Then he’s back at it, massaging me like it’s his job, working my body into a pool of lust with every inch of my skin hypersensitized.
I part my thighs a little, trying to show him what I want, and he likes that. He smooths his hands so they flatten on my thighs and then he spreads them more. My bikini bottoms sit askew and I’m slightly bared for him. He moves down the table so he’s in line with my hips and then he reaches between my thighs and pushes his fingers beneath the material, gently feeling me for the first time.
My eyes close as he slides his fingers up and down. They’re slick with oil and me and it’s so easy for him to guide his middle finger inside me, to stretch me as I lie dutifully on that table for him.
He hisses under his breath, apparently enjoying how I feel. He works his finger in and out slowly, and when I peer at him with half-closed lids, I find his gaze between my thighs, watching his fingers as they pump into me.
He pulls out and sweeps his fingers a little higher. I’m so sensitive, it’s almost too much, but he does it again. Again. Again. And I’m coming so quickly, so suddenly, I reach out to hold his forearm as a way to keep myself from slipping off the table completely.
With a satisfied groan, he watches me come apart for him, and then the instant I’m done, he tugs me down to the edge of the table so I’m perfectly positioned for him as he yanks his boxer briefs down his legs.
He has a condom. I wonder if he got it while I was in my room earlier, but I don’t care to ask. It’s a miracle. I stare down between my legs, taking in his size as he rolls it on. He pumps his hand over his length slowly, his eyes catching mine. There’s a question there and I nod, over and over, letting him know I’m right there with him, wanting this so badly I could scream.
I do. When he brushes my bikini bottoms aside and thrusts into me, I release a throaty moan. I’m immediately overpowered by him, by his size, by his thrusts, by his domineering presence at the edge of the table. He has the advantage and he uses it, gripping my thighs and parting them as he pumps into me. He’s thick and unrelenting. My mouth drops open, but no sound seeps out.
What would I say?
More?
I can’t take more.
Stop?
Never.
“Lindsey,” he moans, reaching out to cup one of my breasts, using it to stabilize himself as he presses into me.
I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. I know I’m going to carry marks from this. Later, I’ll have evidence of our lovemaking written all over me.
His other hand slips between my legs again, swirling and tempting me toward a second orgasm. I’m staving it off, trying hard to stay with him, but then I have no choice. His fingers work their magic and I’m coming again, squeezing around him, listening as he breaks apart with me, pumping everything he has inside me.
It feels like the most wonderfully passionate moment I’ve ever shared with another person, like my nerves are all exposed for him on that table. He could touch any part of me he wanted right now. I’m not a person; I’m a puddle.
He leans over and kisses my neck, my cheek, my hair.
He whispers French words into my ear while he gathers me up in his arms and carries me to his bathroom. I don’t understand a word he says, but maybe I’m not meant to. He’s saying too much, too fast.
We shower together, taking our time as we soap off the massage oil. I touch him in ways I’ve always imagined I would. He’s still hard, but he winces when I wrap my hand around his length. I know he’s overly sensitive, but then so was I. He didn’t go easy on me, so I don’t go easy on him. I drop down to my knees on the cold tile floor as he blocks the stream from pouring down onto me. I wrap my mouth around him and suck until he’s first begging me to stop, and then he’s begging me not to stop.
We’re lost to each other again in that bathroom, and then in his bed.
We don’t make it out of his bedroom the rest of the night.
On the door of the villa hangs a sign: Do not disturb.
And no one does.
Nine
I wake the next morning with an ache between my legs.
That’s never happened to me before. I’ve never had sex so many times I’m physically exhausted from it.
I smile and roll over, peeling my eyes open.
Noah sits in a chair by the terrace window, sipping coffee.