by Karen Booth
They were all different sizes, preventing him from completing his task in a timely manner, but I had no problem with his shirt.
“You’re doing great,” I mumbled, standing on my toes to kiss his shoulder.
My dress dropped to the floor.
“Finally,” he said. He eyed me from head to toe and ran his warm hands around my waist, pulling me along, walking backward with a goofy smirk on his face.
The terracotta tile was cold, but the air was sticky and close despite the steady whir of the ceiling fan. We toppled down onto the blue and white quilt.
“Did you lock the door?” I asked.
He forged ahead with strong hands and his heavenly scent all over me. “I don’t think the door even has a lock. Why?”
“Never mind,” I replied, burrowing my face into his neck.
Our kisses were wet and sloppy, a frenzied scramble of lips and tongue. Chris began to skim his mouth along the base of my throat and my entire body shuddered in anticipation of everything we had delayed. My hands smoothed over the landscape of his strong back, feeling the muscles as I went, as if I was searching for the back of an earring that’d rolled under the dresser.
He kissed my neck, my jaw, and then my lips, being playful and loose, and then he finally, mercifully, reached behind me and unhooked my bra. He pulled the straps forward and we both welcomed the release, leaving us with a new and fragile familiarity.
He gently rolled me to my back and pushed my hands far up over my head, running his fingers down the tender underside of my arms. He made it clear, with words, that he wanted them to stay put. I arched my back to meet his lips, hurrying the surrender, and he descended, his kisses uncommonly stirring. He managed to rouse my every nerve ending with his astonishing mouth, velvety and perfect. He stopped for a moment and gave me a sly look, breaking me down a little further, before returning to my breasts with fire in his breath, using his tongue in a most staggering, specific way.
My eyelids fluttered as the sensation rushed through me. His touch was so charged that it was as if my brain ran ahead, racing to give in to the bliss. I wanted the time to savor, to fully appreciate, the pleasure postponed, so I took charge and changed our focus.
I pushed him to his back and kneeled on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the shorts he’d changed into after our arrival. Worn and soft, I wondered if he’d owned them for a long time.
He shifted up on to his elbows, surveying the view of everything I was doing. “You’re not a cheap date, Claire. I didn’t know I was going to have to fly you to an island to get you into bed.”
“You’re so romantic,” I quietly shot back as I unzipped and removed his shorts, tossing them over my shoulder. “You get what you pay for.”
I climbed on top of him, delaying the removal of the final items of clothing between us. I grazed my entire torso along his, rolling my spine like a cat stretching long in the sun. Pushing up on my arms, my hair hung down around us while I kissed him again, working to build the heat when I wasn’t sure I could take it if it got any hotter. His determined grip rocked my hips, our bodies grinding against each other, frustrated in fits that clothing continued to intervene.
I sat back, walking my hands alongside his body as I studied him, taking two passes at his lovely patch of stomach. His eyes were closed, the lids edged with feathery brown lashes. Everything about him was so beautiful that my chest ached.
He peered out from beneath his eyelids before closing them again. “Please don’t stop.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” I kneeled a second time and gently peeled back his light blue plaid boxer shorts, so very British of him.
There was no polite way to express how primed he was and how much it took the breath right out of me. He was different than I’d imagined, better, now that we were leaving my imagination and entering the real world. All I could think was that I never, not in a million years, thought I’d get to see it and yet here it was, eager for my full attention.
I stretched out next to him and broke the tension with a soft but deliberate brush of my fingertips. A resounding exhalation escaped his lips and I responded with a fervent, craving grip. I knew then that every time I’d been with a man, it had been nothing more than a dress rehearsal, vital practices to polish my technique for Chris. I continued, reveling in every sensation I could create. I slowed things, traced my fingers up and down as I kissed his chest, then I tightened my grip again.
He openly expressed his appreciation, so taut and unyielding that I began to fear he might be closing in on his own conclusion of our evening. I wasn’t about to let that happen, so I rolled on the condom and brought my lips to his, giving him a long and sweaty kiss.
He sighed and hummed with quiet gratitude, his eyes closed. “That settles it. We’re never leaving this room.”
“I told you. You get what you pay for.”
He kissed me with urgency and twisted me onto my back before stretching out his heartbreaking body next to mine. He caressed my breasts and watched, his dark eyes reflecting every shade of my reaction. His hand skimmed down my stomach and past my waist, stripping away the final trappings between us.
The brush of his thumb against my hipbone sent my body into overdrive and he was a second ahead of me, expertly stationed with his fingers, in complete control. I closed my eyes and rolled my head into his arm in utter ecstasy.
As soon as he moved his hand, I took my chance and wrapped my arms and legs around him, greedily pulling him closer. A warm, glowing relief overcame me as we began to move, finally joined.
He felt the need to mark the moment. “Oh, Claire. You feel so good.”
“Shhh. Be quiet.”
“You’re funny,” he snickered against my neck.
“No, I’m not.”
My hands spread out over his back, the muscles felt markedly different now that they were engaged in forceful motion. I opened my eyes long enough to appreciate him and was happily greeted by the mole on his cheek.
After weeks of build-up, there were only a few minutes before we shattered each other’s thresholds in less than perfect unison. Breathless, he returned to his back, holding my hand while we watched the endless twirl of the ceiling fan.
He turned to me. “You’re smiling.”
I laughed. “Of course I’m smiling.”
“I plan to smile for an entire week after that.” He let our moment of quiet satisfaction pass, but then he insisted on saying more, “I mean, wow. You know, I’m not used to delaying things. This is usually the first date for me. I can see the advantages now. Was it just me or was that extra hot?”
“Will you please stop?” I rolled onto my stomach. “Do we have to analyze it? Can’t we be happy without putting it into words?”
“So says the writer.” He scratched my favorite spot on his belly. “You know, you have my full permission to do any of that to me whenever you want. Don’t even ask. You can start and I’ll set aside whatever I’m doing at the time, unless of course, I’m driving. In that case, you’ll need to let me know in advance so I can find a safe place to pull over. Maybe we can devise a secret signal.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead into the pillow. “You’re such a goof.” I moved closer and kissed him. “You were amazing and wonderful, but you probably already know that.” Someone so practiced had to be aware of his own ability, but I blessed him with my approval. “I’m not a big fan of the post-sex re-cap. If you want to tell me what you liked, you can show me next time. I don’t need the words.”
“Oh, I liked all of it, especially the part where you—” He stopped when he caught my expression.
“You can’t help it, can you?”
A smile crept across his face. He moved closer and the come-hither look returned to his eyes. “I’m only expressing my enthusiasm for your talents.” He kissed me. “Come on. There’s ice cream in the freezer. I’m starving.”
****
I awoke to the blazing sun, Chris at my side. He leaned over me with sloppy morning
hair and kissed my collarbone, gently coaxing me from my sleepy state. The fact that he was naked was the perfect detail that made it so much better than I’d ever imagined.
“Claire, Sam will probably be up soon. I wasn’t sure if you wanted her to see you leaving my room.”
“Good point,” I said once I’d had a minute to wake up. “I should talk to her before she sees me in yesterday’s dress.”
The room looked as if we’d hosted a ticker tape parade with clothes. I tiptoed, picking up the litter as I went, clutching mine to my body and tossing Chris’s on the bed.
“I could watch you do this all day,” he said.
“I bet. Is it the picking up dirty clothes part or the bending over naked part?”
“Dirty clothes. I hate picking up.”
I stepped to the bathroom to tame my hair before getting dressed. Chris groaned in the other room and noisily hoisted himself out of bed, joining me as I finished the last few buttons on my dress. He stood before me in his boxer shorts and it felt as if my hormones were going berserk, like I’d never get enough of him. He scratched that spot on his stomach, my spot, and it took everything in me to remain standing.
“Everything okay?” he asked, as he folded me into his bewitching bare chest and arms.
“Yes. I was noticing how beautiful you are.” It was funny how the words came easier sometimes than others.
He raked through my hair and kissed the top of my head. “I think we both know that I’m not the beauty in this relationship.” I took the compliment although he was delusional about his appearance if that was what he truly thought. I set my hand on his chest and caught a flash of his green eyes.
He squeezed me and pecked the end of my nose. “You’d better get out of here before you get me worked up.”
We smiled knowingly at each other. He swatted me on the butt when I walked away and I looked back for an instant, but kept going.
I grabbed a quick shower in my room, loving the view, as promised. I hadn’t even thought to ask what we were doing for the day, but I figured we were on an island; it was hard to go wrong. I dressed in a white tank top, khaki shorts and bare feet after slathering on sunscreen. Tousling my freshly washed hair was the extent of styling, but I had to put on makeup. I felt naked without it.
The scent of coffee lured me out to the courtyard. The glare coming off the pool was immense, the surface silver and the bottom a deepest black. Marisol was busy in the kitchen and greeted me with a pretty singsong as I helped myself to a cup of coffee. She’d set out cream and sugar and three shiny spoons, all lined up on a napkin.
I stood at the butcher-block kitchen island and watched her arrange a rainbow of tropical fruits on a platter—mango, pineapple, papaya, kiwi and star fruit. We smiled at each other and she continued to work, like a mama bird feathering her nest.
I wandered to the other side of the room and sank down on the fluffy white couch in the seating area, marveling at a different version of the view, untamed and blue. The gentle rock of the sea consumed me so much that I didn’t even notice Chris before he plopped down and made me pop up on the other end of the cushion.
“You shaved.” I stroked the now silky skin of his face as he leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm, you smell good too.” I nuzzled his neck for a second and remembered that Marisol was steps away.
“There’s coffee,” I started, but Marisol was already on her way with a tray. “What are we doing today? Sam’s running away with Jean-Luc so I think heavy drinking is in order.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.” He was so casual about it, stirring his coffee.
The now familiar thud of the heavy wood door told us that Jean-Luc had arrived. On cue, he appeared, his blinding white smile leading the way. He was wearing too much cologne, which was no way to sway me—it brought back nightmarish memories of an old boyfriend.
“Bonjour, is Mademoiselle Samantha with you?” He inquired, scanning the room.
Chris answered. “No, she hasn’t come down to breakfast yet.” Jean-Luc excused himself but Chris called after him. “I want to speak with you privately before you two leave.”
He had a sip of coffee while I became fixed on the curve of his lips on the mug and then he asked the inevitable. “What’s for breakfast?”
Marisol set the dining table with her masterpiece of a fruit platter along with fresh croissants, juice, and bacon. Chris dug in with his usual enthusiasm for food.
“I don’t understand how you can eat so much and stay thin.” I took a croissant, hoping I’d have the willpower to eat only half, and filled the rest of my plate with fruit.
He was shoveling. “I have no idea. Good metabolism, I guess. I don’t really think about it.” He smiled.
Lucky bastard.
Marisol brought more coffee and I noticed how stubby her fingernails were as she topped off my cup. She seemed like a sweet girl, somewhat timid, and I wondered if she had aspirations beyond cooking for the wealthy on a tiny island. I hated the thought of Sam in that position, stuck somewhere without options.
Samantha soon arrived, in a short yellow sundress with bathing suit ties looped at her neck and a blue and white striped beach bag. Jean-Luc was testing the pool water, flicking his finger at vials, but watching her closely. She waved at him and he perked up and smiled wide. I couldn’t help but worry about what he might be cooking up in his nineteen-year-old brain and how that might involve his penis.
“Jean-Luc, come on,” Chris called out, and Jean-Luc obediently followed to the terrace outside Chris’s room.
“Good morning, honey,” I said to Sam, her sunny face well rested. “Marisol made a big breakfast.”
Sam helped herself to some of everything, shrugging off my suggestion to slow down. She glugged her juice and was nearly finished by the time Chris and Jean-Luc returned from their talk. Chris held his arm around Jean-Luc’s shoulder, but Jean-Luc’s face told a different story. I almost felt sorry for him.
Taking his seat next to me, Chris patted my knee and whispered, “We’re good.”
“Mademoiselle Samantha, we can leave whenever you like.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’m ready.” The flirtation oozed out of her.
I cringed at the thought of what she’d said yesterday, that she wanted to have fun. “Do you have water with you? How about sunscreen?” I ran down the checklist and hoped like crazy it didn’t need to include condoms.
“Yes. I put on a ton of sunscreen and I brought extra. Can we go now?” Jean-Luc was trying to lure her away, walking backwards and smiling his no-good schoolboy smile.
“Yes. Go.” I shooed her away, but it felt more like ripping a bandage off my leg when I’d forgotten to shave.
“What did you say to him?” I mumbled. “He looked like he was going to be sick.”
“Nothing, really. I told him that if he was anything less than a perfect gentleman, I might have to kill him. I thought it was best to lay down the law.”
I admired Chris’s protective side, especially the way he would’ve been if he’d had a daughter, if things in his life had been different.
“He’s a good kid,” he added. “He just has a fondness for Sam. I’m guessing the curls and the bathing suit have something to do with it.” He pointed to the last half of my croissant. “Are you going to eat that?”
“Go for it.”
He put it away in two bites, a beautiful bottomless pit. Finished, he rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned over for a kiss.
“Mmm,” I said. “You taste like bacon.”
“Good,” he laughed, holding his lips close to mine. “That’s what I was going for.”
I jumped at the sound of the refrigerator door closing. I’d forgotten again that Marisol was there.
Chapter Nineteen
By late morning, it was just the two of us. In Chris’s room, I couldn’t help but notice his pitiful attempt at making the bed and I tried to straighten it. “I don’t know about this grueling schedule of yours, loungi
ng by the pool, eating. Now you’re making me get a massage.” The sheets were completely twisted under the quilt. No wonder he’d given up.
“I enjoy barking orders.” He tossed me a fluffy white robe from the closet. “Now I get to tell you to get naked.”
Chris drew back the blue and white batik curtains across the expanse of glass doors overlooking his terrace. The sound of the sea rushed in as he opened the accordion doors, leaving the room open to the view and stretch of sky.
“I thought it’d be nice to have the breeze,” he said.
“Of course you did.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No. I’m wondering how you can be so perfect. It’s very discouraging for the rest of us.” I finished smoothing out the quilt and yanked it taught.
I turned and he circled his arms around my waist. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to romance a woman? My whole life.” He tilted his head to the side. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Priscilla Faircloth let me give her a flower when I was nine, but she eventually spurned my advances.”
I smiled. “Priscilla?”
“Look, I’ve never had the chance to do these things because I wanted to. Most of the time, it wasn’t necessary and the rest of the time I was meeting a request. I meant it when I said that part of the reason I like you is because you don’t expect things from me.” He tightened his arms around me, making me woozy. “I’m not trying to be perfect. I want us to enjoy our time together.”
“I’m sorry.” I ran a finger along the neckline of his robe. “I promise to be a willing participant. But you have to let me say thank you.”
“I can’t wait for that.”
We were immersed in a soft and simmering kiss when there were voices in the courtyard. Chris pried his lips from mine to greet our masseurs. I was excited when Tristan and Stephanie came in the room and not the slightest bit suspicious that everyone on the island seemed to be absurdly beautiful. Stephanie was flawless, tall and lithe with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. I would’ve been upset if Tristan hadn’t been the smoking hot package that he was, with hair shaved close to his head and electric blue eyes, a steamy tower of muscle.