Wanderlust

by Lauren Blakely

  I tip my forehead to Joy, next to me. “The enchantment is entirely mutual.”

  Elise raises an eyebrow appreciatively and nods at me. “Good. Then you’ve passed my test for the night.”

  I wipe my hand across my brow. “Whew. I was worried.”

  “A woman needs a friend to keep her man on his toes.”

  Joy laughs and sets a hand on my arm. “By the way, have I told you Elise has been appointed in charge of all the inquisitions in my life?”

  “No. I’m in charge of the fun,” Elise corrects playfully from atop her towering heels. I suspect they add four, maybe five inches to her height. I also suspect she’s the type of woman who could run in heels and never wobble. She has that air about her.

  “Fun? Did someone say fun? I believe that’s my middle name.” Christian is here. He strides across the patio, stopping next to Joy and Elise. I make the requisite intros, and Joy throws her arms around him, hugging him like an old friend, then to Elise I explain that he’s a translator, too.

  “French to English?” Elise asks my friend.

  Christian shakes his head. “Yes, but no. I specialize in the Scandinavian languages.”

  Elise roams her eyes over his tall, blond frame. “You do look something like a Viking.”

  Christian laughs. It isn’t the first time a woman has said that to him. “Denmark is my first love. Copenhagen-born.”

  “A Dane with a British accent. You look like Alexander Skarsgård, and you sound like Tom Hardy. This might very well be fantasy made flesh,” Elise says, waving her hand to fan herself.

  He smiles. “Why, yes, I’d love to take you home right now.”

  Joy laughs loudly. “And clearly it’s time for us to go.”

  Elise shakes her head and pats Joy’s shoulder. “Don’t be silly. I can admire your man’s friend and make sure you get drunk on absinthe at the same damn time.”

  “You’re a multitalented woman,” Christian says, and Joy and I step back, grabbing a spot on the outdoor couch and ordering absinthe.

  “Copenhagen is a lovely city,” Elise says to Christian. “I traveled there a year ago. I took one of those canal tours.”

  “What was your favorite part of the tour? Seeing the palaces? Hearing the stories of all our crown jewels?”

  Elise chuckles, shaking her head. “Neither. I most enjoyed when the boat glided past a private dock, where a very fit, very muscular Danish man was doing handstands naked on the dock.”

  Christian taps his chin, his expression serious. “Was it right by Nyhavn? A little past the outdoor food market?”

  “I believe so,” Elise says with a curious smile. “Do you know this gentleman? Is he the Mad Naked Handstander of Copenhagen?”

  “Mad? No. More like fit, handsome, and well-hung.”

  She scrunches her brow. “You’ve been admiring his package, too?”

  “So, you were indeed admiring it?”

  “There was a lot to admire,” she says with a happy shrug, and Joy nudges me as we watch them like spectators.

  Christian taps his chest. “That was me.”

  A laugh bursts from Elise. “What?”

  Joy turns to me with wide eyes, whispering, “Was that Christian?”

  I shrug, laughing quietly and listening to Christian’s answer.

  “Well, I suppose it’s entirely possible there could be other tall, fit, muscular men who have homes on the water in Copenhagen, and do handstands, yoga, and other acrobatics naked in an attempt to entertain the canal tourists with other crown jewels,” he says, and Elise laughs. “In fact, I have a few good mates who also engage in this pastime. But there’s a good chance it was actually me.”

  Elise whistles. “Then I’m even more pleased to meet the man whose photos are already on my cell phone.”

  The waiter arrives with our drinks, and I thank him, then wrap an arm around Joy and nuzzle her. “Looks like they’re getting along without us.”

  She stretches her neck, inviting me to kiss her more. “That means you can entertain me.”

  I brush my lips along her throat, kissing up to her chin, along her jawline, then to her ear. “How do you most like to be entertained?”

  “With your tongue,” she whispers.

  I groan. “Now, you’re going to make it so very hard to stay here.”

  She reaches for our glasses and hands me one. “Just think how worked up you’ll be when we finally leave.”

  Raising her glass, she takes a drink and murmurs her appreciation. The sound of her pleasure over the drink is sensual and dirty, and turns me on even more. “I’m already worked up.”

  Her eyes wander down my body, and she raises an eyebrow. “Good. Now, think about what it’ll be like when we head to my flat, I go upstairs ahead of you, and you find me naked on the rooftop terrace.”

  We last thirty minutes, and then I make an executive decision. There’s not much reason to stay here any longer when there are tongues that need to be used for entertainment.

  25

  Joy

  * * *

  Eighty-four steps are worth it.

  For the view.

  For the June breeze, after the last few weeks of rain and chilly nights.

  And for this possibility.

  A glass of white, burgundy lace panties, and a cushioned chaise lounge. Soft music floats from my phone, and the lights of the city give me the best art in the world to gaze at while I wait.

  I don’t wait long.

  I only asked for a few minutes.

  The door is unlocked, and soon I hear the creak of wood, the groan of the door closing, then footsteps on the stairs leading to the roof. The little hairs on my arms stand on end before he even reaches me. My body hums, and thrills race over my skin.

  He turns the corner at the top of the steps, and his eyes blaze with a desire I can read even in the dark, even from ten feet away.

  I’m the stage, and he’s just turned on all the lights. They spotlight me, and tingling awareness and longing prickle across my skin. I’m the peach left on the table, and he’s going to take it, bring it to his lips, and bite into it.

  A harsh, wild breath dares to escape my lips as he walks over to me. To complete the seduction, I bring the glass of wine to my lips as coolly as I can, steadying it and taking one more drink.

  He reaches me, so much heat in his blue eyes. “How does it taste?”

  He’s asking about the wine. But there are so many other meanings. “Try it.”

  I offer him the glass and he takes it, drinking some down as he sits on the end of the chaise. He hands the glass back to me, and I set it on the table.

  He curls a hand around my ankle.

  My shoes are still on. Sling-back black heels.

  He eyes them, running his fingers over the top of my foot. A pulse beats between my legs as heat pools in my center. Already, I’m wet and aching for him. I don’t know how I’ll go without this kind of sex, this kind of intimacy, this kind of expectation.

  I’ll miss it savagely when he’s gone in a few weeks, and I fiercely want more of it already.

  “Nice red soles,” he says, admiring the shoes.

  “Nice everything,” I say to him, since he’s fully dressed.

  Firmly, he presses down on my right ankle, forcing me to drop my leg, to open myself for him.

  A growl sounds as if it’s ripped from his throat as he stares at me. His eyes zero in on my panties. “Look at you. So wet already.”

  He grasps my other ankle and moves it, positioning the heels of my shoes at the edge of the chaise. My legs are parted for him.

  “Take your clothes off,” I tell him, but it doesn’t sound like a command. More like a desperate plea.

  He shakes his head at the same time he strips off his shirt in one fast move. I sigh greedily as I admire his skin in the moonlight. The hard planes of his pecs, the grooves of his abs. The six-pack. Thank the Lord for the six-pack. I bow down before its gloriously hard design and shape.

&
nbsp; “Can’t wait anymore.” He bends to the chaise, crawls up it, and tugs off my panties in one swift move. He untangles them from my shoes and tosses them on the terrace. I groan his name like a woman possessed when his tongue flicks across my wetness.

  I melt under his knowing touch. It’s not the first time he’s done this to me. I’ve enjoyed the sight of his face between my legs many nights. I’ve savored it, and come for him.

  He knows what to do. He knows how to touch me. He licks a lingering line up my center then presses his hands to my thighs, spreading me open. He makes me vulnerable to him, to the moment, to the pleasure.

  But that’s exactly how I want to be.

  I want to let go. I want to give in. I’ve never known sex could be like this. I’ve never felt intimacy this intensely before.

  In the past, I’ve been guarded, cautious, protected the pieces of myself as best as I can.

  But with Griffin, he can’t seem to get enough. He wants so much, craves so deeply, and gives so freely of pleasure. It unlocks something inside me. The way he touches me, the way he talks to me, makes me want to let go. I reach for the lever on the side of the chaise, and I lower it, going flat.

  He murmurs as he presses his whole mouth to me.

  I cry out. I love when he consumes me. I love when it feels like he’s going to lose control from tasting me. I arch into him, rocking my hips as he kisses me so intensely, so passionately that I know he’s going to draw an orgasm out of me in mere seconds.

  My hands find their way to his head, and my fingers thread through his dark hair. They curl around his skull, and he seems to mirror my moves. His hands scoop beneath me, cupping my ass, pulling me closer. It’s like he’s drinking me in. My eyes float closed, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself to open them.

  To watch.

  I want to remember not only what this feels like, but what it looks like.

  Streaks of moonlight dance across my belly. The lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkle against the night, reflecting across his arms wrapped around me. Shadows shroud his face, buried between my legs as he licks and consumes.

  His tongue is everywhere. Lapping me up, kissing me, flicking against the most sensitive spot.

  I can’t hold back, and I don’t even try to. I rock up into his face, fucking him as he fucks me with his tongue, his lips, his mouth, with his desire.

  Pleasure curls low in my belly, tight and pulsing. It pulls and tenses, and starts to radiate in my bones. Sounds fall from my lips with abandon. Incoherent noises and groans. Obscene cries of lust as I part my legs farther, grab him harder. The white-hot sensations build higher, coil tighter.

  I’m on the edge for minutes, it seems, crying out, telling him I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming. Because it’s endless. Stars blaze before my eyelids. My mind is a hot blur. And the pleasure literally won’t stop. It crashes down on me, and finally pulls me under into its gorgeous, blissful embrace.

  I surrender to it, and to him.

  I’m breathing hard, panting, flushed from everything when I blink open my eyes to find him naked and standing next to me, his cock eager to join the festivities.

  “Give that to me,” I say. “I want you in my mouth.”

  I sit up, my head spinning as I kneel on the cushion, drawing him in. He groans when my tongue swirls across the head, then I suck him, and within seconds, he’s thrusting. I tell myself to relax, to take him deep. He grunts my name as I bring him in farther, wrapping a hand around the base and cupping his balls as I suck.

  “Christ,” he groans. “I could come in your throat right now.”

  I look up at him, a twinkle in my eyes, I’m sure. For a brief second, I let him go. “That’s the idea.”

  He sighs and pushes me back down on the chaise. I move to kneel between his legs, but his hand hits my shoulder. “Wait. Let me eat you again.”

  “You have an enormous appetite.”

  “It’s not the only thing that’s enormous,” he says with a wink.

  And then we move and shift so that he’s mostly on his back, and I’m mostly on my side, and I’m entirely in a filthy new plane of heaven as I take him deep in my mouth, while he spreads my legs open and licks me again.

  He’s gentler this time, since I’ve already come. But it’s just as good at this slower pace. It’s good in its own decadent way. And it’s better because I can feel him pulsing in my mouth. Then, again, he shifts us. He’s flat on his back now, and I’m on top of him, my legs draped over his shoulders. He groans as he licks me more intensely, spreading my cheeks, his fingers kneading my ass as he works me over once more.

  I’m on fire. I’m sizzling from head to toe. But I want his pleasure, too. I desperately want his release in my mouth, on my tongue, over my lips. Somehow, it turns into a wild, delirious race. We’re loud and greedy, sloppy and hungry. I suck him deep, not stopping, never stopping, even when I feel my body race to the edge. But he’s there first. His thighs tense under me. His cock thrusts deep in my mouth. His balls draw up in my hand.

  And then I taste him, hot and salty. I swallow it down as he digs his fingers into my flesh and spears me with his tongue.

  I cry out, and I’m lost once more in the sea of bliss, six stories above the ground as I come again, high above the city I love.

  We don’t stop there.

  A little later, we’re at the railing of the terrace, the neighbors across the river surely getting their peep show as I curl my hands tight around the iron posts. His hands wrap around my hips. I’m bent over for him, and he’s fucking me hard. Relentlessly. The way I like it. I love feeling all of him, deep in me, pounding in me. Bare.

  We had the safety talk, and I love that there’s nothing between us now.

  He grabs my hair, twisting it around his fist, and excitement bursts in me knowing he’s going to tug hard. It’s the thrill of what’s to come. He pulls, yanking my neck back, and I yelp in pleasure. He goes deeper in me, and I moan like an animal, feeling him, feeling everything.

  A smack on my ass. A swat on my cheek. Another tug on my hair. His fingers on my clit. His cock hitting me in places I swear have never been touched, not like this, not so deeply.

  It’s raw and powerful, and he fucks me ruthlessly, fucking my whole body, and soon I can barely take all these sensations. They soar and fly all over my body, until they curl inward and burst.

  One more powerful climax, and he follows me there.

  “I’m not sure I can move ever again,” I say, running my fingers down the fine hairs on his chest.

  “I have nowhere to be, and I’m pretty sure I can call in for food. We don’t need to leave.”

  I laugh lightly. “Good, because my legs are jelly.”

  “I’ll order a few blankets, too. We’ll camp out here. We’ll wake up to croissants for breakfast, and we’ll do it all again tomorrow.” He dusts a kiss on my cheek. “And the next night, and the next.”

  He makes it sound so possible, as if time is a river, flowing endlessly. We’ll dip our ladles in and drink it up, anytime, anywhere. We’ll swallow it all, and we’ll stay in this state of glittery bliss we both seem to want.

  But we don’t have next nights and next nights. Our time is closing in on itself.

  I shift gears because right now I can’t bear more talk that seduces me, that tricks me into thinking we’re a river when we’re a moat. I raise my face and meet his eyes as I tap-dance my fingers across his belly. “What’s the story with the macarons from your list?”

  He laughs and parks a hand under his head. “Ah, the macarons. By the way, kudos for not pronouncing it as if it rhymes with raccoons.”

  “Since it doesn't.” I laugh. “And now, do tell.”

  “Mum’s sister, Sophie, always bought me macarons for Christmas.”

  “That’s rather sweet, and a little feminine, to be frank. Did she get you perfume, too?” I tease.

  He pinches my nipple, and I pretend to yelp. “Speaking of perfume, you do know the way yo
u smell is completely intoxicating, yeah?”

  My heart dances a little flip-flop. Finally, a man who loves my perfume. “I’m not interested in living an unscented life,” I say. “And I’m so glad I can wear perfume again.”

  He knits his brow. “You couldn’t before?”

  I shake my head. “My ex hated it. He said anything scented gave him a headache. I didn’t want him to feel worse, so I stopped wearing it with him. I’m glad I don’t have to hold back who I am with you.”

  “Did you have to hold back in other ways?”

  I nod. “At times, yes. I was so consumed in his issues for the last year that I didn’t devote as much time and energy to work as I wanted to. I wanted to rise in my career, and even though there weren’t a ton of openings at my company at the time, I also didn’t pursue any. I was so concerned about him.”

  “I don’t believe you should ever hold someone back, someone you care about.” There’s a faint note of worry in his voice. “I wouldn’t ever want to do that to you.”

  “You don’t hold me back,” I say, since he seems to need the reassurance right now. “You’ve only helped me.”

  “Good. It’s the same for me. Also, I think I’m addicted to your scented life. Every day, it’s like a discovery with you.” He drops his nose to my neck. “Some days you smell like candy. Sometimes like caramel. There are days when you’re a flower, or a garden. And sometimes you smell like sex.”

  I crack up. “That’s probably just after you’ve fucked me.”

  He grins wickedly. “Yes, but sometimes you smell like sex because I’m thinking about fucking you.” He taps his finger on his chin. “Maybe that’s all the time, then.”

  “Oh, good. I want to walk around life smelling like a man’s dirty dream.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist. “My dirty dream. And tonight, the way you smell has been driving me wild since I saw you in the garden.”

  A thrill races through me. “Really?”

  Burying his nose in my hair, he inhales deeply. “You smell like . . . jasmine.”

  I freeze. “Shut up,” I whisper.

  He pulls back. “No. I mean it.”