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I can’t look at him. I can’t—I can’t—and then he kisses me as if he knows that, and I’m back in the moment, needing his touch so badly—
He slides his big, warm hand down and cups me completely. I catch my breath at the sensation, and he gives me back my air, his lips moving to my neck.
I grip his shoulders and hold on as he explores me—gently, then more insistently, his fingers parting and curling and circling within the tight confines of my bikini bottoms. He teases me until I’m arching up against his hand, until the only sound between us is my constricted breathing and his low groans of appreciation.
“Fuck,” he says and pulls his hand away.
“No,” I say. “Please—”
“I’m not stopping,” he says and curses again. “But I need to… come here.”
He grips my thighs and hoists me up, out of the water. He puts me on the edge of the pool and steps in between my splayed legs, his head now at the perfect height…
“Phillip,” I whisper, my hand finding his thick hair. I don’t know if I’m scared or excited or on the very edge of ecstasy, or if it’s all three emotions at once, and the only solution is release.
“Beautiful,” he mutters again and runs his hands up my thighs. He tugs me closer to the edge. I let go of the nerves and sink into the darkness of the night and the soothing rhythm of the waves against the beach and the sensation of his hands tugging my bikini bottoms to the side.
His breath is shockingly warm against me, but it's nothing compared to the heat of his tongue and mouth. He’s skilled, and maybe it’s his enthusiasm and the newness of it, or the star-studded sky above us and the warm air against my wet skin, but I don’t feel self-conscious at all. I’m entirely in the moment.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, muffled against me, and I look down at his dark-haired head between my thighs. He pushes one of my legs up and over his shoulder, giving him better access. And then a finger is added, and I’m not going to survive this.
“You okay?” I whisper. I want to hear him say it, to confirm that I’m not alone with my racing heart. He lifts his head, eyes that are nearly black look back at me.
“I’m fucking fantastic,” he says, and pushes my left thigh further to the side. “Tell me what you like. What you need.”
“This,” I whisper. “Just more of it.”
He smiles, and it’s equal parts wolfish and victorious. It makes me think of how he said that there are winners in sex. How it was the only game he played where he wanted both parties to win.
“Trust me, I never want to stop.” He lowers his head back down.
And I find myself relaxing on the hard stone deck that surrounds the pool. My leg lifted over his shoulder and the other floating in the water. And Phillip Meyer between my thighs as pleasure races up my body.
It’s hard to breathe. I look at the full moon above us as the pleasure grows and grows and grows, and I must be making noise because Phillip grunts against me and reaches up, his right hand finding my hip, my waist, and then teasing one of my nipples.
I break apart.
The strength of it surprises me. A wave sweeps me under, and it takes a very long time before I resurface from the sensations exploding across my skin.
My knees are clamped around his shoulders, and he’s kissing my inner thighs, looking up at me. The hair at his temples has started to dry in small curls, and there’s fierce color staining his high cheekbones. But it’s the intensity in his eyes that makes it impossible to look away.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He smiles, and it’s a wondrous thing. “You’re glorious.”
And I surprise myself by believing it.
I have the beautiful turquoise sea in front of me. There’s warm sand beneath me, so lovely I had to slip off my sandals and bury my feet, just because. And there’s a piña colada with a purple umbrella on the table next to my lounge chair.
And I can’t quite concentrate on any of it because of the man sitting next to me. He’s fully stretched out on the lounger, his body tanned and muscled, and his hair shockingly dark against the white towel.
Phillip walked over a little before noon, and seeing me here, had chosen the chair next to mine.Good morning,he’d said; the tone of his voice not hiding what happened between us last night. It brought a blush to my cheeks.
We hadn’t spoken about yesterday yet. I’m unsure if there’s much to say, or if daytime Eden can talk about what Eden of the night did.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s reading something on his phone that has absorbed his attention for the past ten minutes, but he still looks relaxed. And handsome. For some reason, he hadn’t let me reciprocate last night.
I look back out at the open ocean.
