Taking the Heat (20 page)

I wasn't disappointed. Having seen him in all his naked glory the night before, I knew what to expect, but the length my toes found made me tremble. A drop of pre-cum moistened my foot and my core cried back in response. Using my two largest toes, I gripped his shaft and moved it back and forth. My movements were clumsy, but Chris responded fervently, sucking on my nipple with renewed vigour, pulling almost my entire breast into his mouth.

He popped the bud free, and began to kiss his way down my stomach, towards my oh-so-ready core. I wanted his mouth on me, his tongue in me, his fingers anywhere he wanted. Arching my back, I spread my legs further apart and gave myself up to him.

At that moment, there was banging at the door.

‘Ignore that,' I said, pressing a hand to Chris' head, motioning for him to continue.

His tongue skimmed the outside of my lower lips and I cried out, so ready for his mouth on me.

The knocking came again, this time with a verbal warning. ‘Chris, Tara, we know you guys are in there. You've got five seconds before we come in.'

‘They're bluffing,' I said, with no proof, the aching between my thighs overriding any logic. I didn't even know who ‘they' were.

I felt Chris' breath, hot on my clit, just as the front door banged open.

‘Shit!' We both sprang up, clutching at the sheet for coverage as a production manager, a boom operator and Greg ran into the room.

‘Get the fuck out!' Chris growled, his voice low with lust. ‘The touch restrictions are lifted until the power goes back on.'

‘That's just it, guys,' said the manager, having the grace to blush and look down at his tablet. ‘The power came on twenty minutes ago. Miles is waiting for everyone on the beach.'

Desperate, I offered a blatant bribe. ‘Guys, I swear to god, if you give us, like, even three more minutes, I will pay you each ten grand out of my winnings.' I pleaded at them with my eyes.

‘Sorry, Tara.' Greg peered out from around his camera. ‘Rules is rules. Let's go.'

Chapter 20

‘FFS …' I hissed at the crew. ‘Fine!' I snatched up a robe and stalked to the bathroom to dress. Looking back at poor Chris, lying in the bed with a magnificent hard on, I knew I wasn't the only one who would find the next few minutes uncomfortable.

Slamming the door, I leaned against it, pressing my thighs together, trying to still the burning between them. Logical thought was gone. My body shrieked at me, my nipples pinging with current and my core snapping in fury.

Almost blind with sexual energy, I jammed my shorts on and slipped the light pink shirt over my head, moaning as the cotton scraped over my tingling breasts. It was going to be a very long day.

I still wasn't prepared to service myself on international TV, but I hoped Chris would take care of his own needs—balls that blue could be potentially fatal. Or at least impede his motor skills and ability to form a sentence. I vacated the bathroom so he could get ready and proceeded to shoot filthy looks at the camera team.

‘Come on, Tara,' Greg wheedled. ‘You know we're only doing our jobs.'

‘Fuck you guys.'

‘Potty-mouth,' he grinned. ‘As soon as Chris is dressed, we'll go.'

My skin broke out in fresh goose bumps as my dirty mind visualised Chris holding himself in his hand, stroking that firm shaft, my image in his head. ‘I'm sure he'll only be a minute.'

Less than thirty seconds later, Chris emerged, a stripy white and navy shirt highlighting his defined chest. His white sailing shorts completed the look, but I couldn't help eyeing the still swollen bulge distending the material. Either he hadn't jerked off, or it hadn't worked.

The look of hazy lust was written all over his face. My hands itched to reach for him and drag him back into bed, million or no million, when Greg cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. Alright, kids. Let's do this!'

***

We walked to the beach in the early-morning sun, Chris shadowing my steps. With him so close, it was that much harder to think. Every plan I'd made since setting foot on the Island had gone astray: my quest to ignore Chris, to not fall in love with him, to drive him away. I'd only wanted to get my money and get out. Now, I didn't know what I wanted.

The beach was back to its flawless appearance, with the stage under a new and shiny marquee. Two smaller covered tents were set up further back, fluttering in the wind.

Miles sat in a director's chair on the stage while makeup girls fluttered around him, trying to mask his inebriated appearance. With his veiny red nose and puffy cheeks, I wished them luck. Looking at Miles, there was no doubt what he'd been up to during our down time.
I wonder if there's any grog left on the island …?

The rest of the contestants were equally transparent about their post-cyclonic activities. Clara sat under a nearby tree, singing softly to Toshi as he stared at her, enraptured. They both had that distinctive glow which seems to only appear on people who've had recent, brilliant sex.

Beau the cowboy was drawing hearts in the sand while the princess from Jordan watched him adoringly. Pauline and Chase splashed in the shallows, collecting shells and spotting fish, while the world's weirdest threesome, Babette, Lars and Mila, sat in a cross-legged circle, chatting happily.

It felt like Chris and I were the only ones who hadn't spent the past day and a half shagging like bunnies on Viagra, until I saw Henry sitting slumped under an umbrella. He looked totally dazed and drained. Jen approached him, grinning widely and handing him a frosty glass of juice. I hoped that she'd found someone to spend naked time with—for her, I didn't think the pitch-dark fantasy cabin encounters would be as satisfying as an afternoon delight.

Meghan came up and clutched my elbow. ‘Do you think we could talk for a moment?'

‘Sure,' I said, shooting Chris an apologetic look as Megs drew me to the far side of the stage.

‘I don't know what to do! I think if you could help me, then I'd know, you know?' Her cheeks were almost as red as her hair as she fidgeted uneasily.

‘Nik and Callum?' I guessed.

‘Yes! After they got into that fight, I was bloody fuming at them both. But then, during the storm, they were both so wonderful, caring for me. I thought spending some time with both of them would help, so I was with Callum all day yesterday and Nik last night.'

‘And …?'

‘And, now it's worse!' She clutched at the loose cotton of her cream skirt, wringing the material in her hands. ‘I love them both! I've made love to them both! And I can't pick one over the other!'

‘Shhh …' I hugged her tightly, letting her pour her frustrations into my shoulder. ‘You don't have to pick anyone yet. There's more than a week left—why not just wait and see what happens? Don't put so much pressure on yourself. Just let it go, enjoy the ride and figure the rest out later.'

‘Is that what you're going to do?' She looked at me with her luminous mocha eyes.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, aren't you caught between Henry and Chris?'

I peeked over my shoulder to where the two men stood. Chris scowled at the sea, still radiating sexual tension, while Henry chatted away with Jen, his face relaxed and open. ‘I didn't come here to fall in love—in fact, I've tried really hard not to—and I could fall for Henry so easily. But there isn't really a choice for me.'

‘It's Chris, isn't it?' She grinned at me, her expression sparkling.

‘It's Chris. For as long as he wants me.'

***

The gong sounded, and we all drifted towards the stage. Instead of the familiar face of Miles, an elegant, angular woman in a power suit stood at the microphone.

‘Good day, contestants. I'm Maxine, the executive producer of
Erotic Island
. Before we recommence filming, I wanted to speak with you all off camera.'

I recognised her clipped accent from my acceptance phone call all those months ago. With her severe plum-coloured bob and sinewy figure, she exuded authority and efficiency.

‘First of all, our sincere thanks for being a part of the show. Worldwide, we have the highest TV ratings for a non-sporting show in history. More than one billion people tuned in to the last episode, which was the first date day. The televised feed is about a week behind our filming schedule, which is handy when unexpected events pop up.'

‘Like the cyclone that almost fucking
ended
all of us?' offered Clara.

‘Yes, thank you, dear.' Maxine didn't look very grateful for the interruption, moving on. ‘That's the second topic I'd like to cover. You all deserve our deepest apologies for the other night. We were aware of the cyclone, but it wasn't predicted to come anywhere near our shores. It changed directions at the last second, and escalated from a category three to a category four. We were caught out and we are truly sorry.'

General grumbling and dissent filled the air. Maxine raised her hands. ‘And to show the extent of our appreciation for your forgiveness, we've credited twenty thousand of your million-dollar prize into your bank accounts. Consider it a gift—one we hope will ensure your cooperation as the competition continues.'

Some iPads were produced and I quickly logged into my bank, feeling a rush of good will towards the violent storm as the numbers appeared on the screen. Seeing twenty thousand dollars under my name made me even more determined to have the rest of the bucks follow too.

‘Also, as most of you are aware, we haven't enforced touch restrictions while the power has been down. I hope you've made good use of your time—'

‘Oh, yes! Thank you, I very much have!' Jen's excited voice rang out and everyone laughed.

‘Good to hear. But from now on, we will be even more stringent, so be warned. That's it from me.' She allowed herself a tight smile. ‘We're making great television here, people. Keep it up.'

Stepping from the platform, she handed the stage to Miles. The cameras beeped on and the crew sprang into action as our hung-over host began to relay our newest instructions, in a slightly lacklustre tone.

‘Welcome back, contestants. Today's challenge is a childhood favourite for many: Capture the Flag.'

Most of the Westerners perked up, nodding in recognition. Everyone else simply looked confused.

‘The original game is child's play: two teams try to defend their base, while seeking to steal a flag from the opposing side's base. But this is Erotic Island, and nothing is every that simple. These will represent your flags.' Miles lifted two velvet bags, and rattled them. Heavy metal clunking emanated from within. ‘Ladies versus gents, ten keys in each bag. Defend your base, keep your bag and receive a key at the conclusion of the game.'

That didn't seem too tricky. I'd played the game as a kid, although we'd called it 40/40, and defending was relatively easy. I bet if we simply looked after our base, and didn't expend too much energy in going after theirs, we'd do fine.

‘But don't think it's not worth capturing the other team's bag—if you do and make it back to your base, you'll each be rewarded with an instant cash prize of fifty thousand dollars.'

Now Miles had my attention. The twenty grand had whetted my appetite—another fifty would mean a deposit on a house.

‘You'll each wear a tag on your back—if your tag is captured, you'll have to return to your base before continuing with the game. Touch restrictions will be lifted for this reason, but only for the duration of the game.'

Miles squinted and rubbed his obviously sore head. ‘Alright, contestants. There are buggies waiting to take you to the game site, deep in the jungle at the centre of the island—right after you all step into the makeup tents.'

Dante called out. ‘Hey,
faccia di culo!
Not all of us need lipstick and powder like a woman.'

‘Oh, my Italian stallion, you misunderstand.' Miles narrowed his eyes wickedly. ‘In order to give you the best camouflage possible, you're about to be body painted. This game will be played sans clothes.'

***

The ten of us ladies dashed through the slippery sand to our tent, where makeup artists waited, brandishing nipple covers and tiny G-strings.

‘Sweet titty fuck,' swore Clara. ‘Tell me the boys are wearing something similar or I will stage a fucking coup.'

‘Same outfit, just no nipple covers,' said a makeup lady. ‘Righto, girls—strip.'

With all of us standing in almost nothing, the artists went to work, swirling brushes in a kaleidoscope of colours over our skin.

‘‘Ello? I would like to propose that we strategize, no?' Pauline was all business even as the round globes of her backside were covered in globs of black and tan.

Mila sneered, while a hairdresser combed her tresses into the tight braid we'd all soon be sporting. ‘I do not care what you propose, Frenchie, as long as you don't think for one second that I will be running with no bra on. I do not want to end up like my Aunt Ana, nipples around my knees.'

‘Can I please get something to eat?' I whispered at a passing runner. The poor little guy nodded, trying desperately to avoid ogling my jiggling breasts. I'd expected to have breakfast in bed with Chris, not don war paint and head into battle, and I was feeling a little dizzy. I hadn't eaten in more than a day.
Or was it two?

Hunger giving me clarity, I raised my voice over the argument beginning to brew between the ladies. ‘Okay, I've got a suggestion. Listen up …'

I outlined my plan, a simple strategy to leave three women guarding the bag, two around the base perimeter and five more heading for the boys' base. Everyone gave me their rapt attention and I felt like a powerful warmonger—if generals had ever had anyone in the war room ask them to, ‘… lean forward and spread your legs so I can paint between your cheeks, please.'