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“I might.” There’s still a hint of defensiveness in Saoirse’s tone, but she doesn’t get her hackles up or fight back like I thought she might. “I’ve never had a chance to find out. But since I went to London—” Saoirse pauses, and I see a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes. “There’s been a lot of things I’ve never had the chance to experience that I’ve found I like.”
Maybe one day we can try more of those things together.Again, I find myself biting back words that I never had any plans to say. The idea of backpacking across Europe with Saoirse is absurd on the surface. Everything about my sophisticated, elegant wife suggests that it would be a nightmare for both of us.
I have a sudden memory of her on the back of my motorcycle that first night I’d gone back to her hotel. If I’d known it was Saoirse then, I’d have been certain she’d refuse to ride with me. But she hadn’t. She’d been a little nervous, but she’d gotten on and adapted quickly. Once I’d figured out her actual identity, I’d assumed that she’d just forced herself to do it as part of the act. But then—she’d done it again. Twice more, actually.
And from what I could tell, she’dlikedit.
The longer I’m with Saoirse, the more I get to know her, and the more I see hints of a different woman underneath her layers than the one she presents to the world. Someone who wants to be adventurous, free, and sexual, but has had those qualities trapped under a layer of pristine ice all her life, frozen and waiting for a man because that’s what she’d always been told she was meant for.
When I see those glimpses of Saoirse, Ilikeher. I think I might even feel more for her. But I can’t help but fear that if I let my guard down, if I try to have a real relationship with her, that it’ll turn out she was playing me all along. Playing a game to entrap me without any real feelings for me, just like she managed to connive and manipulate me back to Boston.
That all of this—the sex and the trip and her eager requests for “real” time with me are just another of her games or plots.
“We’re going to be late for our massages,” Saoirse says suddenly, forking a last bite of pancake into her mouth and standing up. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
I can’t remember the last time I had a massage, if I’ve ever had one at all. Maybe back on that trip to Italy, but it’s been so long I can’t recall even if I did. I get up, throwing on a pair of loose black sweatpants and a t-shirt, and watch as Saoirse slips into a silky, flowy dress that glides over her skin the way I find myself already aching to let my hands do the same.
We’re led to a quiet, warm room with soft music playing and the sound of water trickling over stones. It’s humid and comforting, and we’re instructed to strip down and lay on the tables.
I don’t have any particular compunction about stripping off in front of strangers, but I’m surprised to see Saoirse slip easily out of her dress, folding it over a chair by the wall as she slides her panties over her hips. I have to look anywhere but at her to keep my cock from twitching into an inappropriate half-erection as I go to my table because the sheer casualness with which Saoirse is getting undressed is erotic in and of itself.
She continually surprises me. Continually intrigues me.Isn’t that what I’d want in a wife? Arealwife?
The massages are hot oil and stone, a luxurious experience I would never have thought about choosing for myself. Still, once I’m facedown on the table with a thick eucalyptus and lemon-scented oil being poured over my skin and then rubbed in, first with experienced hands and then with warm oval stones, I begin to rethink my opinion of spas as places to waste money. It doesn’t help that Saoirse is making small, pleasurable moans on the table next to me as her masseuse works her over. I wince as I’m told to roll onto my back, concerned that I might get hard at the worst possible time.
I glance over at Saoirse, who is on her back now, too, her head tipped back and her face soft and relaxed with pleasure as the woman attending to her works the fine muscles of her arms. I barely notice the hands kneading my oiled muscles now because watching Saoirse is so enjoyable, her pale skin gleaming under the soft lighting. I want her, and an idea occurs to me as I lie there.
“Can you excuse us?” I ask suddenly, my voice roughened with relaxation and growing desire. Saoirse looks over at me, startled, as the two women nod and slip out of the room, closing the door behind them and leaving us there in the humid, dim light, soft music trickling out of the speakers.
Saoirse sits halfway up, the white towel covering her breasts sliding down a little before she catches it. “Connor?” She looks confused as I climb off my table, leaving my towel behind as I stride toward her. “What are you—”
“Lie back.” I press back on her shoulder, pushing her flat onto the table again as I bend to kiss her, my cock springing up instantly as I smooth my other hand down her oiled body, throwing the towel aside. I like her like this, bare and displayed for me, and my fingers swipe through the oil pooled on her belly, sliding down to her clit as Saoirse gasps against my mouth.
“Connor, I—”
“Shh.” My fingers keep rubbing, slick and eager, and I can feel her becoming more aroused by the second. I slide my other hand down, cupping and squeezing her breast, and it feels incredible.Shefeels incredible.
Her hips arch up into my hand, and I keep stroking her clit, paying attention to the signs that tell me when she’s getting close. I know them now—the tension in her abs, the twitching of the muscles in her thighs, the way her legs start to pull slightly together as if she’s almost afraid of the pleasure waiting for her.
The moment I feel that she’s on edge, I pull my hand back, drawing away from the kiss at the same time. Saoirse looks up at me with accusatory green eyes, squirming on the table as her full, rosy lips part in a gasp.
“Connor!”
“Keep saying my name like that, princess.” I grin down at her, dragging my fingers through her folds, now slick with the oil and her own arousal. My hand brushes against one of the warm stones on the table, and on impulse, I reach for it, dragging the warm hardness over Saoirse’s sensitive flesh.
“I—ahh!” She gasps, her hips twitching, her head falling back. “What are you doing?”
“Pleasuring my wife.” My voice is a deep rasp, and I see a shiver ripple lightly through her as I speak. I angle towards her, my right hand sliding down her stomach and finding her slippery clit again as my left pushes the warm stone against her entrance, penetrating her shallowly as I start to stroke her again.
“Oh my god—” Saoirse pants, writhing against my hands. “That feels so good, oh—”
I’m so fucking hard it hurts. My wife, the woman I once thought was uptight and cold as ice, is moaning as I fuck her pussy with a warm massage stone, playing with her clit in a room where someone could walk in any moment. They won’t, I’m sure—we’re a couple here on a romantic vacation, and I’m certain the women knew I had sex on my mind when I asked them to leave. But Saoirse is thinking they might, I’m equally certain—and yet she hasn’t told me to stop.
This isn’t about getting her pregnant anymore. You don’t need to do any of this. This is all unnecessary—
But I don’t care. I want it. I’m enjoying every second of this, and I don’t want to stop.
Saoirse’s hand slips off the table, seeking out my throbbing cock. I groan as she wraps her fingers around me, stroking as I bring her closer to orgasm again, sliding the warm stone in and out of her pussy as I roll her clit under my fingers with the exact pressure I know she likes. Her moans rise in pitch, louder now despite the fact that someone might hear, and I can hear her breathless panting as she arches and writhes, stroking my cock all the while.
