“I didn’t, either. It just came to me as I finished the sketch. Apparently, the artist in me is very happy you are here,” I joke, trying to hide my shyness. Confidence has never been an issue for me, except when it comes to my drawings, and now, evidently, my newly found ability to write poetry.
She stares at me for a minute, her freshly awakened appearance so alluring my hands twitch with wanting to touch her. Finally, she speaks. “You are perfect on a level that is intimidating, Ian McAlistair. Are you aware of that?”
“I hope that was an exaggeration. I don’t ever want you to be intimidated by me. Excited out of your mind with anticipation, maybe. But not intimidated.” I reach over and pull her to me, laying her across my lap. “Of course, if I’m being honest, I can say there is a part of me that understands. Sometimes I’m a little intimidated by how much I love you.” I smile at her sweet expression, then laugh at myself. “Look what you’ve done to me, Charlotte. I barely recognize myself.”
“Oh? And who was the pre-lovestruck Ian?” she says playfully.
“Hmm…let’s see, pre-lovestruck Ian was the arrogant, presumptuous bastard that made the mistake of insulting you in the parking lot the day we met.”
I know she can see the look of regret on my face, and with a show of compassion, she says, “I remember that guy. That’s a pretty accurate description of him. He was seriously hot though.” Then she teases my nipple with a light pinch.
“Careful, girl. It doesn’t take much. My cock is always at attention when you’re near.” We both laugh because there’s a lot of truth in that statement. We had to take a few days off because she was getting too sore; my appetite for her is insatiable.
“I’d like to apologize for that and try to explain myself.” Her expression says I don’t have to, but it still weighs heavily on me. Pausing to gather my thoughts, I get straight to the point. “I thrive on control. I always have. And as we discussed, controlling your pleasure sexually is where I derive pleasure.”
She gives me a slightly impatient look, apparently wanting to hear something she doesn’t already know. Smiling, she interjects with, “You’re a Dominant. I get it.”
I chuckle, wondering what her definition is. “Actually…I’m dominant, not a Dominant. Yes…I prefer to be in control when it comes to sex, and I’m not opposed to using toys every now and again, and I’m definitely not opposed to administering various forms of sensual punishment, but I’m not into controlling everything you do or putting you in situations that push your limits when it comes to pain. And I am really not into the kinky shit some people get into. To each his own, but I find a lot of that to be creepy, and it takes away from the beauty of what can be shared during physical passion.”
She traces her finger around my chest. “Soooo…I don’t have to worry about you showing up holding a whip, wearing painted-on black leather pants with chains crisscrossing your chest while you strap me to a wall and put a ball-gag in my mouth?” She’s trying not to laugh.
My tone is serious as I respond, “Ah…no. However, there will be retribution for putting that freakish image in my head. It will be in the form of you replacing it with something real and mind-blowing…on the boat, perhaps,” I clarify, giving her a suggestive look.
“That sounds fun,” she says playfully then she kisses me.
“You can count on it,” I respond with a little nip. “Now, back to what I was saying,” smiling at her humor. “I am dominant in the bedroom, which means you will never be unsatisfied, but I also expect honesty between us. It’s very important to me. Trust is everything. I don’t see how you can have a healthy relationship without it, especially when I’m controlling your pleasure. The day we met and you lied to me about having a boyfriend, I was pissed off and left, yet I had every intention of finding you. But, then you blew me that triumphant, smartass kiss and I was done. In that split second, I just reacted. But, I reacted as if you were already mine.” I pull the sheets down to expose her nipple, giving it a gentle pull, watching it tighten to a hard point as I remember her intense reaction that fateful day. “I had no right to do that. But I swear, when I look back…and I do often…the connection I felt with you was the same as it is right now… That we belong to one another. It doesn’t excuse it, but it’s the truth.”
My eyes are suddenly transfixed on hers and the look of understanding, and maybe a little sorrow, I find there. It’s like a kick in the gut that reminds me of how I almost lost her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” I say in a low voice, looking down to where our hands have come together before reaching up to touch her face, gently following the lines and curves, drowning in the depth of her beautiful eyes. Through the tightness in my chest, I finish. “Thank you for forgiving me.” I stare at her a minute longer.
The tenderness in her eyes is pure compassion that makes my heart expand. “Ian, it’s okay. I appreciate your apology, and you know I accept it. But we’ve moved so far past all that it’s like ancient history. Also, now that I know you, I get it.” She reaches down to play with my fingers. “I understand, and…now that I’m no longer afraid of you, but actually have you wrapped around my little finger”—she’s looking down at our hands now held together, laughing at her own cheekiness—“it’s pretty hot.”
As her eyes look up at mine, a coy innocence accentuating her playfulness, I grab her and pin her down on the bed as her laughing escalates to hysterical. Through it she squeals, “No…no…I’m sorry, I was just being silly!”
I cut her off with a kiss that lasts several minutes. “I’m not disagreeing with the fact that I’m completely wrapped. You accomplished that on day one. It’s the ‘pretty hot’ I’m not on board with. That was well beyond pretty hot… It was off-the-fucking-charts, immeasurably hot and completely messed with my head.”
Her eyes soften as a smile lifts the corner of her mouth. I can’t help but lean down and kiss her there. “Let’s get some breakfast and go out on the boat. I’ve got an idea for your retribution. Don’t think I forgot.” With a quick nip on her neck, I jump off the bed then take a moment to stare at her lying there naked, her tan lines sexy as hell on her browned skin.
“Can I have that for breakfast?” she says, pointing at my erection, jutting proudly toward her. The look of desire in her eyes makes it increasingly harder, almost painful.
“You can have that for brunch.” Grabbing onto her feet, I pull her across the bed to the edge where I quickly spread her legs, lean down and kiss the inside of her thigh, moving toward where she wants it most. She’s moaning out my name, heating my blood and testing my willpower. I give her wet pussy an open-mouth kiss, my tongue diving in to drink up her arousal, leaving her on the edge of climax…exactly where I want her. And then I stand.
“Ian, no…please…I can’t wait,” she says as I walk away to prepare her coffee. At the door, I turn to see her hands moving down to finish the job herself.
“Ah-ahh. No touching. That orgasm is mine. Now get your sexy little ass out here so I can feed you breakfast.” I have to force myself to follow through; the temptation she presents is all-consuming, and I mentally pat myself on the back for showing such discipline.
Unsurprisingly, breakfast goes by quickly, both of us anxious to get out on the water. It’s a beautiful day with a cloudless sky, slight cooling breeze, and calm seas. Thankfully, it’s the time of year that we practically have the whole place to ourselves with only a random boat passing here and there, most likely locals going about their daily routines. It’s perfect—I need privacy for what I have planned today.
The water is like glass as we carve through its flawless surface. I love the feel of it, the full power of the engines enhanced by the boat’s design, totally unencumbered by waves, chop, or wind. Charlotte is sitting next to me, staring off at the view of various islands as we pass. Each cay has its own story and personality, every one charming in its own way.
I often think about the people that settled these islands in the late 1700s and the tremendous challenges the
y overcame. For all its beauty and resources, it was still very isolated. Many of the smaller cays have only recently, in the past few generations, become somewhat modernized. But that’s part of the charm and appeal that stays with you even after you’ve returned home, leaving you with a longing to walk through the narrow streets lined with tropical foliage and brightly colored cottages, to breathe the salt air and swim in the crystal-clear water over white sand. I’ve always had a strange connection to this place. From the first time I visited with a friend, many years ago, there was something about it that seemed familiar, like I was supposed to be here. It was on that trip that I bought my house on the quiet end of one of the smaller cays. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Up ahead I see our destination, a sandbank so massive it would take more than twenty minutes to drift from one side to the other and probably extends a mile from the shore. The huge expanse of white sand covered by turquoise water makes it glow in contrast to the surrounding depths and grassy shoals, like a beacon leading the way. The nearby island is uninhabited, and there isn’t a soul in sight.
Charlotte notices the brightness of the sandbank up ahead and asks, “What is that? It’s so pretty.” She stands up in excitement to get a better look, confirming my suspicion that she will love this place. She’s been combing the beaches for treasures and snorkeling just off shore to see what’s waiting to be washed in. But here, on the sandbank, you have to dive ten to fifteen feet to get anything you may want to take home.
“It’s called Tilloo Bank. It’s basically a giant sandbar covered with water. We can dive for sand dollars, the occasional conch or helmet, and tons of other shells.” I lean over to kiss her smile, “I figured you would like it here.”
“Like it? I love it! I just can’t believe no one else is here. It’s huge, and we have it all to ourselves,” she says, looking around the bank’s expanse as we slow down to find a spot to anchor. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I think about her naked body swimming through the crystal-clear water. The vision has already inspired another drawing.
Setting the boat to idle, I head to the bow to drop the front anchor. The current is not too strong today, otherwise we would have to drift with the boat, and that can be exhausting. The anchor sets easily in the sandy bottom, so I tie off the line and go to cut the engine only to find Charlotte already preparing to get in with her mask and snorkel in hand. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?” I ask.
“I don’t know, maybe I was a mermaid in another life,” she says with a glorious smile. “I just love being in the water, and I feel like a child at Christmas. I’m so excited about what I might find.”
Her laugh echoes under the canopy of the boat as her enthusiasm wraps around me, motivating me to grab my gear and join her, putting my plans aside for now. The water is perfect, slightly cooler than the air, like a swimming pool heated to the ideal temperature. We spend more than a half an hour in this spot, diving down for what seems like every shell within a hundred-foot radius. My little faerie may actually be more of a mermaid. Every single thing she finds is treated like a treasure made of gold.
She is different here, more relaxed, undistracted, and carefree. But mostly she seems so genuinely happy and it’s contagious. I’ve always loved the Abacos, for obvious reasons, but having her here has taken the whole experience to a different level. We’ve been here for five days, and I’m ready to stay another month, maybe two.
Finally ready to dry off, we get out of the water and lie on the bow, letting the sun warm us as the boat gently rocks to the rhythmic sound of tiny waves dancing along the hull. It’s so relaxing we both doze off, but not long after, I wake up and start feeling impatient. Not willing to wait any longer, I sit up, letting the blood get back to my head then move to the bench across from us that’s positioned under the canopy, facing the bow…and Charlotte. After a few minutes of simply taking in her natural beauty, I speak. “Take your bikini off, Charlotte.”
Popping up on her elbows, eyes blinking, she says, “What?”
“You heard me. Take it off.” I give her a slight nudge of my head as I look at the parts of her body I want uncovered. She smiles nervously and looks around, instinctively worried someone might see her. But no one will, I wouldn’t let that happen.
“Ooookay. Is this where my retribution begins?”
“Yes,” I respond matter-of-factly.
“Should I be nervous?”
“No. But I’m sure you will be, anyway.” I raise a brow. “Off.”
And she obeys. Lying there, naked and glorious, her damp hair naturally messy around her face that is free of any enhancement, her dark nipples hardened from the sudden exposure to the slight breeze, her perfectly smooth pussy so pale against her tanned stomach and legs…it’s a magnificent scene. There isn’t one thing I would change about her. Her body is muscular and athletic but soft and curved at the same time.
“You have no idea how amazing you look right now, do you?”
She puckers her lips, playing along with what is suddenly turning into self-torture as my unexposed cock jumps with a quick rush of blood. It will be a bloody miracle if I make it through this to completion. “How often do you masturbate, Charlotte? That is…before you met me,” I ask, giving her a knowing smirk.
Surprised, she fumbles for the right words. “Umm…I don’t…know.” She ends with a shy—if not embarrassed—laugh.
“Do you know how to make yourself cum?” I ask, “I can walk you through if you don’t,” I reassure her with a devilish smile.
The challenge I presented appears to have worked. She knows what I want, and it turns her on. I can see it on her face and the way her body relaxed, one leg shifting outward…just slightly. “Yes…I know how to make myself cum. Is that what you want me to do, Ian?” Bringing her fingers up to her mouth, she wets them, her tongue coming out to tease me, then slowly she brings them down to slide between her bare lips. Those gorgeous legs are now spread, exposing her fully. Goddamn, she is stunning! Her finger rubs gentle circles around her clit as her head falls back and her eyes close, the sun shining directly above her. Hard shadows contrast against the light’s reflection, following the curves and lines and details of her form, creating something that is both fantastically real and abstract all at once. I let the image burn itself into my mind so I can retrieve it…frequently. A sound escapes her as she lies back completely onto the bow, her other hand reaching up to tease a tender nipple.
I stay quiet and continue to watch her, knowing the pleasure is heightened by my role as voyeur. The proof is there, wet and glistening, making my mouth water. “You’re already wet, Charlotte. Reach down. I want to watch you spread it around that gorgeous pussy.”
Without hesitation she does my bidding, sliding her fingers down, coating them with her essence. A moan escapes as her back arches, legs spreading farther apart. She wasn’t lying when she said she knows how to make herself cum, and imagining her by herself, doing what she’s doing right now, has pushed my erection to its maximum. No longer able to keep it contained, I remove my board shorts, take my rock-hard cock in hand, and rub my thumb across the tip where it’s slippery and anxious for what it craves. I’m ready to explode and could walk over to her right now, and with a few strokes, mark her flat stomach with the intense orgasm that’s waiting to be released. But I won’t. I want to cum inside her because there is nothing that compares to that particular ecstasy.
“Now put your fingers in your mouth. Act like it’s my cock…like you want to make me cum.”
“Ian, I want you. Please…come here.” She’s thrusting against her hand now, and I’m ready to give in.
“Fingers in your mouth, Charlotte… Now you can watch me while you do it.”
She turns her head, eyes glazed with wanting, and slowly brings her wet fingers up to her mouth, licking from the base then taking two of them deep, sucking hard. She’s watching my hand intently as it moves up and down my shaft, shiny and bulging as it begs for her.
She squeezes her legs together, trying to create pressure where she needs it most. “Do you like that…watching me pleasure myself? Imagining it’s your mouth taking me deep, tasting my cum as it spills across your tongue.” I’m thrusting into my hand now, tightly cupping my balls with the other. She whimpers as she nods, bringing her fingers out to run her tongue along the tip. Goddammit! “Spread your legs and put your fingers in your pussy.” I can hear the edge in my voice; I need to cum.
“Ian. My God, I have to have you inside me. Please…” Her breathing is heavy as she starts to fuck herself, the wet sound of her fingers moving in and out in rhythm with my own hard strokes. She has to cum soon or I will never last.
“Bring your other hand down and put pressure on your clit.”
She does, and by the hitch in her breathing and the familiar moans escaping her, I can tell she’s close. I walk over to her, out from underneath the canopy and into the sunlight. “Look at my cock. Look at how hard I am for you. Look what you do to me.” I’m stroking harder now, the head wet, making her lips part with wanting. “Harder, Charlotte.” Three seconds later she’s writhing through her orgasm, legs twitching then squeezing together as she looks for more. This isn’t enough. She’s already programmed to only find full satisfaction through me…and it’s completely blowing my mind.
Giving her less than ten seconds more to ride through her pleasure, I demand through gritted teeth, “Roll over and put your ass in the air.”
Her movements are weak as her orgasm hasn’t fully subsided. I help her get in position. Standing back to admire her, spread open, beautifully exposed, enticingly wet. On instinct, I reach down to coat my own fingers, spreading it across her ass cheek. “What do you want me to do, Charlotte? Tell me what you need.”
“Please…Ian. Do it.”
“Say it. Tell me what you want.”
The Essence of Fate Page 23