I finally get undressed, and once I’m down to my Fleur du Mal panties, I slip beneath the crisp sheets and settle onto the treatment table, waiting for Nalani to return.
She starts me off with a hydrafacial treatment that instantly has my skin feeling refreshed. It’s after the volcanic clay body mask that I sink completely into the experience, surrendering myself to the quiet luxury of it all. I could have been content with that service alone, but after rinsing off beneath the suite’s waterfall shower, I’m ushered back to the massage table, refreshed with fresh linens.
During my massage, I think about Othello. Some way, somehow, he’s made himself a fixture in my life. Taking care of me when I had a headache, making sure I had some normalityduring my vacation by taking me to the chocolate farm, and spending money on this ridiculously expensive spa. I suppose I couldn’t forget about the way he’d fucked me into oblivion several times last night. The memory alone brings a smile to my lips.
“How is the pressure?” Nalani asks, breaking into my thoughts. Her voice is low and soothing. I peek one eye open, catching sight of her through the mirror on the wall, her gentle smile as soothing as her touch.
“The pressure is perfect,” I murmur. She applies more warm oil down the center of my spine, and I feel my body melt into the table. Her hands glide in long, fluid strokes. With her working her magic, it doesn’t take long before I float into a blissful sleep. I have no idea how long I’ve been resting until I’m woken up by a much firmer stimulation. My lashes flutter, heavy from the haze of sleep. I lift my head to look back into the mirror, but Nalani is nowhere to be found.
Othello.
He stands where Nalani stood moments ago, his chest bare and a towel wrapped around his waist. His strong hands work over my shoulders, every stroke coaxing heat to pool in my stomach. A moan slips past my lips, and my head falls back into the padded face cradle, my eyes closing again.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting. Nalani told me I could help with your Island glow finishing oil.”
I giggle softly. “Did she now?”
“She did. I mean, as if you need it. You’re already glowing and look absolutely radiant right now.”
A thrilling feeling creeps in my chest at his words, my pulse stuttering as his hands move smoothly down my spine and then over my hips.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask him.
“After last night, I think I have a pretty good idea of what makes you feel good.”
Now I’m blushing like a smitten little schoolgirl. Othello’s palms skim over my body, slow and sensual. Every sweep of his hands feels like a slow unraveling, pulling me apart one tender stroke at a time. My muscles liquefy beneath his touch.
He motions for me to turn onto my stomach, and I do.
I feel the trickles of coconut-scented oil down my arms, stomach, and thighs, Othello’s hands smoothing it across my skin in slow, deliberate strokes. The sudden warmth sends goosebumps racing over my body. Then I feel it. Two of his fingers move slowly inside my pussy. A low moan tumbles out of me, and I gyrate against his fingers, my breath stuttering in broken whimpers.
Othello’s free hand grips my hip, holding me steady as his pace builds. I buck against his thick digits, heat spiraling higher with every stroke. Othello looks down at me, eyelids low and filled with lust.
“You’re so wet for me,” he says.
“I’m always wet for you…”
I’m trying to keep my moans of pleasure on low. The last thing I want to do is disturb the peace, but I’m sure the staff has already put two and two together. I ride this happy ending out, literally panting and bucking and failing at trying to suppress the cry that is ready to burst out of me.
He holds a finger to his lips as if telling me not to be so loud. I want to look at him like he’s crazy, but my face is twisted into satisfaction.
“Ohhh…”
“Shhhh…”
“I don’t know if I can,” I moan.
He rubs me and fucks me some more with his fingers, two fingers inside of me and one rubbing my moist clit. My eyes rollin the back of my head. The scream I try my hardest to contain belts out of me.
“Ahhhh! My God,” I cry out.
So much for keeping quiet.
“You have to stop,” I beg him. Even though it’s the last thing I want him to do.
Othello talks me through it, not letting up as he continues to finger my G-spot, sending me into complete oblivion. The orgasm hits hard, leaving nothing but shudders and tremors.
“You look so good when you cum for me,”he murmurs, wicked and low.
