by Ju Ephraime
He took her hand and turned to walk with her to his vehicle. They were soon driving back to his home, where he promised to tone down the pace of their relationship, by refraining from their many sexual encounters, giving her the opportunity to know him.
When he thought about it, it wasn’t right for him either. He wanted to know her in other ways. As little as his body liked the idea, perhaps this was a night for talking, not for coupling.
They walked into the house. Wolfe went to the bar and poured a drink for himself, but he made a carafe of coffee for Daphne, and he sat down to talk with her. They talked well into the early hours of the morning. Wolfe told her about what it was like for him growing up on the island and about his early school days when he’d had a crush on his elementary school teacher, the fights he and Foxx got into, and of his constantly being placed on detention in the principal’s office.
He told her about the college he went to in Cuba to study agriculture forestry, even though he knew he wanted to be a chef like his dad. He avoided mentioning any specific relationship with the opposite sex, but he did tell her he had fathered a son, Etienne, when he was a teenager. And that the boy now lived with his mother and stepfather on the island of Guadeloupe. He had never been married and had never professed his love to anyone before her. He’d just had a birthday before he met her and had turned thirty-three. He was not a practicing Catholic, but that was his religion by birth.
She was not aware that she had been holding her breath, not knowing what to expect, but hearing Wolfe’s recounting of his life made her realize, with the exception of him being the father of a teenage boy, his life had been very normal and straightforward. There was no hidden wife or ex-wife, and she had not interrupted a relationship with another woman. All of a sudden, she found she could breathe again.
Compared to his, her life in America wasn’t exciting. As a matter of fact, up until now, she had lived a pretty boring life. She told him about her life and work in America and her parents dying two years before in an automobile accident. She was an only child, so she had no family but her best friend, Gayle. She didn’t practice any religion.
She didn’t mention the power struggle she was having with one of her partners because she wanted to return home to get the proof she needed to confirm her suspicions before she told anyone. She didn’t mention Michael because she was still not comfortable talking about the entire sordid affair yet. She hoped she would be someday. It wasn’t because she still had feelings for Michael; it was because it made her question herself as a woman.
Daphne awoke to sunshine streaming into the room through the large windows and stretched luxuriously in the huge, comfortable bed. She wondered what the day would hold for her and Wolfe. True to his word, he did not make any move to engage her in sex last evening, and they had a very relaxing time, talking and laughing about their lives and the various antics they got into as children before they retired to separate rooms. She was a bit taken aback to learn he had a teenage son, but these days it was more the rule than the exception. She was happy he’d told her himself. That way there were no hidden secrets between them. He had seemed sad about the fact that his son was so far away from him, but he said he had gotten used to it now.
Wolfe had insisted she occupy one of his guest bedrooms because he didn’t trust himself with her in his bed. She’d agreed, but she had a very difficult time falling asleep because she kept going over the evening’s events.
Exhaustion finally overtook her, and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips thinking of the difficult time Wolfe would be having with her in the next room. She saw the light under his bedroom door when she got up to use the bathroom. She stood outside of his door debating about whether or not she should go in to him, but in the end, she went back to her room and got back into bed. She didn’t think she would be able to get back to sleep, but she did, as soon as her head hit the pillow. It was obvious that she was exhausted from all the emotional upheaval of the evening.
It was time to get out of bed now. She was looking forward to spending time with him today. After freshening up and donning the outfit Wolfe had bought for her, she made her way to the kitchen, where she could tell he was already at work preparing breakfast. He had a housekeeper, but not a cook, so he prepared all his meals himself. Last night he claimed he would have a special treat for her at breakfast. She was looking forward to it.
The kitchen was as beautiful as every other room in the house. Wolfe had spared no expense in the details of his home, and the kitchen was no exception; it was a chef’s delight. Everything was gleaming stainless steel, including the state-of-the-art appliances. She gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from him, and went back into her room because he refused her offer to help and she felt inadequate watching him move around the kitchen. She got back into bed and began going over her meeting with Wolfe and their subsequent explosive sexual encounters.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Wolfe’s knock on her door before he entered the room. “Your breakfast is served, madame.”
He led her to the dining room, where the table was beautifully arranged with fresh-cut flowers, a sparkling white tablecloth, white linen napkins, and gold-colored flatware. A scrumptious feast was laid out. There was orange juice, a coffeepot on the warmer, eggs and bacon, butter rolls, as well as chocolate croissants and a dish of fresh local fruits tartlette. Daphne was speechless, but only for a moment.
“I feel so special,” she said.
“I told you I am going to spoil you rotten. This is only the beginning of your journey into pamper land.”
“What is pamper land?” Daphne asked.
“You’ll see,” was the only reply he would give her.
After they had a wonderful breakfast, he tidied up the kitchen, still refusing her offer to help.
“I’m not a total novice in the kitchen,” she told him. “I can wash a dish.”
“I don’t doubt it, but you are my guest, and as my guest, you sit and enjoy. Don’t deny me the pleasure. Speaking of pleasure, how are you at sailing?”
“Sailing? I’ve never been.”
“Well, we’ll rectify that today. We’re going sailing.”
“We are? Don’t expect anything much from me; I’m a complete greenhorn when it comes to going on the water.”
“Greenhorn?”
“Yes, a novice… No experience. None.”
“Okay, Greenhorn, can you be ready in an hour?”
“I can be ready in half that time.”
“Great, do you like the outfit I laid out for you?”
“Yes, you’re a man of many talents.”
“Let’s not talk about my talents. You’ll be putting ideas in my head.”
“Don’t give me credit for that. You have all your ideas mulling around in your head without any help from me.”
“We are going to be overnight on the yacht, so pack anything you like from the supply I gave you. We can pick up anything you need at one of the many villages we’ll be visiting on our trip."
They were ready to leave in under an hour, and getting into his car, they drove to the club where he had his yacht docked.
His was a beautiful yacht, a Pershing 62, sleek and powerful, like its owner. It had two cabins, an amidships master suite and a stateroom at the bow. It had every conceivable luxury. Daphne could tell that Wolfe spent a lot of time on his yacht.
He released it from its mooring, and in no time, they were cruising through the water. It rode the water almost like the catamaran she had been on when she’d visited St. Barth.
The yacht cut through the water like a vessel twice its size. They sailed and windsurfed around the island for a week. She had not had much experience sailing and surfing, but she took it all in stride. For the most part, she lay back on the deck as he handled the yacht.
The yacht had a fully stocked kitchen. They didn’t have to get off for anything unless they wanted to. They visited several secluded coves, where she tried snorkeling. Wolfe went deep se
a diving for conch, which they prepared on the yacht. Sometimes, he prepared a picnic lunch, which they enjoyed on the beach beneath the palm trees. It was heaven, even if he insisted on their sleeping in separate bunk beds at nights. He did not deviate from his no-sex edict.
One of the days, he took her to one of the neighboring islands, and they spent the time fishing and driving around the island in a rented vehicle. They visited an inactive volcano one day and a rain forest that was brimming with wildlife and tropical flora the next. They finally returned home after an entire week on the yacht, but instead of taking her to her hotel, he took her to his home and insisted that she spend the night. He slept alone in his bed and she in one of the guest bedrooms.
They had not followed the “normal” course of most relationships, so she was hoping this stepping back would give them an opportunity to really get to know each other, their likes and dislikes. Although they’d talked about a lot of things over the last week, there were still some areas that needed to be discussed. She was curious about his parents and his other siblings, but she would wait and take it one step at a time. She could tell all the talking they’d done had been very difficult for him—out of the norm. Wolfe was not a talker.
The morning after they returned from the yacht, he prepared breakfast again. He really loved cooking. She, on the other hand, could take it or leave. She relaxed on the verandah while he tidied up in the kitchen. He’d promised to leave the heavy cleaning to his housekeeper, who would be coming in about noon.
“Am I going to get to meet her?”
“Not today, we’ll be gone by then. I have arranged to take one more day to show you the historical part of the island."
“That’ll be great. Won’t Foxx mind filling in for so many days, seeing how he has his own restaurant to manage?”
“No. I’d do the same for him, but I won’t overdo it; managing a restaurant is hard work, but Foxx has a great assistant.”
They went first to the La Musée de la Pagerie, the birthplace of Napoléon’s Joséphine, near Trois-Islets. Then they visited the Cathedral of St. Louis, a late seventeenth century cathedral with a Roman-style bell tower, where many governors of the island were buried. In the afternoon, they parked the car and went horseback riding to see the island’s lovely countryside. They got back to his home just in time for the evening meal. Wolfe had ordered some fresh red snapper, and his housekeeper had cleaned it and left it marinating for them. Daphne thought it a fitting end to a most enjoyable day.
After dinner, Wolfe moved to the living room and sat in a companionable silence, listening to the sound of the wind moving through the branches outside the window. He was nursing his usual Hennessy while she sipped a Passion Fruit Punch. She was sitting next to him, and without any warning, he turned and kissed her. She knew immediately it was a mistake. The banked passion that shimmered between them roared into flame, and it was several minutes before they were able to break apart to gulp some air.
“Ma chérie, vous conduisez-moi à fou de mon esprit. My darling, you are driving me crazy out of my mind,” he admitted.
She thought it was the other way around, but she didn’t want to contradict him. Let him keep thinking he was the only one affected by whatever was going on between them. She would not disabuse him of that idea.
T en
Daphne was trying to maintain control of her emotions. She did not want to give Wolf the impression she was a nymphomaniac, but she craved him with an insatiable passion. To top it off, he was such a kind, thoughtful man, who had all the qualities she would want in a man.
He thought nothing of preparing a gourmet meal for her as well as taking her to paradise in his arms. Where, she asked herself, would she find such a man again? This was the sort of man one fell head over heels in love with, but she had to remind herself she only had a short time here with him. All he had to offer was a temporary haven in her chaotic life.
But then again, a temporary haven was better than what she had before. Now she felt loved and cherished, but the skeptical side of her kept questioning things because they seemed too good to be true. She didn’t want to listen, or, more truthfully, she wouldn’t listen. At the moment, all she wanted was to savor the pleasure he brought her in the way her body responded to him. Not only her body, but her heart also had been captured by this man. She was his willing love slave, but she intended to keep that information to herself, as long as she could. After all, she still had some pride left.
She moved her hand up to his chest. His skin felt warm, and the muscles rippled beneath her fingers. She looked up into his eyes, which were even darker, the lids heavy with unfulfilled passion.
“Did you miss your usual swim today?”
“No,” he responded. “I had much more fun being with you today. There is time enough to swim another day. Right now my time is yours. And, Daphne, I want you so much it’s causing me pain. I am trying very hard to be a good person and occupy myself with other things, but I will have you know, it’s damn difficult. You are a distraction that I can’t ignore.”
Daphne was impressed. This was the longest statement she’d heard Wolfe express in the time she’d spent with him. So moved was she by his confession that she reached up to rub her finger against his sexy mouth. He grabbed her hand, placed her finger into his mouth, and wrapped his tongue round it. He gave it a hard suck, and her body began to weep. It was as if she were a door and this man the key to open her lock. She couldn’t help her reaction to him, God help her, but she was determined to try. She was not a mindless houri.
She reached for some control and pulled herself away from Wolfe. With a small internal sigh, she went out to the verandah where she had left a book on the daybed in which she’d been lying.
She lay back and, opening the book, tried to concentrate on the story she had been reading.
An hour or so later, she was getting into the story, when she felt the bed shift. Wolfe had sat down on the edge. “I thought you might be thirsty; I brought you a drink.”
“Oh, thank you, honey.” She took a long swallow, and it tasted delicious. It was fruity, with, apparently, very little alcohol. She swallowed it down, and in less time than it took her to finish the drink, she could feel the effect, as she became a little tipsy. This always happened to her when she drank anything that contained alcohol too quickly.
“I drank my drink too quickly,” she told Wolfe.
“There was very little alcohol in it. Don’t tell me you get drunk on juice.”
“I’m not drunk, but I feel nice.”
“Why don’t you share some of that niceness with me?” he asked her as he moved in behind her, cradling her body protectively. It felt so good just to feel him there that she settled back against him and resumed reading her book, waiting for the effect of the alcohol to dissipate.
Soon, she became aware of Wolfe’s hand cupping her breast. When she turned to face him, he kissed her then smiled mischievously.
“Keep reading; I don't want to interrupt.”
Who was she kidding? But to humor him, she kept turning the pages, pretending to read, but all she was aware of was Wolfe and his erection pressing into her butt. Every couple of minutes, he would give her a deep kiss. The kiss was laced with Hennessy and all Wolfe.
There was no sense of urgency in anything he did. He was just calm and cool, which was something new, considering the hunger that usually flared up between them at the least provocation. His actions were slow and controlled, and her response to him was the same, as she, too, recognized that this time they would approach this differently, step to the tune of a different drummer and allow themselves to savor and enjoy each other.
Loving each other in this unhurried manner was like walking a tightrope. Each moment stretched and prolonged the action. They were able to take every sensation and examine it, savor every touch, every kiss, and every caress. His movements were agonizingly slow, and when he came back to her mouth, the anticipation was made more acute because all her senses we
re involved in the game he was playing.
The entire time she was not able to touch him with anything but her mouth to exchange a kiss, not so him. His hands were everywhere, on her breasts, on her thighs, her belly, and her pubic area. He played with the soft curls covering it, and then he reached in with his finger and tormented her some more. When she felt him adjusting her body to accommodate his invasion, she paid him no mind. He withdrew his finger and began circling her clit with the moisture from her body.
This was too much for Daphne. She stopped all pretense of reading and began to move her body to make herself more accessible to him. He moved his hands again and began caressing her breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers, moving from one to the next, weighing them in his hands. When she thought he was going to take it to the next level, he returned to playing between her thighs, rubbing the sensitive nub hidden there, and then he took her mouth in a deep kiss. When he moved away, she was done playing and tried turning to face him. He stopped her with the stay of his hand.
“Read your book, Daphne,” he told her, as cool as ever.
Who was he kidding? Her every thought was centered on one thing: she wanted Wolfe inside her. She was done trying to read that book. She wanted some action, and she wanted it now.
She need not have worried; he wasn’t done with her. He moved her by bending her knees so her body was open to him. She felt him move his body farther down so that the head of his penis was at her opening. She was about ready to throw the book across the room when he moved her hair from the back of her neck and bit down hard. The pain was so unexpected that she began to turn toward him to protest when she felt him inside her. He’d entered her from behind while her focus was on the unexpected bite. Daphne began to moan. The sensation of pleasure and pain was indescribable. She thought she was going insane. When she attempted to turn again, he bit her again. Daphne could not help it. The sweet convulsion had overtaken her, and she was gasping and shuddering with the intensity of the orgasm.