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She truly felt as if she was strapped in for a ride on a rollercoaster. A cocktail of desire and nervousness flooded through her as she watched Costa undress. He undressed more slowly than last time, for he was assessing her with his eyes. Of course it was mutual, because that delicious body was being revealed to her again, only this time in a slow, teasing fashion.
She looked at his long arms and his broad shoulders as he stripped off his shirt and was surprised when she saw the little mark that she knew she had made. It made her stomach clench. She felt Costa’s eyes move there. Then they moved further down, and she could feel him looking at her blonde curls.
Mary looked up. ‘They wanted to wax it all off,’ she told him, ‘at the salon on Thira.’
Costa told her what they could do with their suggestion and chased away the last whispers of that awful morning.
Although Mary would do it all again just for this moment.
Costa stood, stripped, and this time she saw not a rigid jutting, like before, but instead a soft lifting swell that made her hands want to bunch up the sheet beneath her. He was more beautiful than she knew what to do with and her eyes rose to his.
She trusted him. Costa knew it. And for once someone else’s trust didn’t terrify him. He didn’t feel that this trust came with the usual weight of responsibility.
‘I wish I had a phone to take a picture,’ Mary admitted, ‘so I could look at you again.’
‘I swear to God...’
He would warn her later, but for now he shelved the lecture and smiled, because all it was, was bedroom talk.
He saw the leap of her pulse in her throat and then his eyes moved down to her breasts. He wanted to kiss every inch of that skin, or perhaps moisten her with his tongue and stretch her with the caress of his fingers...
Mary watched him harden and felt an urge to raise her knees and open herself to him. It was instinct, but she felt it deep within her.
Costa turned sideways and she saw his lovely bottom, which was rather hairy too, and then he turned off the light so that they were bathed in pale light from the moon. He climbed into bed. He pulled up the sheet and covered them both, and then turned her to face him.
She stared back at him as he brushed her hair from her face, and then he kissed her cheek, her nose, and finally her lips.
‘Better?’ he said, and she nodded.
Who kisses like this?Costa thought ages later, when the moon had given up and taken itself behind a cloud.
‘Those magazines were wrong,’ she said after a while, drawing circles on his chest and then kissing him again. ‘You’re a very considerate lover.’
‘I haven’t loved you yet,’ Costa said.
And while he knew he should perhaps amend his words, he didn’t wish them unsaid. He had already made it clear that this night was a one-off.
They kissed again, little wet kisses that were gentle and tender. The slip of his tongue was like nectar, and his unshaven face was scratchy and nice, and she lingered on the feast of his mouth: deep kisses that were hard, dirty kisses that made her shiver at the suggestions his tongue made, and soft, slow kisses that gently pulled her back.
His hand on her breast was so light at first that it seemed like the barest brush of pleasure. Then his palm rubbed her breast a little harder and he kissed her deeply, while coaxing her nipple to impossible lengths.
Mary was boiling, the sheet suddenly too warm. She wanted to kick it off, but she loved their haven.
His hand found hers and he guided it down until she held him. Wrapping her fingers around him felt incredible. So incredible. To her surprise, a bead of moisture came to her palm.
His kiss was hungrier now, and he was pulling her hard against his flesh, pressing them together while his leg trapped her. She was now far too hot, and she wanted his hand to touch her where she ached, except he did not oblige.
Suddenly she was frantic, making noises into his mouth before she went rigid, and then began to pulse as she climaxed in his arms...
She was disorientated as he rolled her onto her back, wildly flinging pillows to the floor. His weight on top of her was deliciously oppressive, the crush of his kiss the sweetest reward, and she dragged in air as he lifted himself onto his forearms.
She wanted him heavy on her again, but instead his hand moved between her legs as he parted her thighs and lifted one of her knees a fraction. He was looking right at her in a silent request, and she moved her other leg to match so she was open to him.
She knew he did not need to test with his hand whether she was ready because they were both heady with musky dampness. She felt the head of him sliding back and forth over her heat, before pressing, nudging against the ache that craved him. He kept teasing that pearl with his tip, and then moving back to her entrance while she awaited the inevitable pain, the slow push and the tender squeeze of him as he stretched her.
But then she thought she might faint, for he simply took her. Just seared in all at once.
Notsimply.
