The Man with the Knot (Forbidden Fun #55)

Chapter 3

3

Morgan

M y damp flip-flops slap against my feet as I make my way across the manicured grass toward a more secluded section of the resort, hopefully away from all the other guests. Occasionally I glance around, hoping that I look inconspicuous because I’m a coward—I know that if anyone asks me where I’m going then I won’t be able to continue my mission.

To my relief, once I’m out of the general pool area, there are only a handful of other people. Most of them are clearly too caught up in their own business to care what some random girl is up to.

Then again, I’m not much of a troublemaker— in fact, growing up I was something of a teacher’s pet, too nervous to do much of anything, let alone break rules. But the Mirago air is stirring something deep inside of my gut, some unnamable emotion that demands I misbehave, just a little. Plus, I really can’t imagine spending my vacation surrounded by amorous couples and noisy families.

I have to get out.

I study the resort map I pulled up on my phone a few minutes ago, looking for the small garden that is supposedly full of local plants. More importantly, it appears that the garden area might have a way to access the beach just beyond the resort.

Every now and then, I glance at the signage scattered around the resort as I work my way toward the empty garden. No one is on this side of the property, and the few people I do see are too caught up in their own affairs.

Stealthily, I make my way through the garden and stalk toward the back wall. The fence here isn’t white and tall like it is in other parts of the resort but instead made of flimsy chicken-wire. It looks like the kind of wiring they use to keep visitors off sand dunes: more of a warning than actually preventing anyone from crossing.

I bend down, pretending to be interested in a plant as I feel along the bottom edge of a fence.

Just as I suspected, the mesh wiring isn’t attached to the ground at all. And it doesn’t appear to be connected to anything except the vertical wooden posts that are scattered every few feet.

Sinking even lower to the ground, I pull the mesh upward. The wire curls without a problem, revealing a gap large enough for me to squeeze through.

Perfect.

With a final glance over my shoulder to make sure that no one from hotel security might be following me, I drop low and attempt to shove my way through the hole. I have to squirm around to actually fit through the opening, my backside rubbing against the soft wire and threatening to tear my already thin sarong.

Somehow though, I squeeze through. Sand-covered and a little sweaty, I peek back over my shoulder, certain that someone must have witnessed my escape.

But there’s no one. For the briefest moment, I wonder if I’m the only person even on the island, and that maybe this is all a dream.

I shake my head at the absurd thought.

We do not have time for existential ponderings, Morgan , I tell myself with a short roll of my eyes.

I scan the area, considering my options for how to get down to the beach without getting caught. I don’t stand up immediately but instead scoot my way down the sandy slope until I’m sure that the dunes can offer some protection from roaming eyes.

Once free, I dash across the open beach, feeling like I’ve just gotten away with something super naughty and absolutely giddy about it.

“Wheee!” I shout into the wind, flailing my arms wide as I twirl around. I may not have exactly been a bad girl in high school, but I have broken into my fair share of supposedly off-limits places. Mostly thanks to a high school boyfriend who had a propensity for mischief.

Overhead, a seabird squawks in chorus, swooping low over the water as it hunts for an afternoon snack. I watch its delicate arc as it dances over the water, envying its easy movements.

Then, I let myself wander down the beach until the resort is far out of sight. I stop here and there, leaning down to examine a seashell or chase a crab, already feeling happier than I have been in a long time.

One quick glance at my phone confirms that there is indeed no service on the island, but I don’t care. I can still see my footprints in the sand from where I’ve walked. And I like the complete isolation for once—I can forget about the real world for just a while.

Up ahead, the beach curves inward, almost as though there might be a lagoon around the bend. Excited, I start to jog slowly, the shallow waves splashing against my legs even as I kick up sand. But when I finally come to the treelined area, I stare at the view in complete amazement because it’s gorgeous.

“Oh my gosh,” I murmur, captivated by the stunning scene in front of me: jagged, dark rocks loom above the water, surrounding the sea with high walls almost like a cove. Leafy trees offer shade and privacy. The water— a perfect blue-green concoction— dances in soft waves as it hits the sandy floor. I crane my neck and spy a manta ray, gliding peacefully in the completely clear depths.

Determined to see it up close, I begin the somewhat treacherous descent towards the water, gripping the slippery rock as best I can. A few steps in, I take off my flip-flops and stuff them into my bag. I’m a little steadier now that my bare feet can grip the rough ground. Still, I take my time, the dangers of the island feeling a little more real.

A few minutes and several shaky steps later, I reach flat, sandy ground once more.

“Yeah, this will do,” I murmur to myself. I plop on the untouched beach and stretch back into the sun-soaked sand. I reach out to either side and let myself sink into its warm, scratchy heat. I yawn loudly and close my eyes against the overhead sun.

I listen to the sounds of the birds screeching and the waves breaking on the beach. I hear the wind in the tall grasses and the chirping from a nearby nest. It’s very peaceful and I begin to drift off… But then a sudden splash hits my ears. Hmmm, maybe it was the manta ray again. But then, the splash happens once more, and I bolt upright.

That definitely wasn’t the manta ray.

Instead, standing before me, about thirty feet away in the shallow water, is the most exquisite male animal I’ve ever seen in my life.

I blink to adjust my vision, and then blink again.

Is this guy for real?

Why isn’t he wearing any clothes?

My cheeks flame and I turn away out of modesty. But curiosity and something curling deep in the pit of my stomach draw my attention back to the heavily muscled specimen before me.

The man’s back is to me and I stare openly at his chiseled arms, broad, muscular back, and firm, tight ass. His skin is the color of copper—sun-kissed as if he’s cast from a vat of molten bronze. My gaze lingers on his thick black hair, wondering how a man can look so completely wild and so completely in control at the same time.

He must sense me looking at him because, a split second later, my gaze is caught by the most mesmerizing pair of sea-blue eyes. The man holds my attention for a few seconds, several emotions crossing his handsome face: confusion, amusement, and then anger.

After another moment, he dives back into the water, his body another splash among the surging waves.

I stand up quickly, scanning the horizon and wondering if I’d just dreamed up a merman.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The voice—more animal than man—comes from my left and I wheel around to face the speaker.

This guy must be part fish because how the hell did he get onto the beach so fast?

I’m too dumbstruck to say anything, my mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Instead, I take in the sexy man, my body squirming with sudden need when confronted by his nudity.

He’s massive . I gasp loudly, my mouth hanging open like an idiot. I quickly close it but I still can’t stop staring.

But the island man isn’t just well hung. Nope, my mystery man has a huge bulge at the base of his cock and I gape at the spherical bulge. What in the world? I stare, going wet and needy inside.

Oh my god he’s shaped just like my dildo , I think to myself. But bigger. How can this exist in real life?

I bought the stupid dildo because of a fantasy romance I’d read. I almost cringe at the memory of how horny I’d been perusing the book. And how pathetic I was, skipping to the scenes where the werewolf men—who were well-hung and had massive knots at the base of their dicks—would ravish their female partners, making the girls scream with delight as they took those bulges deep in their pussies and ass.

Of course, I still haven’t managed to use the dildo properly, leading me to believe that one, it was a dumb purchase and two, that such men definitely only exist in romance novels.

But now, standing in front of me, is a man who is clearly a man and not some fantastical creature. And he’s got a knot that makes my cheeks flame and insides grow wet.

My face is growing hotter and I’m hyper aware that I’m staring at his equipment with a little too much interest. Okay, make that more than a little too much interest because I’m gaping at his rod, my mouth watering while wheezing sounds come out of my throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, clearly concerned by my ridiculous behavior. “Do you need a doctor?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I manage to hyperventilate, waving my hand in the air.

“Okay. Then What. Are. You. Doing. Here ?” the man repeats each word slowly, his anger barely concealed beneath the control.

I stare into his haunting, perfectly blue eyes. “Um, I got lost,” I mutter.

His gaze pierces through my lie. “Try again,” he grunts, crossing his arms across his bare chest. I swear he juts out his hips as he does so, thrusting his manhood toward me. It’s semi-erect, waving in my general direction, and I catch myself staring again.

Oh shit, oh shit. Get it together, Morgan.

I take a deep breath and arch my shoulders back, my breasts bouncing forwards as I do so. “You don’t own the island,” I counter. “I have a right to be here.”

“As a matter of fact, you don’t.” His searing smile sends a shiver down my spine despite the heat. “Only I do.”

Our eyes clash and the connection is electric. I’m burning from the inside out, and yet I want more. Oh god, I’m in trouble now…