by Avery Aster
Who is he?
I can’t see his face.
Christophe.
The name is a whisper. Soft as a downy feather brushing my inner ear.
Yes. It’s him. His shoulders are broad, his chest is bare and he’s wearing drawstring trousers that ride low on his hips. His hair is dark and mussed. Not bed head, more like hair that’s had fingers threaded through it…in passion. He comes to stand by the side of the bed, watching me sleep.
I turn and twist between the sheets, and the spaghetti strap on my negligee—where’d the negligee come from?!—slips down my shoulder as I turn toward him. The movement bares my breast like a gift unwrapped just for him.
It is not Christophe who reaches for my nakedness. It’s me. I fondle my breast, pinching my nipple, sighing softly—a completely sensual sound—and arch into my hand.
By the way I reach for him, it’s obvious I want him and am asking him to touch me.
There is no reply to my silent question.
He stands completely still as my hands roam across his body; his chest, his stomach, dipping below the waistband of his trousers. He is as strong as I guessed, his body as taut, his skin as soft as I imagined. I read him with my fingertips and tug dreamily on his waistband, pulling him closer, making him kneel at my side. Finding his face, I gently caress his cheek and his lips.
“Teach me.”
The words are softly spoken.
“Teach me all you know.”
He reaches for my cheek and cups it tenderly then he bends to me, tasting me slowly and thoroughly, just like he taught me how to taste scotch.
He holds my face so he can turn me, kissing my cheek, my jaw, moving lower along the length of my neck. “Are you sure?”
Lower and lower he goes kissing my shoulder, the hollow of my neck, just when I think he’s going where I want him, he goes back up. Licking and tasting. Enjoying every little bit of me.
I cover the hand that is holding my cheek and slide it around to my mouth, taking his index and middle fingers between my lips. He lifts his head and by the way his head lolls back, he’s enjoying what I’m doing. A lot.
Withdrawing from my mouth, he trails wet fingers down my neck, following the path his lips took only a moment before and finally—thank God—he moves to my breasts.
I react to his damp touch as if he’s fingering my clit, not my nipples. Crying out and arching in ecstasy.
Fuck.
I need more. More than the greedy suction at my breasts. More than his damp touch and possessive kisses. So, I take control, grasping Christophe’s hand and pushing it past the bunched up silk at my waist, easing it between my legs. But my legs are all tangled up and I can’t seem to free them.
Frustrated, I fit his hand over my mound and hold him there unable to move, unable to spread my legs, only able to pulse my hips into his open palm.
“I need you,” I say, managing to move the damp material of my panties to the side. “Please. I need you.”
With one hand propped on the bed beside my hip, he leans over and slides his other hand up the inside of my thigh, circling that part of me that is exposed. I try to move my hips into the path of his touch, but he keeps avoiding the place I want it most.
“Please,” I beg. “Please.”
“What do you want?” This is said so softly and so deeply, I almost can’t discern the words. Christophe lowers himself and kisses me in the places he has been caressing; the inside of my thighs, my hips, that deep crease where leg meet pelvis.
He gazes up at me and I see his eyes for the first time. They are darker than I remember. It must be the lack of light that make them look black instead of blue.
Finally, finally he moves to my center, licking between my fingers and down to where they are in contact with my open body. The second his tongue touches me, I scream.
My body is on fire. My clit is pulsing, aching to be sucked and fondled. My pussy is wet and throbbing, demanding to be fucked.
“I need you inside of me.”
His tongue complies, not with the plunging action I crave, but with a slow easy sweep of someone intent on taking in every inch of my anatomy. Discovering all my nuances. Tasting me. Savoring me. This man is not heeding my urgent demands in the least. Is this what he was trying to show me? To teach me? How to drive me crazy?
I try to wriggle my legs free so that I might part my thighs, but they’re still caught between the sheets. I wriggle some more and the movement causes Christophe to look up from what he’s doing.
“Hold still,” he growls, catching my knees and pressing them into the mattress.
At first I think he’s going to help free me…but he doesn’t. He uses the sheets as bindings, twisting them around my ankles and pulling my legs apart, exposing me, tying me down. When I try to sit up, he snags the silk of my negligee and rips it form my torso like it’s made of paper. It’s not scary, it’s fucking sexy. When I go to cover myself, he holds my arms apart and, using the torn fabric, secures my wrists together above my head.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes!”
“Do you want me to make you come?”
“Yes!”
He smiles, a wickedly sinful smile and then his tongue makes me forget everything and I buck with need and desire. There is something about being tied down while someone teases my pussy that makes me wild with need and even though I’m restrained, Christophe holds my hips still to keep me in place.
Just as the building tension inside my body is about to peak…he stops. He sits up, gazing down at me, an irreverent gleam in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Don’t stop. I’m about to come.”
“That’s exactly why I’m stopping.”
Chapter Eight
With a gasp—like the first breath after a near drowning—I sit up, awake, my heart pounding, my pulse racing. I rub my forehead and look around, trying to catch my breath, trying to make sense of everything while my body vibrates on high with an unspent orgasm.
My foggy gaze takes in the slowly turning fan above my head, the beautifully appointed bedroom and the open French doors looking out at the infinity pool, the white sand of the beach and the blue of the ocean beyond that.
Where the hell am I?
With a hand to my head, I kick my legs over the side of the bed and set my feet on the ground. My legs buckle, as if I’ve just stepped off a boat where I’ve been stuck riding a choppy sea. Out the open doors I see palm fronds swishing lazily in the afternoon breeze. A pelican flies into view, seeming to hover as it rides an air current before diving like a rocket into the water.
Eden. I’m on the island of Eden.
I roll my shoulders before turning my neck one way and then the other, cracking it in the process. Wow. I slept hard. That transatlantic flight really did a number on me. Though it felt like I slept a full night, after checking the clock, I realize I’ve only been asleep for an hour.
Wandering out onto the patio, I glance around for signs of any other guests. I’m pretty sure I hear voices from down the beach, but nothing from the large villa. I hope the men haven’t gotten caught in the storm that Joely the pilot was talking about. I gaze up at the sky, but there is no indication of a storm here.
I sniff, smelling ocean and tropical flowers. That’s about it…except my clothes smell like airport and I feel greasy and grungy from my day of travel. I decide to shower and go explore while I wait for the men to arrive.
It’s while I’m going through my suitcases after my shower that I realize I’ve have no beach wear. Having just come from Monte Carlo, formal wear and business casual take up most of the space in my luggage, so donning the closest thing I’ve got—a pair of denim capris and a tank top—I take a map of the island that Andre left for me and head out to find some boutiques.
There are plenty in the castle and I spend an hour browsing for new clothes. It’s cathartic and the boutiques on Eden are…well, I couldn’t ask for more variety from some of the be
st shopping districts in the world.
There’re even shops specializing in BDSM outfits, toys, paraphernalia. Of course I go in. I still need to buy a wedding gift after all. The problem is, what to get two cowboys who like it rough? Certainly not rope. They live on a ranch and have more than they need.
Hmm, I pick up a calfskin flogger and test it against my palm. The tails are soft, too soft. I replace it and test another.
I pause.
Sniff.
What’s that?
Sniff, sniff.
I know that smell.
Spicy.
Intriguing.
Super-fucking-sensual.
“If you’re looking for more weight with just the right amount of suppleness you might want to try this one.”
I spin. My heart in my throat. “Christophe?”
“Mademoiselle Savage.”
Holy fuck! How is Christophe here? Looking so…so…
My God. The man is a vision. If I thought he looked good in a tux, he looks heavenly, no godly, no…like some commanding archangel of masculinity, in what he’s wearing now. It’s as if he just finished up with a photo shoot for GQ, his crisp khaki trousers accentuating his long legs, a loose white, linen shirt, open at the neck. His hair looking like it’s been teased by the ocean breeze. There’s a growth of stubble along his jaw, the kind that is fashionable while still being incredibly sexy, and my fingers itch to touch.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is high and breathy.
He glances around the shop, a look of dark amusement on his face. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I shake my head, blushing fifty shades of red—which is weird because I have no problem being caught in a sex shop. “No,” I say. “I mean, what are you doing on Eden?”
“I was invited. Like everyone else.”
“Oh. Are you here for a wedding too?”
He does that head tilt thing.
Okay, my imagination did not embellish how sexy that gesture is. The back of my throat tickles, as does the southernmost part of my tummy. My clit too.
“Theo invited me. Though he always claims it’s the island that chooses.”
“What? Who?”
Instead of clarification, Christophe asks if I’d like to go for a drink. “That is,” he adds, “if you’re all finished here.” His dark blue eyes light with impudence.
I snatch the flogger out of his hand and take it up to the desk. As with all my purchases, my bracelet is scanned and I’m told the articles will be delivered directly to the villa.
“Can you gift wrap that,” I ask, as I’m leaving.
“Of course, Ms. Savage,” the woman at the desk says with a genuine smile.
God I love this place. It’s a huge resort but everyone here makes you feel special, like they know you or something—which of course they don’t. I’m sure it’s all computerized based on the chips in the bracelets we’re given.
Christophe is waiting for me at the door and I follow him through the lobby of the castle, falling a step or two behind because…well…I’m looking at his ass. The man has the nicest ass. It doesn’t hurt that his pants are a perfect fit, showing off the fact that there is taut muscle moving beneath that fabric.
God…what would he the man look like naked?
I should probably stop staring, but I can’t help myself. Maybe because I still can’t get over the fact that the very man I’ve been fantasizing about and dreaming about, is here. In the flesh. In the glorious, glorious flesh, all round and trim and firm and strong and smelling so incredibly delicious and…
My gaze is finally forced up from Christophe’s fine posterior by the enormous fountain in the middle of the lobby. Christophe scrutinizes it with an unreadable expression on his face. “What do you see?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I stare up at the erotic image carved in marble. “There’s a guy getting it on with a girl, doggy style.” My description is crass, whereas the imagery of the carving is actually quite beautiful. I walk to one side and suddenly the figures change. “Or, wait. That’s not right. She’s kneeling in front of him, giving him…how is that possible? Is it a hologram or something?”
Christophe joins my side. “It’s not a hologram. It’s stone.”
“How does it work?”
“You wouldn’t believe what’s possible on this island.”
Something clicks in the back of my mind and I turn to him. Thoughtful. “You’ve been here before.”
He takes my elbow in the same way he did in Monte Carlo—possessively—and steers me out the doors and down a path shaded with palms and other tropical, flowering plants. “Yes,” he says, “So have…” He glances at me. “So I am familiar with the island’s idiosyncrasies.”
As he gazes at me, I hear his voice in my head, like it was yesterday—actually, I think it was literally yesterday—a friend of mine owns a resort on an island. It’s exclusive. Special.
“This is the island you were telling me about, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly another thought strikes me and I stop walking. “I’m not here for a wedding, am I?”
“No. You are not.”
Pulling back from his grasp, I cover my mouth. “The invitation came from you?”
“Not directly.” He motions with his hand for me to proceed him down the path where there’s an opening to an outdoor bar area.
Oh man. I’m so stupid. Of course the invitation came from Christophe—directly or indirectly, it doesn’t matter. The question is, why did he invite me?
“Aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“About what I’m proposing.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Not only a new way of making love, a new way of being.”
“Not really.”
“So, you do not want me to describe what an encounter between us would look like?”
“No.”
“You truly have the worst poker face I’ve ever encountered.”
I take a seat at the bar, the memory of Christophe describing what a tryst with him would look like, still very fresh in my mind. I fan my suddenly flushed face. “So why am I here?” I ask, even though I know—or think I do—I still need to hear it from him.
“You know.”
Is the man a mind reader? Seriously! I open my mouth to reply when the bartender appears, a huge grin on his face. “Tessa! Good to see you.”
“Hell-o,” I say, his over exuberance somewhat startling. “Do I know you?”
“This is Chad, the best bartender on Eden.” Christophe winks. “Chad, meet Tessa Savage. It’s her first time here.”
“Oh,” Chad says, smile faltering. “Oh. Of course.” He extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He places coasters in front of us. “Well then. As a newbie on Eden, you won’t mind if I guess.”
“Guess what?”
“Your drink. I have talent for it.” He searches my face, while playfully rubbing his chin. Finally, he says, “Gin and tonic, two slices of lime.”
Wow. I have no idea how he guessed my favorite summer drink. But he did. That’s pretty cool. “You people are good here,” I say. “Do you have files on every guest, or something?”
“Something like that.” Chad winks.
It’s like a wink-a-thon around here. I turn to Christophe and wink at him too. He laughs because I’m not very good at winking and I’m sure it ends up looking more like a blink. But I’d do it again in a second to hear him laugh. I love his laugh. It’s contagious, infectious, and his eyes crinkle up in this way that is super-fucking-sexy.
Chad mixes the drinks quickly, giving Christophe what looks like a spiced rum, before moving away down the bar.
“So, Tessa Savage. We are alone,” Christophe clinks his glass to mine. “No pretense. No pretend boyfriends.”
“So we are.”
We drink while holding each other’s’ gazes. The air becomes charged with the unspoken conversation goin
g on between us. The questions. The vibration of awareness that goes beyond simple mutual attraction.
Damn. What is it about this man?
Finally, Christophe says in a barely audible voice, “Do not toy with me. Do you accept my invitation to Eden?”
I take a long drink of my gin first before answering. Of course we all know my answer. It’s absolutely yes! I mean, I’ve been dying to get my hands inside this man’s clothes for days. But, I also know when to play it cool. Sometimes I can even act on playing it cool.
I set my drink down. Blot my lips with a napkin. Tilt my head to one side—though I’m sure it in no way looks sexy and French—and narrow my gaze.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I haven’t decided yet. Tell me, Monsieur Chevalier. How do you foresee this week going?”
“Much like any tropical vacation.” He leans back from me and his gaze makes a pass of the nearby pool and gardens, before holding me captive again. “I was hoping to do some diving; the reefs around the island are spectacular and I know you’re a certified diver.”
“You really need to stop creeping me.”
“Tell me you haven’t done the same thing?”
My lips twitch because he’s so right. I looked up as much information about Christophe Chevalier as I could. Former Formula One race car driver, deep sea diver, sky diver…the list goes on and on.
“Maybe,” I hedge.
He laughs.
“But don’t expect me to go sky diving. Sailing…maybe.”
His laughter grows as he realizes that I have just admitted to googling him. He draws my free hand into his and gently caresses the tender skin on my wrist. The laughter dancing in his eyes turns to something more akin to seduction than humor. “Then there are other things I should very much like to share.”
“Oh?” I ask, trying so hard to be nonchalant but probably not succeeding as I’m sure my shaking voice indicates. “What sort of things?”
He leans close and whispers, “Philosophies.” The delicious scent of his aftershave evokes memories from Monte Carlo, and his lowered voice stokes those memories into a smoldering fire in the pit of my tummy.