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I'd almost forgotten he was there, so lost had I been in Monsieur’s wicked game.
Monsieur gave my ass a slap, then pushed me flat to the mattress and rolled away from me. “Use her if you'd like."
Sir’s enormous cock lay against his belly, and he stroked it steadily. Judging by the flush on his cheeks and down his throat, he wasn't quite so far behind Monsieur.
Sir snapped his fingers. "You should already be moving to serve me, Sophie."
I rose on exhausted, trembling legs and approached him, cum dripping down the insides of my thighs.
"Get on your knees," Sir instructed, sitting up on the edge of the cushion. I did as I was told and even opened my mouth with the expectation that he would fill it with cock. Instead, he held me by the hair. My open mouth poised just over the tip of his cock as he pumped it through his fist. With a guttural growl, he shot thick, hot ropes across my face and into my mouth. He held me there for a moment, gasping, dripping, then lifted my head and tilted my chin back.
"Look at how pretty you are." He smeared the fluid roughly around my face, into my hair, and finally jammed two fingers into my mouth, so far back that I gagged. “How does it taste?”
I coughed and drooled and tried to swallow before choking out, "I love the way your cum tastes, Sir."
"Good. Because you'll be getting so much more of it." He reached down and plunged his fingers into my cunt. Then he brought them to my mouth and, again, forced them inside. "And his."
At that very moment, I couldn't think of anything I could possibly ever want more.
Our first full day on the island began with the most amazing breakfast on the beach, which everyone but Molly and me called a picnic.
Where we came from, picnics did not happen on long buffet tables staffed by uniformed chefs.
The mountains of food were roughly the same quantity as a small family gathering back home, but with dishes my family would never touch. Smoked salmon and eggs baked in avocado halves, scallops benedict, and mounds of fruit, some of which I barely recognized.
Neil leaned back in his dining chair—not attached to the “picnic table” and therefore a matter of semantic argument for nearly half the meal—and sipped from his non-alcoholic mimosa. “This is a perfect way to start the day.”
“Unless you overeat and need a nap,” I observed, nodding toward El-Mudad, who’d abandoned us for a shady hammock after devouring a seemingly never-ending serving of lobster breakfast tacos.
“His metabolism will fail him one day,” Neil vowed. “It must.”
A loud shriek from the water’s edge caught my attention immediately. Water and Olivia were a combination I hated. I’d heard way too many horror stories in boater’s safety class when I was twelve. But everyone on the shore seemed all right; the shriek had come from Molly, who’d just gotten dunked under the waves by Amal further out.
“That’s not deep, right?” I asked nervously. “And like, stingrays, they don’t actually sting, do they?”
“I don’t think any fish is going to be remotely tempted to remain in the area with the amount of noise they’re making.” Neil tilted his head and scrutinized my expression. “We’re on vacation, and you’re as tense as a sinner on Sunday morning.”
“I just...I hope they’re shuffling their feet.” I wished I’d never found out how the Crocodile Hunter died. It was just one more nightmare scenario for the spool of worry constantly winding in my mind.
Neil nodded thoughtfully but didn’t respond for a few seconds. “El-Mudad and I were discussing taking the girls out for an excursion. If you don’t mind being left out, perhaps you’d like to stay here? Have some alone time?”
“It depends on the excursion.” I raised an eyebrow and pointed at an approaching catamaran. “I assume it has to do with that?”
“Dad!” Rashida called to get Neil’s attention. “The boat!”
“It’s a...boat excursion?” The craft that approached was about the size of the recreational fishing boats that dotted the marinas around the Hamptons, but somehow, the sea seemed wider here than it did at home, probably because we could see more of the horizon.
“We’re taking the girls snorkeling,” Neil said breezily, before calling, “El-Mudad! The boat is here!”
I glanced over in time to see the hammock flip and spill El-Mudad onto the sand.
“He is beauty, he is grace, he has fallen on his face,” I mused before turning back to Neil. “Wait, snorkeling? Like, out in the water?”
His lips tilted with a suppressed smile. “It wouldn’t be much fun on dry land.”
“Stop,” I warned. “I’m serious. Isn’t Olivia too young to snorkel? Does she even know how to breathe through the thing?”
“Through the snorkel?” Neil raised his eyebrows. “The sole piece of equipment the activity is named for?”
