We glance up to see Marcel at the side of the boat, averting his eyes. He says something to Olivier in French and then leaves to go back below deck.
Olivier nods and looks at me, giving me a lazy grin as he pushes the wet hair off my face. “We should go back now,” he says to me. “Come on.”
We swim to the back of the boat, and Olivier gets out first, and again he’s not hiding anything, but this time I’m taking it all in like the secret pervert that I am.
The man is stunning.
And he’s hung like a horse.
A French horse. Much more of an elegant-looking dick, not just large and in charge.
I can tell I’m already blushing, and I’m glad it’s dark outside.
Once he’s climbed on board, I do the same, ever so aware of my bare breasts, but, luckily, he throws me a towel so I can cover myself up before he helps me up onto the rest of the yacht.
“Let’s get dressed,” he says, grabbing our clothes, and I follow him down to the cockpit, where Marcel and the cook continue to pretend like we’re not there.
I change back into my dress in one of the cabins, smiling to myself the whole time.
It happened.
He kissed me.
And the best is yet to come.
It’s not going to end there in that moonlit water.
We’re just starting.
The boat ride back to the dock goes by both quickly and slowly. Slowly, because I can’t wait for us to be alone again in my room. Quickly, because I’m nervous. I’m afraid. Even though we were just naked in the sea with each other, this is Olivier, and this is the first person I will have slept with since Tom. Tom, who was familiar and safe and predictable.
With Olivier, I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how it’s going to make me feel. I don’t know if I’ll be rendered too vulnerable or if it will change things between us, making it harder for me to leave.
But who am I kidding? It’s already going to be impossible.
We get off the boat, and Olivier is my crutch and guide as he leads me back to the room. My nerves are tap-dancing up and down my spine, and I feel like I’m so alive, so in tune with the air and the sky and the stars that anything is possible, and anything can happen.
“We should take a shower,” he says, once we’ve stepped inside and he’s closed the door behind us.
I raise my brows. I do need to rinse off that salty Mediterranean water before I go to bed tonight, but I’m not sure if this is an invitation or . . .
“Get naked and get in,” he says, jerking his head to the bathroom. “S’il vous plaît.”
I gulp. Okay. It’s an invitation.
I walk past him to the bathroom, waiting until I’m inside to start stripping.
He follows, undoing his pants, his shirt—everything coming off until he’s completely naked.
Again, I’m breathless. Speechless. The sight of him in all his nude glory with that perfect dick between his legs is scrambling my brain.
“Do you need help?” he asks, leaning past me to open the glass shower doors and get the water running.
“I can manage,” I tell him, pulling off my dress, now completely naked.
Olivier’s lustful eyes drink me in, from my lips all the way to my toes, and for once I don’t feel so bashful anymore. I just feel powerful. Like I’m all woman. He makes me feel like I’m the most desired woman on earth.
“I still have no words,” he murmurs as he kisses me, then takes my hand and pulls me into the shower, the hot stream of water running all over us.
He pours body wash into a sponge and then proceeds to soap me up all over, taking his time as he goes over my breasts, taking it between my legs.
I feel like a ticking time bomb, and the shower steam and heat are only making me feel hotter. I don’t want just this soft teasing, I want him.
I want all of him.
I reach down and boldly grab his dick, making a fist over its firm, stiff length, and then moving my fist up and down.
He gasps, eyes rolling back as he drops the sponge.
I work him faster and faster, the suds creating a slick lube, and then when he sounds like he’s about to lose it, he opens his eyes and grabs my face, kissing me deep and hard and desperately.
We’re making out in a flurry of lips and teeth and tongue as we spin out of the shower and washroom, bumping into counters and walls, and I know it’ll be a miracle if we even make it to the bed. Somehow, Olivier manages to lift me up in the air and then carry me over, practically throwing me on it, so I land on my back, my breasts bouncing freely.
I stare up at him, my lips throbbing from where he ravaged me, and then watch as he strides over to the bedside table and pulls out a condom. I’m not sure if there’s always a stack of them in there as courtesy to guests or if he’d put them there, but, either way, I’m not complaining. I am on the pill, but I like to be safe rather than sorry, and with him taking charge like this, it nips that talk in the bud.
I don’t want to talk right now.
All I want is him inside me; I’m practically aching for him.
He can tell, too, because his eyes are focused on my pussy as he slides the condom on.
“Spread your legs wider,” he says in a rough voice, the kind of tone that gives you goose bumps. “Let me see what your pretty little pussy looks like.”
I gulp and then do as he asks.
His expression turns even more lustful, as if that’s possible, his lids becoming heavy, his nostrils flaring.
He’s going to devour me, I think to myself.
Good.
I spread my legs wider, and then before I know what I’m doing, I’m playing with myself, running my fingers over my swollen, slick clit in a teasing manner, watching what this is doing to him.
Then he growls like a beast unleashed, and he’s grabbing my hips and slamming his cock into me.
My lungs empty, and I cry out in pain and pleasure and surprise.
“No more teasing,” he says through a grunt, and then his grip grows tighter, and he starts to pound into me, relentless.
I can barely breathe; my heart feels like it’s skipping its way out of my chest.
I manage to keep my fingers moving, the pleasure building up higher and higher as his cock sinks in deeper, and soon the pain and shock are pushed to the side.
Now all I feel is him and his desperate feral drive.
He pulls my hips up higher until my legs are around his back and then keeps up the pace.
My head rolls to the side, staring at the doors to the balcony. I can vaguely see our reflection: his tall, lean, and muscular body standing at the foot of the bed, my hips jerked up high as he thrusts into me, my breasts jostling with each quick pump of his hips.
It’s so fucking erotic, I can barely believe it’s happening.
It looks like a porno, just how wild and—
Wait a minute.
It almost looks like there’s someone else in the room with us.
There’s another face, staring back at me.
I look to the opposite side of the bed, but there’s no one there.
Then I look back to the window.
I still see the reflection, I swear, a man out there watching us . . .
Olivier’s pumping slows.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I glance up at him with wide eyes. “Did you see . . . ?”
I look back to the window, but this time the reflection is gone.
He looks, too, and frowns, then lets go of one hip to wipe the sweat off his brow. “See what?” he asks, breathless.
I shake my head. I’m all over the place. “Nothing.”
“How about we change things,” he says, slowly pulling out. “Flip over.”
I give a furtive glance to the window again, and then when I still see nothing, I turn over so that I’m on all fours, my back to him. At least this way I don’t have to stare out the window and freak myself out for no reason.
Not that the idea of being watched while having sex is that freaky.
That’s something the old Sadie would never admit to.
He places his hand on my shoulder blades and pushes me down gently into the mattress. I’m basically flattened against the bed, my ass high in the air. He starts to push inside me, and I grab hold of the sheets, holding on tight. Even though I’m wet as sin and greedy for his cock, the size of him takes my breath away, and I have to remind myself to breathe through it, letting him in farther and farther as my ass gets higher and higher.
He adjusts his angle behind me and then pushes himself in to the hilt, and I feel myself expand around his thickness, his dick dragging over every desperate nerve inside me.
An aching groan falls from my mouth.
“Ma chérie,” he says hoarsely, “you will unravel me with your sounds.”
God, please. I want him to unravel.
But, even as I think that, I know he wants me to unravel first.
He starts pounding me faster and faster, the bed slamming against the wall. I swear it might even be moving a few inches to the right.
I gasp, gripping the sheets harder, my hands sweaty. I can barely hold on, even with my cheek pressed into the mattress. I’m so full of him inside me, and he keeps hitting the right spot over and over again, so that nothing else matters to me now except coming fast and coming hard.
“You like this?” he whispers.
I can only nod and make needy little sounds.
I swear I can hear him grin.
He thrusts into me, his hips circling quickly, and the feeling inside me grows and builds and tightens until I feel like I might pass out. Our skin slaps loudly against each other, the sound echoing around the room, turning me on even more.
With one smooth movement, he pulls my hips up higher, angling himself down in a long, powerful thrust and he’s hitting my G-spot at a hot, perfect pace.
Sweet Jesus.
I think I’m about to see stars.
Then all the tension snaps, a slingshot pulled back until there’s nowhere else to go, and then—
I’m gone.
I cry out, flying through space at the speed of sound, my body quaking and quivering and shaking with a wild mind of its own. It’s like I cease to exist, and the orgasm is the only thing left, the only thing that matters in this galaxy.
“Olivier,” I manage to say, slowly remembering where I am and what blissful thing is happening.
Olivier moans as I pulse around him, and his pace quickens. He’s driving himself inside me, so hard and thorough and punishing that I’m not sure if he’s ever going to stop or if he’s trying to break me in two. And I’m still riding my orgasm, each brutal thrust keeping me going on the wave, like I’ll keep coming for as long as he’s in deep. I’m up so high, high, high, and I can’t come down, even if I tried.
Then he’s coming, letting out hoarse grunts that fill me with both desire and a strange sense of pride, and I can feel the sweat dripping off him and onto my back, hear his ragged and frantic breath.
Finally, he pulls out and collapses beside me on the bed, just as I let my hips drop. My body is still shaking from the orgasm and the strain; my brain is still trying to make sense of this beautiful new world, and my heart has yet to return to my chest.
After a few moments, he reaches out and runs his hands over my body, smearing the sweat around. “We’re dirty again,” he murmurs, placing a hot, wet kiss on my lips. “I think we’re going to need another shower. We might need a lot of showers tonight.”
I watch as he pulls his condom off, and I smile. “I think we’re going to need a lot of condoms too.”
He grins. “Good thing you’re dealing with a man who deals in excess,” he says. “Also, good thing you’re with a man who’s only getting started.”
My heart leaps at that, my body coming back to life even though the previous waves and buzz never quite left me.
He’s only getting started. We’re only getting started.
This man.
And me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIER
I wake up before she does.
To be fair, I barely slept at all. Neither of us did, not when I was taking my time screwing her senseless throughout the midnight hours, but even when she finally dozed off, exhausted and satisfied, my eyes stayed open and my brain kept racing.
I have to say, it was the most peculiar feeling. For the first time in a long time, I stopped thinking about work as an asset. I started thinking about work as a hindrance in my life. If it wasn’t for work, I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her.
But that was all assuming she wouldn’t want to say goodbye. It’s why I took my time with Sadie—I couldn’t quite figure out the type of girl she is. One moment she’s shy, the next she’s bold, another minute she’s an open book, the next she’s clamped shut. She both eagerly takes in all the riches and experiences, and then shuns them with her next breath.
I still don’t have a handle on her character. All I know is that I trust her for some reason, maybe just for this short while, maybe for something longer than that. I don’t know. The most beguiling thing is that I want there to be more than what there is. Yet the chances of her feeling the same, feeling it enough to stay, are slim.
She groans, letting out a breathless little sigh before she rolls over.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she opens her eyes and glances at me through the long strands of hair across her face.
I can’t help but smile at her like this. So innocent and wicked, naked and disheveled. I reach across and brush the hair off her face so I can stare into her endless blue eyes.
“Bon matin, mon lapin,” I say, knowing I’m being cheesy as fuck, but hoping the fact that I’m speaking French will make up for it.
She bursts into giggles, and I know that she’s called me out on it. “Really? First thing in the morning with the lines?”
I quickly run my hand down the smooth, soft skin of her back and pull her toward me. “I’ll have you know, it’s not so easy to rhyme first thing in the morning,” I tell her, leaning down to place a kiss at the crook of her neck.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, slipping her hand down the side of my waist and over my hip. “Maybe you should stick to things you’re better at.”
Well, well, well. I like this. I like that it’s the morning after, and all formalities and awkwardness have dissolved, and we seem to know each other on another level.
Or maybe there are many levels yet to be discovered.
Maybe each level is right in our hands.
I nip at her skin, feeling her squirm beneath me, hearing her gasp and moan.
“You know I’ll be dreaming of those sounds for years to come,” I tell her, running my tongue up the side of her neck. “You’ve got the mouth of every wet, hot fantasy, unleashed.”
“You flatter me,” she says, acting every bit the minx.
“Just you wait,” I warn her.
Last night was not enough.
I don’t think it will ever be enough.
I straddle her, my thighs on either side of her hips, and reach down to ever so slowly leave soft kisses behind. She tastes sweeter than champagne, and I run my tongue over her skin, feeling it perk up under my touch.
I move back a few inches so I can kiss and lick all the way to her stomach, and her nipples harden, exposed to my hungry eyes. I immediately dip my head and lick them gently until she groans, arching her back. She is so perfect—the feel of her, the shape, the way her body responds to my every move.
Why can’t I have this for more than a few days?
I clench my eyes shut and will it away. I can’t think like this, not now. We just got together; it’s too soon to think about how it could end.
Sadie runs her fingers through my hair teasingly, and I momentarily close my eyes at her touch, loving the way this feels.
The tenderness.
When was the last time I felt tenderness?
Such an u
nderrated thing, such an important part of life.
And with a tenderness that I know will grow to fire and flames, I kiss her breasts from the soft outer swell to the nipple and back again, my tongue flicking them like I’m trying to lap up the rest of the richest cream.
But soon that tenderness from earlier starts to grow rough and impatient. Her nails are digging into my scalp, and she’s getting restless, and I know she wants nothing more than my tongue or my cock between her legs, to have me inside her, bringing her relief.
She has to learn patience first.
I continue to work at her breasts, licking a warm path up the swollen corners toward the middle. I gently nip at her, bringing sharp bursts of pain with the soothing stroke of my tongue, alternating the two until she begins squirming beneath me, her face contorted with that anguished need for more.
“Olivier,” Sadie groans softly, her fingers grasping my hair tighter and tighter, “come inside me. S’il vous plaît.”
I grin. I appreciate her attempt at French, but I’m in no hurry this morning.
“Relax, mon lapin,” I tell her, my voice thick. “I will make it worth your while.”
She sighs with a mix of pleasure and frustration and sinks farther back into the bed. I take my mouth and place it flush over the hard peaks of her nipples, sucking them gently and working them with my tongue. I lap and flick, my attention completely on her, trying to make her eyes roll back, her thighs shudder.
“Olivier, please,” she gasps, licking her lips.
But I persist. Her breathing deepens, then sharpens, hot and heavy pants that inflame my own desire. I give and give until she’s writhing beneath me and yanking my hair with all her strength. I squeeze her breasts, bite her nipples, and it’s almost enough to make her come.
I quickly slip my hand between her legs, swiping along her slick clit. That one touch is enough to cause her to let go. Her body starts to quake uncontrollably, and breathless words come from her open, yearning mouth, wild and animalistic.
Such a perfect mouth.
Then her tremors slow, and her body relaxes into the mattress.
“Oh my God,” she says, her head rolling back and forth, her wide eyes staring at the ceiling.
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