The sound of the ocean reaches me clearly as I step toward them, ready to take a crazy chance. I feel like the ocean sound is deep within my head: a rushing, roaring noise that threatens to overtake me. But with a little bit of courage, I know I can do this.
Gently at first, I let my palms slip across the velvety shafts of their cocks. I take them each in one hand, gripping lightly at the base, then stroking them both at the same time. Cal moans immediately, curling his toes against the carpet. Irving takes a sharp breath, glancing at his brother before allowing the sensation to overtake him.
“You feel so good,” I whisper to both of them. “This feels amazing.”
Slowly I begin to stroke them, rolling my wrists as I maneuver my hands from the bases to the tips. In moments, they are stiff and veiny, their hips bucking against the piston action of my hands.
“Opal,” Irving sighs breathlessly as he begins to really give in.
He digs his fingers through the back of my hair, pulling my mouth toward his. I can taste the lust on his tongue, the surge of pheromones as he nears release.
Cal draws closer to me too, his fingers trailing over my belly. He angles his cock against my flank as I jerk him off, and slides his hand down until it reaches the top of my mound. I am swollen, pulsing with desire, and when his fingers slide against my furrow, I can’t help but moan into Irving’s open mouth.
More hands cup my breasts as Irving kisses me senseless. My body shudders with the strain of keeping sane while every cell begins its relentless climb toward release. I want nothing more than to come with them. For us all to come together, unified by our shameless, urgent needs.
I can feel their cocks changing in my hands. They become harder, thicker. Every second draws us all nearer to the inevitable explosion.
When it hits me, it is like a bomb going off. Fireworks go off behind my eyes and I hear myself half moaning, half screaming under a confusing barrage of sensations. Vaguely I know that Cal is coming, or Irving, or both. Or all of us. I feel us crumple to the floor together, each angling to wring that last bit of pleasure from this extraordinary, devastating moment.
When I finally come to my senses again, I realize that I am holding someone’s hand. Someone has my hand, wrapped in his bigger, stronger hand. Legs are thrown over my hips, feet cover my feet. We lie in a pile in the middle of the floor, satisfied and drowsy.
I watch Irving’s face for a long time until he finally opens his eyes to look at me. His gaze searches mine, and I almost hold my breath, waiting to see what happens next. Slowly he raises a hand and cups my cheek, stroking my cheekbone with the ridge of his thumb. He pulls me closer and kisses me sweetly, then smiles inscrutably.
“Something funny?” I ask him softly.
“Somehow…” he begins with a smirk. “I suppose I always knew you would taste like chocolate.”
Chapter 15
CAL
The island is twelve and a half miles in circumference. I can run the whole thing on the beaches, sticking to the wet edge of the sand, where it is hard and easy to run.
Today, I feel like I could do the whole thing in an hour. My heart is a machine in my chest, pumping vigorously. My muscles feel like they are made of steel bands. My bones are graphite rods.
I feel brand-new. I feel alive in a way that I haven’t felt in… It’s impossible to remember.
As I run, my future vision of the island plays in my mind like a movie. These images calm me. Giorgio worked up the 3-D sketches just for the investors, but what is in my mind is even clearer.
The marina, the docks, the low, interlocking structures. The nine-hole golf course. The swimming pools. The fortress-like resort. It will be beautiful, it will be elegant, and it will happen.
I am almost certain.
But that is not what is driving me this morning. It is something more primal than that. Something simpler.
I just realized I don’t even know her last name. But Opal… What a beautiful name.
And how perfect for her. Simple, understated. Yet with a fiery flash that you can only see under certain light. She has illuminated so much already. I am reminded of the collection of opals our father was given from our Australian mining holdings. They were among the most precious things in his collection.
Long ago, I might’ve known someone like her. Maybe. Her name was Tara. She was the daughter of the French diplomats. We met her during the Cannes Film Festival. Our parents had funded a small documentary about winemaking in California. She had starred in a groundbreaking, first-person narrative covering a specific battle during World War II. I don’t remember the details. History has never been a subject I found much mastery in.
But we found a good deal to learn about Tara. Sneaking out of one of the premiers, Irving and I found ourselves on a twisting side street, probably no more than an alley. The streets of Cannes tend to double back on themselves, and this one seemed to vanish in front of us. It was like something out of a fun house. But when we turned around, there she was, smirking in a doorway with her ankles crossed and a challenging stare on her delicate, freckled features.
She accused us of getting lost. We denied it, though it was clear to all of us that we were very much lost. After a few minutes of razor-sharp teasing, Tara dropped the attitude and offered to show us the way back to our hotel. Gratefully, we agreed.
But we didn’t make it back to the hotel for several hours. Instead, we meandered all around Cannes, checking out shops, generally pretending to be much more mature than we were at the time. The three of us found ourselves holding hands as we walked along the waterfront, defiantly ignoring the curious and strange looks from people who walked past us.
It was so effortless to be around her, we didn’t even need to discuss it. We instantly knew this was an ideal situation. It was beyond words.