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He smirks, probably expecting me to make some innuendo. “Is that a risk I should take?”
My frustration softens. “You have to go kayaking with me. I saw some people doing it today and it looked so fun.”
“Done.” He winks as he pulls his polo over his head and tosses it to the floor, his pants slung low on his hips. “Did you at least have fun out there today?” He grabs his electric toothbrush and squirts toothpaste on it. His tanned abs flex with his movements, hair peppering his chest and stomach, disappearing beneath his waistband. I glance away, afraid I’m being too obvious.
“Uh, yeah. I just swam and laid out. The weather is perfect here.” I lean into the mirror, pretending to check my makeup over. He reaches into the shower and turns on the water. I take the opportunity to look over at him and watch the muscles on his back and sides flex with his movements. He turns around and I quickly look back at the mirror, adjusting my halter dress.
“I noticed a little burn here.” He touches my shoulder and it stings slightly. I look down and see a white fingerprint left against my pink skin.
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that bad.” He touches me again, this time dragging his finger over my shoulder and down my shoulder blade.
“It stretches over your back as well.” I watch him in the reflection of the mirror, his gaze focused on where his fingers are touching me. “Such a shame,” he says softly. “Don’t let it happen again.” The sudden change in his tone is shocking. When I look back up into the mirror, his eyes are staring back at me.
“I-I didn’t mean to. I just got excited and forgot sunscreen.” I laugh a little nervously.
“Make sure you wear it tomorrow and put some aloe on that tonight.”
“Okay,” I say softly, unsure of how his mood will turn next.
“Good.” He stands there for a second, his eyes focused back on my body. “You really do look good in this dress.” His hand settles on my waist like he’s completely forgotten about our no sexual relationship clause again. They inch lower, hovering so close to my ass, and then he releases me. “I should shower.”
“Right,” I say, reaching out to steady myself on the counter before turning around and pointing toward the door. “I’ll just be—” I walk out the door, closing it behind me and heading straight to one of the chairs sitting on the balcony.
The sun has set, the silvery glow of the moon bouncing off the nearly still water surrounding us. It’s still warm out but my skin is peppered with goosebumps from my sunburn. I close my eyes and savor the peace and tranquility this place offers. I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting with my eyes closed when I feel the warmth of Atlas’ hands on my arms.
“What is my beautiful wife daydreaming about?”
My eyes flutter for a second, then close again as I relax into his touch. The warmth feels good against my skin, his lips lingering near my ear. His cologne hits me in a soft wave of sweet aroma. Everything about this man is tantalizing. He knows how to dress, how to command a room, yet when he’s talking to me, it feels so intimate, so intense.
“Food.” I smile, my belly grumbling.
“Tsk, tsk,” he clicks his tongue softly, his hands gliding down to mine. He pulls me gently to my feet. “And here I thought you’d say you were dreaming about your perfect husband.” His hand is around my back, the other holding my hand as he pulls me into a slow dance.
“Perfect?” I laugh. “Now who’s the one daydreaming?” He pinches my side, making me laugh even harder before spinning me around.
“In my defense”—he smirks—“normally I can make up for my workaholic tendencies in other areas.”
“Oh.” I give a mock surprise expression. “You think you’re that good you can make up for how much you work?”
“Yes,” he says confidently.
“Really?” I offer a skeptical look. “And would your exes say the same?” He stops dancing, his confident smirk disappearing. It’s the mask slipping again; his eyes darken but he’s not angry. It’s something else. He steps toward me, walking us backward a bit as he lifts his hands. I bump against the wall as he places his hands slightly above my head on either side of my face. He leans in.
“Stella, I could make you come without lifting a single fucking finger toward you.” His voice is low and hushed.
I know I shouldn’t. I even bite my cheek so I won’t, but it’s no use. I narrow my gaze, sliding my hand to reach down between us where his cock is pressing against my thigh. I run my hand down his length, his chest falling as he lets out a heavy breath. His eyelids flutter, falling closed as I wrap my fingers partially around his girth and continue to stroke him.
“I doubt it.”
His eyes fly open, his head jerking upright. I pause my movements, releasing him from my hand.
“I didn’t tell you to fucking stop.” His voice sounds strained. I look up at him, his lids heavy as I reach back down and touch him again. His eyes stay open this time and I can’t seem to look away. I want more of him. I want to feel his body. I look down at my hand, reaching with my other one to slowly pull his belt from the buckle. It clanks loudly when I undo it. My eyes turn upward, expecting him to come to his senses, but he doesn’t stop me. He continues watching me as I slide the zipper slowly down until I can reach inside his boxer briefs and wrap my hand around him—or at least attempt to. I pull him free, his fully rigid cock standing straight upward, my fingers not even close to being able to touch as I grip him. My eyes grow wide at the length as well. He wasn’t kidding when he said I’d have to unhinge my jaw to take him.
“Oh, Jesus. Fuck.” He grunts, looking down at me as I grip him. “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me?” His voice sounds pained as he watches me. I wrap my other hand around him, both of them holding him as I open my mouth and lean down, but before I make contact, he pulls himself away and shoves himself back into his pants. He winces, adjusting himself as he resecures his belt and zipper.
I stand there confused and somewhat in shock as to what he just allowed to happen. I reach my hand out toward him. “I’m sorry if I?—”
“Don’t apologize,” he bites back, reaching for my hand. “Let’s just go to dinner.”
