waistband, then another, lower, until my hips were lifting off the bed and she had my pants and boxers around my ankles. The warmth of her breath made my muscles tense. Her hand wrapped around me as she pulled my legs free, then she kissed her way back up my thighs. "I've been waiting all night for this," she teased, running her tongue slowly along the underside of my cock.

I let out a long, involuntary sigh and sank back into the bed, running my hands through her hair. "So have I, Mrs. Johnson."

The use of my last name seemed to send a spark through her. Her palm dropped to my sac, rolling the orbs gently between her fingers as she sank her warmth around my shaft and hollowed her cheeks. "Ooooh," The sound slipped from me in a low moan, my eyes snapping shut. But in the dark behind my lids, I didn't see Gemma on her knees in front of me. I saw her on the dance floor laughing at whatever Richard was saying. And then, just as her tongue swirled around my crown, the image changed and her lips were around him.

My stomach tightened.

"God, I don't think I've ever seen you this hard," she whispered, the words vibrating against me.

My eyes snapped open. Disgust, sharp and unexpected, cut through the haze. I reached for her, my hands sliding to her shoulders, pulling her up my body until our faces were level.

"I need you," I said, pulling the lace of her underwear to the side and feeling her warm, slick heat against me.

"I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Johnson," she purred, lining herself up. I groaned when I discovered just how wet she really was. She sheathed me with little resistance.

Her body was on fire, her walls drawing me in with each slow roll of her hips. She moaned above me, her eyes shut tight, lost in her own thoughts. Her hair spilled forward, hiding her face slightly as she bit her lip.

"God, you feel so good, baby. You feel so big." She was working herself into a frenzy and I knew neither of us were going to last long.

"What did he say to you?" The question came out of left field, and for a moment her hips stopped working as she blinked her eyes open and looked at me.

"Huh? Who?"

"Richard." I grabbed her hips, making her resume her pace. "When the song ended. He whispered something to you. What was it?"

She hesitated, looking down on me trying to read my expression. "Paul... He was drunk. It doesn't..."

"But what did he say?" I bucked into her, making her cry out, her nails digging into my chest.

"Uggh," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut, her movement becoming more urgent. Was she thinking about him now? "He... he told me if I wanted a wedding I wouldn't forget I should come to his room."

My balls tightened, my cock swelled. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe hard enough. I arched my back, clutching at the sheets, and exploded inside Gemma's tight pussy.

"Ohhh Paul..." she moaned. A hand shot between her thighs as she worked her clit furiously, joining me a moment later in bliss.

Later, lying next to my bride in the dark, my head spun trying to understand why those words had affected me so intensely. Why the image they planted made me lose all control.

***

The waves had shifted direction, now pulling sand from beneath my feet instead of depositing it. I checked my phone, no messages. It had been over an hour since Gemma walked into that bar.

Over an hour since I'd watched her smooth her dress, check her lipstick in the mirror, and head down to meet him for drinks. Over an hour since I'd made the decision that had led us to this moment.

It happened by happenstance, like so many of these moments do. We'd been sharing an appetizer at the resort's oceanfront restaurant when Gemma took a sip of her wine and then looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"It can't be. Gemma Johnson, is that you?"

I recognized the voice, but I couldn't quite place it, not until I turned in my chair and saw Richard Carver making a beeline for us. He looked different. He was leaner, tanned. His hair was shaggier, the salt-and-pepper gone, and now a solid dark brown. But that smile, the way his laugh seemed to echo through the restaurant and turn every head in the building, that was very much the same.

"Paul!" He'd made it over to our table before he even bothered looking my way. "I'm so glad to see the two of you still together. I can't believe we're bumping into each other like this. What are the odds?"

He slapped my back, pulling me into one of those firm handshakes that turned into a brief embrace. When he released me, his attention shifted to Gemma. I caught the way he drew his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes traveled over her, lingering on the way her sundress clung to her waist before sliding down her tanned legs and slowly back up again. He stepped forward and pulled her close, her chest pressing into his through the low cut of her dress. And just like that, I was back at our wedding reception, watching those same appreciative glances, feeling that same twisted heat rise in my chest.

"Richard, what are you doing here?" Gemma asked. She twisted out of his hug, but not completely, letting his hand rest on her back like it belonged there. Three years since he retired early, three years since we'd seen him.

"Surfing retreat," he said, grinning. "Trying to find a new hobby."

His hand finally slid away from her waist and only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath like an idiot.

"After Wife Number Three took me to the cleaners..." He looked straight at Gemma when he said it, like it was their little joke. "I figured I needed a little fun in the sun." She blushed, actually blushed, and it hit me square in the chest. My cock stiffened on the spot, steel in my pants while I stood there smiling like a fool.

Richard chuckled, shaking his head. "You really punched above your weight class with this one." He nudged my arm the way older men do, casual but claiming space. "I'm actually headed to a lesson now, but we should catch up properly. How about drinks at the tiki bar later? Say, nine o'clock?"

Gemma glanced at me, then seeing my deer-in-headlights look, took the initiative. "We'd love that. It's been too long," she said, watching me squirm out of the corner of her eye.

"Great, I can't wait to let loose a little." This time he didn't even pretend to look my way, before giving Gemma another hug and disappearing into the crowd.

Gemma slipped back into her seat across from me once Richard disappeared into the crowd. For a moment we just sat there, the noise of the resort humming around us.

"Well," she said lightly, though her eyes searched mine, "that was unexpected."

"Yeah," I muttered, still trying to process what had just happened and why I was about to say the dumbest words of my life. "Drinks could be... fun. But maybe you should go without me."

Her lips parted in surprise, then closed again as she chewed the corner of her lip. She took a sip of wine, studying me like she was trying to crack a code.

"Without you?" she asked softly, though I could see the fire building behind her eyes.

I nodded, keeping my face neutral. "I didn't really get the sense it was my company he was after."

"Is... is that a good idea?"

I didn't answer. My cock throbbed between my legs, shame and arousal knotting together. How could I tell her it felt like the best and the worst idea at the same time?

Her foot brushed mine under the table, then slid higher until I felt her toes pressing firmly against my inner thigh. She leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around me.

"You know this is a bad idea, don't you?"

My mouth went dry. I could only nod.

"I mean... what if he still wants to show me what I was missing on my wedding night?" she whispered, her big blue eyes holding me while her foot pressed directly against my cock.

Heat rushed through me, and I swear I was already close to the edge.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she bit her lip, studying me. "Even knowing that, you still want me to go alone?"

"I... I do," I managed to choke out.

"Mmm." She let the sound linger, her foot moving faster. "Interesting choice of words, Paul."

I pushed her foot away, heart hammering. I couldn't take another second of it. I had almost exploded right there in the middle of the restaurant.

Now, standing alone in the surf, that moment felt both like a lifetime ago and like it had just happened. What had I been thinking? What kind of husband encourages his wife to have drinks with another man, especially one who'd once propositioned her on their wedding night?

I checked my phone again. Still nothing.