Shelly answered, a little too breathless for her liking. “Oh, just about every day of my life for as long as I can remember."
Guy smiled, and then his tone went serious. “Any plans for tonight?"
"Oh, you know.” She tried not to look at the bulge in his swimming trunks. Blast that he was wearing the red ones again. She was sure they were made for a little boy, certainly not the virile man before her who hosted such a large lunch box. “I thought about taking in the sunset."
"What about dinner with me?” Guy sensed that he was inviting trouble, even as he was saying the words. “I can't promise the pirate's suit, but I know a good seafood restaurant if you're interested."
Shelly gazed at him, her answer shocking herself. “All right, sounds good. As long as none of the fish I saw will be on the menu."
He laughed. “I think I can promise you that. I'm fully booked until six. I can give you a call after that."
"Okay,” she said, ignoring the small voice that warned of danger. She scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “See you then."
Guy waved at her. “Oh, you will. I wouldn't miss this date for the world."
Date! Shelly thought, as she quickly walked away in the opposite direction. Was she crazy? Was she actually going on a date? She hadn't dated since secondary school and even then, she had only dated Ted. All of a sudden, she was nervous. What had she let herself in for?
* * * *
Four hours later, Guy's travel alarm bleeped. He let out a relieved breath while he washed the shampoo suds from his hair. Since making the date with Shelly, the hours had dragged on and there had been moments when he'd thought that seven o'clock was never going to come around. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. As he towel-dried his hair, it occurred to him that he wouldn't mind having Shelly in the shower, rubbing her pale little body down with soap. Her ass cheeks bumping against the tiles as he rammed his cock into her. His dick swelled slightly at the thought. He rubbed his hand along his bristly chin and tried to pull his mind away from sticky bodies and all the things someone could do with a sponge. He had promised Shelly that he would pick her up around seven, it was half past six now. He had half an hour.
Completely naked, he walked to the small round mirror above the sink. He wiped the steam with the back of his hand so he could see his reflection. His hair was sticking up like he'd had an electric shock, the dark, spiky locks glossy. He smiled; good that nobody could see him, the look definitely said ‘problem child'. He took his time shaving, opting for foam and a dry razor. He wanted to have a clean, smooth face for Shelly, even when it took considerably longer than an electric shaver. He hoped he could get her close enough for a kiss at least, so that she could feel his efforts. While he shaved, he hummed the tune of a song he had heard earlier on the radio. Now and again, when he remembered the words, he sang those, too. He placed the razor back in the bathroom cabinet and rubbed some after-shave onto his face. It stung like hell and he thought, Man, the things I do for women.
Next, he sprayed some deodorant under his arms. As he turned to leave, he slid on a bar of soap and stubbed his little toe on the bath. He muttered a couple curses that would have earned him a clout over the ear from his mother. He supposed he should be thankful that he hadn't landed on his ass and cracked his balls on the floor. He would have been in no fit state to perform that night. He grinned, with Shelly, who knew? She had a way of getting him hot.
He placed his foot on the corner of the bathtub and frowned down at it. Pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, he wiggled his toes. The little one was red but it wasn't broken, even if it sure as hell felt like it was. His attention fell on the empty peach bath. A man could have a lot of fun in a bath like that with a woman. When it was with Shelly, the possibilities were endless. His cock grew hard, imagining her naked little body, soaped with bubbles while he slowly shaved her strawberry-blonde pussy.
He rubbed the head of his erection absently, then still naked, walked through to the living room. His flesh tingled in the relatively cool, dimness of the room compared with the stifling bathroom, which was always as hot and steamy as a sauna when he was finished in the shower. He flicked on the radio, Meat Loaf's raspy voice blasted out Bat Out of Hell. Guy liked the song, so he turned the volume up and then mixed himself a Bloody Mary at the small mini-bar. Sipping it, he walked through to the bedroom with Shelly never far from his thoughts.
His hips gyrating as he swayed along to Meat Loaf, he threw open his wardrobe and scanned his clothes. What should he wear? He ran his fingers along several pairs of pants, then frowned. He had no idea what she liked. Maybe he should just go for something he felt comfortable in.
He pulled out a pair of shiny leather trousers, loving the smell of the old, worn leather. He'd love to get Shelly in a pair. She would be one hot chick in a pair of leathers and a studded jacket. All that long blonde hair that he always wanted to run his fingers through, tumbling about her shoulders, glistening bright against the black leather.
A bright, erotic glimpse of Shelly, dressed in a leather corset, g-string, and knee-length stiletto heels, a studded leash around her neck, acting the role of his subordinate, flickered through his mind. Her pert little buttocks slightly reddened from the four-pronged whip he held in his hand.
He sighed, his dick throbbing. He could have his dreams, he supposed. He thought about having a wank, then decided against it. He laid his trousers out reverently on the bed. He missed his bike, the feel of the wind in his hair, driving full-out along a deserted highway. His Harley Davidson, which his younger brother Jeff gladly watched for him while he taught diving, was his pride and joy. She had always been the only real woman in his life until ... until Shelly.
He frowned and reminded himself that Shelly wasn't in his life. He wanted her to be though; there was no denying that. And hell, he hoped she would be. He'd love to have her on the back of his Harley, her legs gripping him and her arms thrown tightly around his waist. Leather rubbing against leather as they cruised along. If she gave him a chance, who knew? Maybe they would one day.
White and black always went well together, so he selected his white Ralph Lauren shirt and placed it beside the trousers on the bed. The shirt was transparent enough to show off his well-defined abdomen, the muscles of his back and the dark hair curling across his chest. If all else failed, he hoped his body beneath the shirt would be enough to entice her to drop her panties—that, and half a bottle of champagne.
Still completely naked, he picked up the headpiece of the phone by the bed and made a short phone call. When he determined that the boat, the music, and the food had been arranged, he dressed quickly. Feet bare, he walked back through the living room, across the wooden floor, and into the bathroom. There, he ran his fingers through his hair a couple times, and it was styled for the night. Then he used his deodorant again, just to be on the safe side. He was perspiring more than usual. Gosh, but he was plain old nervous, good that his brother or his friend, Mark, weren't there. They would have laughed at him. The great Guy Pearson, the man that everyone said attracted women like flies attracted shit, was nervous. And over an itty-bitty, little thing that didn't reach to his shoulder.
He glanced at his Rolex; it was six-forty-five. He should get going soon. He wondered again why he was so hot for Shelly. She was pretty, but in a snooty way, and he had no use for snooty. He'd had enough of that to last one lifetime. She was small, only sixty-two inches and he liked tall. But didn't they say that good things came in small packages? Then again, she was sarcastic, and there were far too many women around willing to be nice to him to bother with her really. Shelly was arrogant and closed off and Guy preferred wide open and ... And yet, she had gotten under his skin somehow.
When he had first glimpsed her on the beach he had thought her a shapely little thing. Her head was lowered, her face turned away from him. She looked up finally and just like that, Guy had lost himself in her eyes. He'd never believed in love at first si
ght before, but her eyes wouldn't let him go. Shelly's were a shade of green that Guy had never encountered, except in one of those packs of coloring pens that his little nieces liked, and that he bought every Christmas for them.
Since he had met her, he hadn't gone a day without a burning, physical need to look into those eyes again. He sighed. Shelly definitely had him, hook, line, and sinker. Maybe his bachelor days and his never-ending string of women were finally over. He pulled open the bathroom cabinet and placed a long strip of foiled condoms in his back pocket. He tapped his pocket, then pulled out another strip from the box. All in all, Guy must have had twenty-four condoms. But if Shelly allowed him to do what he was hoping and praying she would allow him to do, he doubted even that many would be enough.
* * * *
Shelly looked at her watch and frowned. The hours since she'd foolishly agreed to the date with Guy had flown by far too quickly for her liking. She nervously weathered her thumbnail between her teeth as she returned her attention back to the pile of clothes flung all over the bed. She was more than simply nervous; she was terrified. She should never have agreed to go on a date with Guy. He seemed to affect her in a way no other man ever had. Her skin tingled and her breath quickened when he was just standing beside her. She had decided he should be avoided at all costs, so why was she going on a date with him? Maybe she really should think about getting her head checked. Then again, with the paltry amount of money left over in her bank account after paying for the honeymoon, she doubted there would be enough to pay for a shrink.
She cast one last glance at the clothes on the bed and strolled through to the living room. Maybe a drink would help. She switched on the little radio and turned the volume up louder when Meat Loaf blasted out Bat Out of Hell. At the mini bar, she decided on something a little stronger so she mixed herself a Bloody Mary, her hips rotating to the song, but her thoughts on Guy.
Back in her bedroom, she slipped out of the pink see-through dressing gown she had bought to entice Ted with on their honeymoon. Completely naked, she walked around the bed, a small frown between her finely plucked brows. Her thoughts were on what she should wear that evening. She was unaware that anyone catching a glimpse in the floor to ceiling bedroom mirror would have seen a beautiful woman. Her long golden hair fell in lustrous waves below her buttocks when it swayed. The toned cheeks of her ass showed, giving way to shapely pale legs, honed from hours spent doing yoga. Her full rounded breasts jiggled when she walked, the tiny pink nipples almost like the bloom of a rose, giving way to a thick, strawberry-blonde mound.
Despite all her attributes and what others obviously saw when they looked at her, Shelly didn't feel beautiful. Like many blondes, she thought herself pale and insignificant. If anyone asked, she would say that she was passable; an empty plate that could be worked on. Over the years, Ted had gone along with this belief, until she believed it with an unyielding certainty. That was why she was having trouble figuring out what a man like Guy, of such handsome proportions, could really see in her.
She took a large sip, then placed her drink on the bedside cabinet and went through her underwear. Should she wear black or white—perhaps a color, maybe? She picked up a small, black, lace thong and put it on. In front of the mirror, she regarded herself. The thong came up in a triangle over her mound. Her light, curly, pubic hair, along with the slit of her pussy, was very visible beneath the dark lace. When she turned, the small, threadlike, thong piece disappeared between two, rounded, butt cheeks. She supposed it would probably be enough to turn on most men. Her sister always said that black underwear on a first date gave a man the impression that a woman was easy. Shelly slipped out of the panties. She didn't want to seem easy, so she tried on a pair of white ones instead. They were more modest; the color of her pubic hair couldn't be detected through the thicker lace, the waistband of the thong went between her buttocks and high around her hips. She frowned, white implied virginal and she was no virgin, either. She had practically been down the aisle. Next, she tried on a sexy, blue string-tanga. Standing before the mirror, she wondered why she was even sorting through her underwear. She had no intention of letting Guy see it. Did she? Of course she didn't. She could wear a pair of boxer shorts then, couldn't she?
A crystal clear memory of Guy's hands, his strong fingers with the little tufts of black hair on the knuckles, pulling her panties down her hips and along her legs, assaulted her mind. Her nipples stiffened in the warm room and she lay back against the bed. Thinking about his hands and what he could do with them, was enough to excite her.
Here, alone in her bedroom, Shelly could admit it; Guy turned her on. Thinking about his hands were what sent her spiraling dangerously over the edge. She'd noticed them the first time they'd met. The way his long, tanned fingers held the towel securely over his bronzed hips. Guy would know how to navigate the curves of a woman. But why did she care? Why did she wonder if he was a tender lover, or if he was ravenous in bed? A wild, passionate lover that left a woman sore, tired, and satisfied beyond satisfaction?
Her pussy clenched. Hell, she'd creamed yet another pair of panties. She had few spare pairs, as it was. She decided that Guy was the best kind and would probably be both. One night, he would dazzle a woman with his gentleness. The next, he would ravish her like there was no tomorrow, so that the next day, she woke with a distant ache between her thighs. She slipped her finger between the lips of her pussy and spread her legs wide to give her better access. She was wet, her little clit throbbing for the feel of those fingers. The ache between her parted lips throbbed for something else, altogether. She looked at the mirror directly across from the bed and watched her fingers sliding in and out of her juicy red lips. Fondling her clit, she closed her eyes and conjured up a vision of Guy. He had her spread-eagle on the breakfast bar; instead of using the banana to fuck her, he was using his dick. The very same dick she had caught herself hungering for night after night, waking up in a cold sweat. Her legs were thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, his heavy balls thudding against her ass while he delved into her relentlessly.
Warm waves of scorching heat began to work outward from the centre of Shelly's groin. She rubbed her little clit more furiously, then gasped and shivered on the bed, while a satisfying orgasm ripped through her. Spent for a moment, she let her legs fall open and stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, while the cool air from the fan caressed her intimately. Minutes later, she walked through to the bathroom, switched on the shower and soaped her pubes. The caress of her fingers caused her clit to tingle anew, for she was still extremely sensitive. As she dried herself off, a small smile curved her lips. Hopefully, now that she had spent herself, she wouldn't get so horny when she saw Guy.
Back in the bedroom, she slipped on the black lace panties and pulled on a figure-hugging, knee-length, magenta dress. She toyed with the idea of leaving her hair loose, but she hadn't been out with it that way in quite a while. She decided on a sensible plait instead, with a few curls piled up high on her head. When she was finished, the golden locks hung neatly in a braid, thicker than a man's wrist, down her back. The little clock by the bed showed that it was six-fifty, Guy would be there soon. Shelly swallowed over a dry spot in her throat and rubbed her damp hands down the sides of her dress. Perhaps she should have another drink. As it was, she was so nervous, she'd probably make a fool of herself. She didn't want to in front of Guy, for some reason. She frowned; she wanted to make a good impression on him. Moreover, she wanted him to like and respect her, as she was starting to like and respect him. Why? She had no idea but it was important to her and the realization unsettled her.
* * * *
Shortly before seven, Shelly was staring at her telephone again, and gave a small, startled jump when it finally rang.
"Hello?” she said into the phone. When her mother's voice came back to her, she sat down in the straight-backed chair by the phone table. “Oh, hi, Mum, how are you?"
"Well,” Belinda Blake's purring vo
ice crackled down the line. “I'm still mad at you."
Shelly rolled her eyes. She knew better than to interrupt her mother on a rant. The woman barreled along like a bulldozer when she had a point to make.
"I never thought my own daughter would jilt her fiancé of ten years at the altar. Ted's been beside himself with worry, you know."
"Good!” A small bubble of satisfaction burst in Shelly's chest. “The cheating rat deserves it."
There was a disapproving silence on the other end of the line. “Dear, that's debatable."
"Wait a minute! No, it isn't.” Shelly sat bolt up right. “I caught him with my own eyes. He was going at it like a rabbit with Gill, who just happened to be my bridesmaid. Remember?"
"The truth is, you don't know exactly what you saw. It's dark in the ruined part of the Abby and the shadows often play tricks."
Shelly gulped, stung a little by her words. She knew what she had seen. She just had to shut her eyes, to play it over again in her head like a vicious joke.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes, Mum.” Shelly adjusted the earpiece. “I'm still here."
"Good, because I wanted to let you know that Ted's on his way."
"Where?"
"To you, of course."
"What!” Shelly's hand gripped the receiver so tightly the plastic nearly cracked. “Ted's coming here? To the island? To Male?"
"Yes. I just said that, didn't I?"
"But why?” Shelly cried with rising hysteria. “When?"
"Well, I expect he wants to talk some sense into you. God knows someone needs to. Who ever heard of a girl spending her honeymoon alone?"
But we're not married, Shelly thought, her hands shook. “When will he get here?"
"The early hours of the morning, I expect. He's flying out this evening from Heathrow with British Airways. Do you want the flight number?"
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