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Harper
Ugh. Headache. This stupid bed, this relentless heat. It’s all making me cranky. Even a nighttime swim, despite relaxing my body, refused to shut down my brain until the wee hours of the morning. I struggle to get up when Irina brings in a breakfast tray, clicking her tongue with disapproval at finding me in the nursery, rather than the “master’s” bed.
Just minutes after finishing breakfast, Sophie knocks and comes right in. Luckily I’m on my way out of the bathroom and don’t have to explain why I was sleeping in the nursery. Sophie’s ready to hit the beach and wade into the sparkling Aegean Sea.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I tell her. “Once I change.” I pull out the sides of the modest pink nightgown. “I don’t think this is suitable for the beach, do you?”
With a giggle, Sophie leaves the bedroom and I hurry into another one-piece. This one is a black suit with spaghetti straps and a hint
of cleavage, cut in a style that shows most of my back. I tie a multicolored sarong around my waist, slip my feet into flip-flops, and grab a sunhat, sunglasses, and a novel before leaving the room for the beach.
Sophie’s already staked out a spot for us. This stretch of beach is accessible only by the Satyros villa, along with the two closest neighbors, so she has her choice of locations anyway. She’s lying on a blanket on the light golden sand, wearing a bikini I wouldn’t have the nerve to wear even at my current age, let alone when I was eighteen.
I sit beside Sophie, who stretches and sits up, a pouty look on her face. “Would you do my back?” She passes over a tube of suntan oil.
Squeezing out a handful of the slick oil, I coat Sophie’s back. Then pass her the oil to do her legs as I get settled, prepared to spend the next couple of hours reading my book before I even start to think about dipping my toes into the ocean. To have the time to read is a rare and beautiful thing, and I plan to take advantage of every second.
Soon, though, the sun is so bright that it prevents me from seeing the words. After a few pages, I give up and lie on my stomach, watching Sophie who is charging fearlessly into the lapping waves. Was I ever that young and lighthearted? It seems impossible to think so. My adolescence pretty much ended with the death of my mother, and the marriage of convenience to Jayson forced me to finish growing up in a hurry. His social circle is full of sharks, and I needed to learn how to navigate among them in a hurry, to avoid leaving blood in the water, so to speak. Maybe not the best analogy as I watch Sophie swimming, but it’s the one that comes to mind.
Still, several of Jayson’s associates and friends do seem like predatory sea creatures out to devour anything they can. The idea makes me grin at first, but my grin fades when I think about it. Amusement turns to deep melancholy. I lost so much during the last three years: the typical college experience, dating, sex, and maybe worst of all, independence.
When Sophie waves from the water, I lift a hand to wave in return. Truth be told, I also gained a lot. Sophie’s come through the worst time of her life with only a few emotional scars. I know she would have been very different if left to her own devices or heaven forbid, if she were banished to Greece after her father’s death. I know I’m a big part of that, and it’s important to me.
I also traveled more places than I could have ever afforded on a botanist’s salary and learned about art and culture firsthand. And charity work I’ve done has made a difference in at least a few lives.
So, I don’t know why I’m sad.
Not having sex is a small tradeoff for all the wonderfully positive things I’ve gained. So why can’t I stop thinking about it? Okay, yes, it’s probably because I am so close to being free...or maybe it’s Jayson’s sudden, and alarming, approachability? Regardless of why, I just need to stop thinking these kinds of thoughts. And I should avoid being alone with Jayson as much as possible.
The hot sun beats down on my back, so bright I’m still squinting. Folding my arms, I lay down my head, letting my thoughts drift as I relax.
I jerk awake sometime later. Before I have time to process where I am, or that I fell asleep on the beach, warm oil trickles over my back. Still drowsy, my eyes are half-mast as Sophie rubs suntan oil on my skin. “Thanks,” I say sleepily.
“You’re welcome,” Jayson purrs. “It’s bright out here. I wouldn’t want you to burn.”
Stiffening, I’m not sure how to react. It seems rude to pull away and sit up, but his hands are making me feel things I shouldn’t. And making me wet where I shouldn’t be. “Jayson, what are you doing? You should stop.” Fuck. Is that throaty rasp really my voice?
He makes a noncommittal sound as he continues stroking my back. I probably should protest, but his touch feels so good. As he trails his fingers up my spine I want to moan.
“You’re so tight.” Jayson probes my shoulders and neck with his fingers. “Are you stressed about something, Harper?” he whispers in a husky voice.
“Slept wrong.” Somehow, I push the words through gritted teeth, determined not to betray a positive reaction as Jayson drizzles more of the sun-warmed oil on my upper back and shoulders. A breeze carries the coconut scent of the oil to my nose, where it mingles with the tangy salt air and the manly smell that is Jayson. I can’t help myself and I inhale deeply, savoring the combination.
“You know how to avoid that problem.”
Clenching my hands into fists to stifle any signs of pleasure from his massage, I ignore his words. Despite my best intentions, a whimper escapes when he works at the kinked spot in my neck.
“Does it hurt?” asks Jayson, sounding concerned. His hands stop moving.
I shift restlessly despite myself, eager for his hands to continue exploring my skin under the guise of a massage. “No. Not at all. It feels really good, actually.”
He works at the knot until my muscles are loose and my body languid. My eyes drift closed, but they pop open with surprise when his hands move to my front. During the process of rubbing my shoulders, he slipped the spaghetti straps down my arms, and now I realize his fingers are gradually moving lower. He’s inches away from breaching the neckline of my suit. My nipples tighten at the thought of his hands cupping my breasts, his slick oiled fingers gliding over the hard nubs out here in the summer sun.
Frozen with indecision, I hold my breath, not sure if I want his hands to go on, or if I want him to stop. If I don’t do something soon, he’s going to make the decision for me. Is that what I want?
To give away all responsibility? I squirm with the wetness between my legs, imagining him lying on me from behind, thrusting into me as he bites the back of my neck, hands on my breasts, owning me.
Conflicted, I stay silent as his touch becomes increasingly light and sensual, stroking across my slippery skin. It’s a relief, but also frustrating, when Sophie comes running back from where she was chatting with a boy on the beach, plopping down on the towel beside us.
