Free Do Us Part (The Dumont Diaries (#4)) by Alessandra Torre Page A

“We fly back tomorrow morning,” he says, planting a quick kiss on my neck. “We just came into town for this transfer.”
    The man frowns. “You didn’t have to come here just for that. If you have any transfers in the future, please know that we can easily handle that over the phone, provided that you fax or email us your identification documents.”
    Nathan winks, pulling gently on my hand, and we move toward the door. “I may have wanted to steal a few hours of her in a bikini.”
    “That I can understand,” the man says with a smile as he holds open the door.
    Waving and smiling, we step from the bank and onto the sidewalk, the flavor and sounds of Nassau all around us. As the doors close, it is like a weight lifted. It is done; we have escaped unscathed. The money is transferred. Nathan grips my hand and smiles down at me, his grin wide, his manner light.
    “Are you happy?” I ask, holding up a hand against the glare of the sun.
    “Ecstatic.” He beams, pulling me to him and bending down to kiss me. “Thank you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me to his mouth, causing a squeal to leave my lips. A squeal he quickly silences with his mouth, spinning me in a small circle before releasing me. The limo, this one a small improvement over the first, pulls up, and he opens the door for me, gesturing with his hand. “After you, Mrs. Dumont.”
    I tilt my head graciously, a smile tugging at my lips. “Why, thank you,” I say sweetly, ducking into the car and waiting for his heat to join me.

CHAPTER 2
    W e spend the day in town, walking through the shops of downtown, filling the car with shopping bags, and eating lunch oceanfront at Fish Fry, a colorful strip of local eateries. In full view of the paparazzi, Nathan is the picture of a perfect husband, purchasing every item I touch and kissing me sweetly over fried conch and plantains. We walk into the hotel at four, dropping our bags inside the suite’s front door, our hands on each other before the door even clicks shut.
    He lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and carries me to the bed, our mouths fighting a frantic battle of ownership. When he bends, setting me softly on the bed, I pull back, taking a moment to study his face so close to mine. His thick brows rest perfectly above dark blue eyes, the color of deep water and just as dangerous, rimmed with thick dark lashes. His nose is slightly burnt, evidence of our time in the sun, the effect only reinforcing his All-American perfect bone structure. Those lips — full, pink, kissably irresistible. I reach up, needing him closer, needing confirmation that he is, in fact, here with me. That he is, indeed, mine in this one moment of time. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back down to my mouth.
    Lust is a dangerous thing. It can make you believe things that are not real. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise. Nathan takes me to that cliff, my body bending and molding beneath his, my heart coming up for air in between soft caresses with his mouth while his cock hammers out a slick, rapid motion. I gasp, I arch, I dive. I’m not naïve enough to think that it has been lust this entire time. I’ve known what was sneaking in, looking for an opening and begging for admittance. But here, in this island paradise, sharing a bed and conversation with this beautiful specimen of a man … here I can feel the final ties of restraint loosening, allowing the scary thing called love to work its way in.
    The afternoon sun is streaming through our open window when he comes. The orgasm rips through him, his body heaving and bucking inside me, my name ripped from his throat as he gives a few final thrusts, his thighs trembling against me as he buries himself fully inside of me.
    I am fully relaxed, multiple orgasms turning my limbs loose and uncooperative. When he withdraws, collapsing beside me, it takes every ounce of my energy to roll over