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She gasped as he continued to rinse her from behind, the jetted spray caressing the backs of her thighs and then between. He’d angled the showerhead so that the tingling spray struck her sensitive folds and the small peaked nub at the top of her inner lips.
She clutched at his arm, torn between pleasure and shame.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, his voice passion-rough.
“No.” She blushed. “I’m just … shy.”
“Close your eyes then.”
She was beginning to pant at the erotic beating of water on her tender skin. “Is this right?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me giving you pleasure,” he said, gently widening her legs with his knee and bringing the showerhead closer to her. “You’re mine now and I want you to feel good.”
Her legs quivered beneath her, and she clung to Wolf’s arm, her hand wrapped around his tight bicep as the warm water teased her, tormented her, bringing her closer to another orgasm.
“Wolf,” she choked out, the heat inside her building, rising. “I don’t want … I can’t … come—”
“Don’t worry, love. You can come. You won’t be alone.”
And, opening her eyes, she looked down. While he was pleasuring her with the showerhead in his right hand, he was stroking himself with his left.
Pulse racing, senses enflamed, she felt the warm water caress her even as she watched Wolf stroke his erection.
His shaft was huge, hard, the head a perfect smooth cap tinged with pink, and as his hand rode the length, she felt overcome not by shyness but wonder. He was beautiful, the way he was made was beautiful, and as he stroked himself, the muscles in his abdomen knotted and his bicep clenched.
She heard him groan, a deep, guttural groan, and it was primitive and raw and the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
He was close to coming, and that’s when Alexandra stopped fighting her orgasm, opening her legs just a little wider, rocking forward on her toes so the water pressure was right where she wanted it most. And then she was there, a gasp, a muffled cry, and then with a louder cry she climaxed with him.
A few minutes later, dry and wrapped in the hotel’s plush robe, a rosy-cheeked Alexandra joined Wolf in raiding the cottage’s stocked refrigerator.
Famished, they sampled the platter of cheese and crackers, then Wolf fed Alexandra bites of chocolate-covered strawberries between fizzy sips of delicate gold champagne.
Finally they found their way into the bedroom and, with robes discarded, lay close together beneath the fluffiest feather duvet Alexandra had ever encountered.
The wedding had been terrifying. The reception overwhelming. And the lovemaking mind-blowing.
She smiled into the crook of her arm and blushed remembering everything she and Wolf had just done.
My God, he did it for her. In every way. And finally, finally all the questions about sex had been answered and her curiosity put to rest.
Making love with Wolf was better than anything she’d ever imagined, and waiting to make love with him was worth all the sleepless nights, the impossible fantasies, the sharp, relentless craving she’d felt when he touched her, kissed her, aroused the dormant fire in her.
Snuggling close to him, she felt his arm wrap more snugly around her and pull her back until her bottom rested against his hips and his hand covered her breast. Even though she was exhausted, she felt a flare of heat all over again, desire licking at her, through her, tightening her nipples until they pebbled beneath Wolf’s hand.
He laughed softly behind her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “Go to sleep,” he said, his voice vibrating through her, low, husky, sexy. Amused. “Or you’ll be too sore to enjoy it again tomorrow.”
They did make love again in the morning, a slow, sensual coming together that made Alexandra feel utterly fulfilled and extremely lazy. But the warm, languid mood evaporated as soon as Wolf told her the plans for the rest of the day.
“We’re leaving for Africa this afternoon?” She rolled away and sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest. “On the first day of our honeymoon?”
“You knew we were going—”
“I knew you were going.” She sat back, wrapped the covers around her, leaving Wolf naked. But that was fine—he didn’t have a modest bone in his body. “And I didn’t think you were going until tomorrow.”
He shrugged and left the bed. “There must have been some miscommunication.”
She sat there watching as he headed for the shower. “Wolf.”
He reached into the glass shower, turned the handles, adjusted the water’s temperature. “You’ve known all along I’m going on location,” he said before climbing in.
That was one way of ending a discussion, she thought irritably, waiting for him to finish. And when she heard the water turn off, she was at the shower door, waiting for him to step out.
“Yes, I know you need to go away,” she said, resuming the discussion where they’d left off, “but we never discussed me going with you.”
He rubbed the white towel over his wet hair and face before mopping his chest and wrapping the towel snugly around his lean hips. “If you weren’t joining me, Alexandra, why did we have you apply for a passport?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged and reached for his shave cream and razor. “Hop into the shower. It’s a British Airways flight this afternoon. We can’t be late.”
One second they were still on the runway in Los Angeles and the next they were off.
Zambia. Africa.
Alex curled her fingers into her palm, hiding the sudden tremor in her veins. She knew Wolf’s next picture—an adaptation of the novel The Burning Shore—was to be filmed there, but she’d never been to Africa, had never been to Europe. And except for trips into neighboring Canada with her family when she was a little girl, she’d never been out of the United States.
It was a long flight but comfortable, as they were flying first class on British Airways and everyone on board, from the captain to the purser to the newest wide-eyed flight attendant, personally welcomed Wolf on board.
After the five-course dinner, the wide leather seats actually turned into flat, surprisingly comfortable beds.
Alexandra woke to breakfast, coffee and news that they’d be landing in a little over two hours.
But by the time they arrived in Lusaka, Zambia’s biggest city as well as airport, Alexandra was ready to stretch her legs and move around.
Unfortunately their journey wasn’t over yet, as the plane that had been chartered to ferry Wolf and Alexandra to the set wasn’t at the airport. Wolf made a few calls and put the alternatives before Alexandra: they could either overnight in Lusaka and hope the plane would be available tomorrow or hire one of the safari services to drive them to the lodge in Kafue National Park.
Alexandra opted for hiring a driver. It was only a four hour drive and she’d had enough flying for one day.
She’d seen plenty of Land Rovers in Los Angeles—the celebrity crowd liked driving them—but as their cases were transferred into the roofless four-by-four vehicle, she realized that Land Rovers in Africa were actually utilitarian jeeps.
The driver, a safari guide who’d once been a poacher before serving time behind bars, was now an ardent conservationist and eager to share his love for Zambia’s country and culture.
Kafue, he told them, was Zambia’s oldest park and the
largest. Established in 1950, it was the second largest national park in the world and about the size of Wales.
Their lodge and encampment was situated on the banks of the Kafue River in the Namwala West area.
The farther they traveled from Lusaka and the highway, the more primitive conditions got, with the road sometimes disappearing for miles at a time. Alexandra clung to a handrail on the side of the Land Rover as the blue-gray vehicle bumped and shuddered over the grassy, rocky and pothole-scarred terrain.
Some of the bumps were small and others were bone-jarring. As a small airplane flew overhead, Alexandra glanced up, wishing now they’d maybe waited for the charter flight. That had to be easier on the joints than this.
By late afternoon they were traveling through the brachystegia woodland broken by fantastically shaped kopjes. The scenery was spectacular, the colors of the landscape every shade of green and gold. They passed enormous herds of impala and hartebeest and then later a herd of puku grazing with zebra while a lone puku buck stood off to the side, head up, alert, on guard to protect the others.
“Are there big game animals here?” Alexandra asked as flocks of colorful birds lifted from a nearby tree.
“Lions, leopards, cheetahs, elephants,” he counted on his fingers. “Hippo at the river, and where you’re staying there are quite a few.”
Alexandra glanced excitedly at Wolf. “We’re on the river?”
“Your lodge has a deck overhanging the riverbanks. At twilight you’ll see many of the animals come to drink.”
And then suddenly they were there, on the banks of the deep blue Kafue River. The lodge stood two stories tall, dominating the camp with its steep thatched roof and pale-yellow-pigmented mud-and-plaster walls.
A dozen smaller thatched bungalows bordered the wide river. Those, Alexandra discovered, were reserved for the principal actors, directors and senior production staff, while the rest of the film crew would be billeted in the dozen new tent cabins just recently pitched.
