The shock hits first, and then the heat, and the ecstasy, and I’m gasping his name, begging. For more or for less, I don’t know.
He stands, his fingers still in me until they’re replaced by his dick, inching inside of me. He’s halfway in when I hook my heels around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Naughty pet.”
“Don’t tease me tonight. I need my husband.”
He leans onto me. “Then you will have him.” His rhythm is exactly what I need as he rips the buttons open on the top of my dress and buries his face in my tits. He gathers them in his hands, biting, kissing, sucking as he pumps into me over and over.
Everything goes tight in my core again, only this time it’s harder. Bigger. “Oh, fuck?—”
“As you wish.” He grabs my hips, pulls me to him, and bounces me on his cock as I erupt.
I cling to him, need to feel him against me. His hands fit under my ass to keep me there safely and to keep me bouncing on him. My legs tighten around him as another climax takes over. I can’t help it. He’s making me come again.
Between my choking breaths, I hear, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re coming so pretty on my cock. Look at you, such a good girl.”
My head goes fuzzy from it, and I’m not on this planet again until he thickens up inside of me, and groans, “Fuck, baby, I love you,” right before he comes.
I come back to my body in moments. The evening air is warm on my skin. Somewhere below in the village there is faint music, and the lemon grove smells extraordinary. I think—not for the first time and not for the last—that whatever I thought my life was going to look like at twenty-one, it was not this.
This is so much better.
Afterward, we lie on the terrace looking up at a sky so full of stars it could almost pass for daylight. “Do you think that worked?”
“Too soon to know.” A pause. “We should probably try again tomorrow.”
“For thoroughness.”
“Exactly.”
I look at the sky. The Milky Way is faintly visible in the east, which I haven’t seen since a camping trip with my mother when I was nine, before everything got complicated. I point it out. He looks. We lie there looking at it without saying anything for a while.
Eventually, I say, “My mother would like it here.”
“Bring her.”
He means it. I’m still adjusting to the scale of that—not the money, the willingness. The fact that what I want is treated as a thing worth acting on, without my having to justify it.
“Next time.”
“Time for sleep,” he says. “The stars will be there in the morning.”
“They’re different stars in the morning.”
He looks at me.
“Opal told me.”
He laughs, and it’s the laugh I got almost none of in the first months and now have access to regularly. One of the things I get to keep.
“I haven’t called to check on Opal,” I say.
“She’s fine,” he says. “Alanda sent a picture this morning.”
I turn my head. “You’vebeen getting updates.”
“Daily.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
