by Meg Buchanan
How could he leave her lying there? She’d been enjoying the feel of his skin against hers then his lips and tongue. She sat up to see as he kneeled between her knees the way he had when he’d tried to help her with her sandals that first night.
“Now let’s get the rest of these clothes off you so we can take them to the laundry,” he said.
First, he removed one sneaker and then the sock. He smoothed his fingers over the top of her foot and then her instep. It didn’t tickle way she thought it might. It felt like the nerve endings in her foot had a direct line to her stomach. It fluttered as desire crept in. Then the next foot got the same treatment. His hands ran slowly up under the legs of her jeans. More nerve endings screamed with frustration. Making love might be all about anticipation but this was ridiculous.
“Adam, come up here.” She tried to sit up further and pull him to her again, but he pushed her down.
“Let me love you, this way.”
She nodded and sighed and lay back. She could wait to touch him if this was what he wanted. She stretched her arms over her head.
As he stood, he ran his hands up her legs over the denim. Then his knuckles traced the fly. He flipped open the button then slowly slid the zip down.
“Commando?” his lips murmured as he kissed his way down the open fly.
“Same problem,” she gasped and raised her hips to his mouth. Ready again for this new world he’d opened to her. He lingered a little longer never quite reaching where she needed him. Just circling near then moving away, tantalising, teasing and taking much longer than she wanted.
Then he slowly eased the jeans down her legs.
Her breath came quicker, her heart racing. She wanted his jeans off and him inside her. She reached for him again then watched as he stepped back from the bed a little and studied her.
“All mine,” he said. “For one more day.”
Adam studied Geneviève stretched on the bed in front of him. Her dark eyes watching him, her lips red and swollen looking, her hair a mess of dark curls on the white covers. Body lightly tanned, arms above her head so her breasts looked taunt, the curve of her hip bones, the hollow of her stomach, and then down to where her legs joined her body.
He’d make this last for as long as he could. Then they’d shower and dress and go out on the town and stay awake until early morning, come back and make love again. He wasn’t wasting any more time sleeping.
He moved back to the edge of the bed and nudged her knees apart, then leaned forward his hand on the covers beside her hip and leaned over her.
“Where should I start?”
“Make love to me, Adam. Now.” She reached up to pull him down to her again, but he shook his head.
“No.” He touched her lips with his finger to keep her quiet, then ran it down over her chin, the smooth column of her neck, between her breasts, her rib cage, stomach and finally his goal.
He watched her eyes open wider and her lips for an O shape as he slid his fingers inside her.
She felt warm and ready for him, but he wanted to make this all about anticipation, waiting, wanting. He’d make it perfect for both of them.
He stood again and slid his hands under her hips and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, then knelt between her legs and heard the sighing breath she took. He wasn’t sure whether it sounded like anticipation or frustration.
He pushed her legs further apart and ran his tongue down the seam. Circling the edges of the pink flesh. This time he heard an intake of breath that sounded more like a sob. No complaints though. He added his fingers and gently stroked and sucked and she pushed against him. He increased the pressure and felt her rise up to him. Then move faster. Her breath coming in time with his strokes.
“God, Adam,” she gasped, and he felt one leg curl over his shoulder and pull him in closer. He pushed her other leg wider opening her further to him and kept up the pressure and stroking until he felt her convulse tumble over the edge.
He gently untangled himself and then moved up the bed to lie beside her. Stroking with feather light touches.
She opened her eyes, dark and mysterious, and smiled.
“I liked that,” she said.
“I could tell.”
They lay there quietly, touching and kissing, recovering.
“Have you really run out of clothes?” Maybe the plan to go out on the town tonight wouldn’t work after all.
“The silver dress is clean, I washed it and hung it out when you were sleeping on Sunday.”
He grimaced. The first time they’d made love he fell asleep and she’d got up and joined his flatmates. Sometimes he could be such a gentleman.
Geneviève grinned at him like she thought the same thing. “But I need to wash everything else. It’s just jeans and t shirts and cotton underwear and can all be put in a washing machine and drier. It will only take a couple of hours.”
“Did you pack those sandals?”
Geneviève nodded. “But they are very uncomfortable.”
“Wear the sneakers then.” He ran his hand over her hip and down her leg. She’d still look good in the silver dress and sneakers. The way she looked he couldn’t imagine anyone kicking them out because she was under dressed anyway.
“Where?”
“We’re going out on the town.”
“We’re going out on the town?”
“Yep.” He slid his hand between her legs again. Still warm and welcoming, maybe he’d pushed anticipation to its limits, now he should roll her over and put his cock where it longed to be. “We’re going to all the hot party spots in Auckland.”
“It’s a Wednesday.” She moved his hand onto his own stomach and kneeled up beside him. Maybe she was too sensitive to be touched now. Maybe anticipation was all he’d get until later.
She was completely naked kneeling up over him. Her hair still a tumbled mess, curling over shoulders and breasts, about as sexy and as desirable and appealing as he’d ever seen her.
“It’s your turn,” she said, and crawled to the end of the bed and hopped off. She removed his boots and socks then leaned over and kissed him. She worked her way down his stomach and slowly unbuttoned his jeans then slid down the zip like he’d done for her and struggled to remove the jeans. He had to lift his body to help her get it done
Smiling, she wrapped her hand around his cock.
Finally. Not the way he planned it. But a good idea.
Geneviève bent her head and trailed her tongue over the tip of his penis.
Adam clutched at her hair and held on. She hadn’t done this before. Mason said he didn’t like it. But from what she could work out, men seemed to like the same things women did, they just had different equipment.
And she’d just experienced how to do this right, one stroke of a tongue at a time. She drew him into the warmth of her mouth, looked up at him from under her lashes and could see he had his eyes open.
“Fuck Geneviève.”
She dragged a fingernail over the soft skin of his penis and felt his hand clutch harder at her hair.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
She kept going, changing the rhythm and the intensity. Mason didn’t know what he’d missed out on not liking to use his mouth on her or vice versa.
Adam’s body arched as he climaxed.
She slowly made her way up his body, kissed him then rested her head on his chest. “Did I do that right?”
“Yep,” he said, and pulled her closer in to him. “Perfect.”
Chapter Nineteen
They walked down Queen Street.
“What do you want to do?” Adam asked after they’d been wandering the streets for a while and were getting near the Viaduct. “We’ve got a few hours to kill before anyone’ll be partying.”
Geneviève hugged his arm and rested her head on his shirt sleeve. “I’m happy to just keep walking.” She looked up at Adam. Making love in the hotel room, then lying there drowsily, sleeping a little, and talking a little while her clothes washe
d had left her content, replete. Now the clothes were in the drier. She’d have something to wear tomorrow instead of this ridiculous dress.
He lay his cheek on her hair for a moment as they wandered. “Along the waterfront then?” he asked.
She nodded. She felt happy in a way she couldn’t remember being happy ever. Even though she loved her family and the estancia she’d wanted to see how the rest of the world lived so had gone to university and when she’d been there she still looked for something else. Maybe that was why Mason had appealed to her. He seemed exotic.
She glanced up at Adam again. Maybe this was the same thing? She liked him because he seemed different. Kind and gentle, sensitive and caring. It didn’t hurt that he looked lovely and had an amazing body. Memories of their afternoon in bed slid over her mind. Making love with Adam was something to treasure. She shook her head. In twenty-four hours they would be flying to different countries and might never see each other again. Then she’d only have memories to treasure.
Adam waved at the buildings lining the waterfront. “That’s where all tourists go.” He liked the way Geneviève wound her arm around his to hold his hand, her other hand resting gently on his arm, bodies touching her head on his sleeve.
“We’ll be tourists then,” said Geneviève and they waited for the lights to change.
They crossed the road. It seemed harder to walk so close together when they had to hurry so he let her hand go. When they got to the side of the road she gave a skip up onto the pavement. She looked cute in the silver dress and sneakers, nothing like the swept-up version of her he’d seen that first night, just casual and happy, but with a way of moving and speaking that took his breath away.
“What else is different in Tacuarembó?” he asked when he’d caught up to her.
“We have ostriches.”
“Do you breed them?”
“No, they are wild, like your pukekos and the way turkeys breed in some countries.”
“I don’t believe you. Pukekos and turkeys are only this size.” He made a pukeko size shape with his hands. “Ostriches are big.” He took her hand again and they meandered following a pathway that lead to the retail area in the Viaduct.
“Huge.” She lifted her hand above her head.
“Do you eat them?”
She shook her head. A tent market lined one side of the footpath. They walked past coloured sarongs drifting in the sea breeze, a fortune teller, someone selling rocks, a tent full of perfume, another selling hats.
Geneviève plonked the hat on her head and looked back at him. “Should I buy this one?”
“Nah.” That breath taken feeling was there again. He untangled the hat from her hair, put it back on the pile, took her hand again and they wandered past more stalls.
Then Geneviève stopped at the next tent.
“What are they making?” he asked. An Indian man and three young girls threaded beads and tied knots in string, fingers dexterous.
“Love bracelets.” Geneviève ran her fingers through a tray of beads near the front of the stall.
“Do you want one?” he asked. They didn’t look like something she’d wear. By now she had around a dozen beads in her cupped hand, all in shades of brown.
She shook her head. “I want to give you one.”
They didn’t look like something he’d wear either. He didn’t even wear a watch.
“Why?”
“To remember me by.”
He shrugged. Bloody unlikely he’d ever forget her, bracelet or not.
She darted around the other people choosing and sorting beads. Then stopped at a tray that had beads with letters stamped on them. She started choosing the letters of her name. He watched the man behind the stall finish knotting a bracelet in shades of pink, and then tie it around a little girl’s wrist. Her mother paid up and they moved away.
“Your name’s long,” Adam said to Geneviève. “The thing will go around my wrist twice.”
The man gave her a little v shaped holder.
Geneviève lined the beads up in order on it. “Only nine letters.”
“And they don’t have that e with the thing.”
“A grave.” Geneviève carefully placed four plain beads each side of her name. “Don’t you want a bracelet?” She sounded sad.
“Of course, I do,” he lied.
The stall owner reached under the bench for a jar of beads and handed it to Geneviève. “We have e with grave,” he said.
She took the jar with a smile, found the bead she wanted and added it to the others then handed the holder to the owner.
The bracelet got made and paid for and they moved away from the stall then stopped a little further along and Geneviève knotted it to his wrist.
“To remember me,” she said and kissed him. He pushed the bracelet up his wrist a bit, so it wouldn’t get in the way. And as she turned back to look at him the wind blew her hair over her face. And the way she brushed her hair back was pure elegance. He didn’t know how he would cope with saying goodbye tomorrow.
They wandered on. He’d got used to having her around. And he’d got used to making love to her. It’d been tempting just to stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon, but better to come outside and explore the city. It gave them both time to think.
Eventually evening arrived and they were still exploring the waterfront. They’d been to an art auction, explored the fish market. There’d been people everywhere all afternoon.
They watched a passenger ferry loading the people after unloading its cargo. “Where do the ferries go?”
“That one goes to Waiheke I think.”
“What’s Waiheke?”
“An island not far from here.” He leaned against the rail at the edge of the wharf feeling morose. They should have slept longer after they’d made love.
They watched the ferry loading a bit longer. They could just hop on it and disappear. Spend the rest of their lives together and not worry about what anyone else expected. Would she agree to that?
He looked at Geneviève. She’d said she wanted to go home but maybe she’d change her mind if he asked.
“Is it always crowded on the wharf?” asked Geneviève.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been here often.”
She sighed and looked out over the harbour again. “Our farm is a very long way from the sea. That’s another thing that is different here. Everything seems close to the ocean in New Zealand.”
The way her hair blew around her face took his breath away again. And her mouth. A thing of beauty. And what she could do with it. They should have stayed in bed longer.
“I need food,” he said. And they needed to find something fun to do if they were going to stay awake all night.
Geneviève looked around the street. “I am hungry too. Is there somewhere here we can eat?” She pointed to a café on the end of a row of shops. “What about that one?”
They strolled over to the café and settled at a table after ordering fish and chips.
“Mason would never let us have fish and chips.” Geneviève turned in her chair and watched the crowds wandering along the wharf. “He said fish and chips are common.” She turned and smiled at him and he leaned over and brushed her hair off her face.
“You’re so beautiful.” Maybe he’d done this wrong. Maybe instead of fish and chips on the waterfront they should have gone out for dinner properly somewhere nice.
Geneviève smiled at him again, and then looked sad. She reached forward and brushed his hair out of his eyes the way he’d done to her.
“Why couldn’t I have met you first, Adam?” she asked.
It sounded like she didn’t want this to end any more than he did.
“Because I’ve never been to Uruguay?” He could go with her to Uruguay. He could do that then this wouldn’t have to end.
The fish and chips arrived. He watched Geneviève take a chip out of the little basket and nibble on it.
No, he liked being in Stadium even though he felt ove
rshadowed by the talent and confidence of the rest of them. And, why had he given up doing the degree if he wasn’t going to follow through and see if Stadium could take that next step?
“What will we do next?” Geneviève asked.
“Let’s go find a bar.”
Geneviève finished the chip. “A bar?”
“I need a drink to wake me up.”
She leaned over the table and stroked his cheek again. “Poor Adam. Too much love making.” He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. He could taste the salt from the chips.
“We could go back to the hotel,” she suggested.
His cock liked the idea. But they’d have sex and go to sleep and he didn’t want that. Because morning would come, and they’d be all about getting to the airport on time, so she could catch her plane.
He really didn’t want her to leave.
Then it came to him, he could take Geneviève with him to Australia. She could come too. He hadn’t thought of that.
He considered the idea for a moment. Then the words were out before he could stop them.
“Change your booking. Come with me. I don’t want to say goodbye. I love you.”
Geneviève looked at him, astonished. He loved her? He hadn’t even hinted he felt that way. She watched him as he waited for her answer. Did she want to go with Adam instead of going home? She could spend three months with him and get to know him properly. Three months in Queensland where it was warm and no Mason.
“What would the others think?” she asked.
“It’s none of their business.” He held her hand tighter. “Come with me.”
Three months of being with him all day and watching him perform on stage and then sleeping with him. Three months of being looked after and cared for and protected.
And then what?
She might think she loved Adam and he had said he loved her, but a year ago, she did this. Fell hard for someone and jumped straight in. She slowly withdrew her hand and shook her head.
“I can’t.” She stroked his cheek again. “You’re lovely, and I’m sure I could love you, but I need to go home. I need time to think - time to recover. I want to go home.”