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12
Kala
I hear unfamiliar birdsong, and sense a wild stirring in my nethers.
Where am I? Is this the sex dream again?
All at once I remember where I am. The Pearl Crescent Islands. A remote rock in the middle of the South Pacific.
With my husband-on-paper-only.
So why do I feel the weight of one massive arm around my waist?
Not just around my waist, but cinching me close so my back is pressed against his front, and his soft chest hair bristles my shoulder blades.
Not only that, but oh my gods…my nightgown is hiked up around my waist, and this man…this man’s hand is tucked inside my panties and holding my pussy like…like a security blanket?
I listen for his breathing, and I’m sure he’s still asleep.
It’s bad enough I went to sleep thinking of Etienne opening the bathroom door wearing nothing but a towel.
I wasn’t ready for the tousled, damp hair, the bare chest, the spicy soap scent. The bulge.
Etienne looked downright fuckable, with a smattering of chest hair swirling around his nipples, blazing a trail down to his navel and lower. He has more muscles than I’d given him credit for. I must speak with Sable, the royal tailor, because the suits he wears for royal appearances do not do this body justice. I could bounce a coin off his abs. And the bulge…well. Even flaccid, my husband is hung like a Clydesdale.
And now, his fingers are right there, snaked down past my waistband.
How did we end up here? And why am I not horrified and filled with indignation at this violation? There’s no way we got here by accident.
The indignation doesn’t come. But I might.
The truth is, I don’t know who crossed the line first. Maybe both of us did.
It doesn’t help that his erection is pressed against my backside so tightly that if my knickers weren’t there, that limb would be nestled in there like a bratwurst in a bun.
Thank gods for small mercies.
I must get my head on straight. If I make one move, his thick fingers could slip between my labia. And with as wet as I feel, that will surely wake him.
We have a divorce pact. He is not interested in me in the least. I must summon all my willpower to not rub up against his fingers and start riding his hand, even though every inch of me wants only that.
Right. Best to just rip this situation off like a Band-Aid.
Besides, I want to get out there, put my toes in the sand, and fit in my morning run before the day begins.
Gingerly, I circle my fingers around Etienne’s wrist and pull.
The movement of his fingers makes my stupid vagina react, and I can’t control the horny little whimper that squeaks out of my throat.
Etienne groans, and his hand travels up to my stomach, wrenching me impossibly closer.
“Etienne. Are you awake?”
I bite my lip and keep still as I feel his body stiffen behind me.
At this point, my nightie is still bunched up and his hand is on my waist. We’re still pressed together like spoons in a drawer, but at least he’s not about to finger-bang me in his sleep.
Dammit.
