I moved up to my clit, pressing harder, giving myself the force I needed to start to see stars. If I made a move here in this bed later tonight, would he pull away? Or would I have his lean hips between my thighs, his drive and ambition turned into something that would be unlike anything I had ever experienced?
After only a few minutes of touching myself, I came hard, clamping around my hand, gasping into the still-dark canopy of our bed.
Alex could turn anything into a competition. Which suddenly didn’t sound so bad.
8
The excited chatterof the guests coming in off of the Jeep interrupted my conversation with Delina the bartender. It was nearly time for brunch, and I’d been smelling the meal for the past hour during my kitchen photo shoot. I had clicked away while the team of chefs prepared the food, and my memory card was full of swirling steam, crisp, fresh produce, and the laughing faces of the staff. Like the guides, most of them were locals, but unlike the guides with impeccable English, most of the kitchen and service staff spoke Xitsonga.
I had eaten a little, bites here and there. On one of my earlier shoots, the one with Ion in the Maldives, I’d learned the fastest way to build a camaraderie with the staff, and to make them comfortable in front of the camera, was to be an overexaggerated version of myself. Especially when, like now, the staff didn’t always speak English. The kitchen staff was the in with the rest of the staff—a few yummy noises and eye rolls of pleasure, and Bob’s your uncle. You’d get delicious food, and people would relax.
I didn’t have to fake it either. The food was amazing. We’d dined on kudu steaks and traditional Cape Malay curries, a reflection of the diverse faces in the kitchen staff. Today’s brunch meal was bobotie, a dish similar to shepherd’s pie, but made with egg custard on top rather than potatoes and heavily laden with curry spices.
The bar was swarmed by the incoming guests, and I took my glass of water and grabbed a seat at the table. I inspected the serving bowls in front of me. Odd. One held sliced bananas, another raisins, and another flaked coconut. What in the world were we eating? What happened to the bobotie?
Alex straddled the bench next to me. “I thought you should know what you missed out on today.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”
“Cheetahs. A family of them rolling in the sand and playing together.” Alex’s smug face was back, and I nearly rolled my eyes.Look, I can safari better than you can.
I was saved a snarky comment by Olivia sitting down and chiming in across from me. She leaned across the table and offered me a look at her photographs. “Nothing as good as you would have done,” she said demurely.
After flipping through the photos and oohing and ahhing—she had done a remarkable job—we were interrupted by one of the wait staff setting down the bobotie, deep steaming platters that were filled to the brim with a crisp, crackling top shell of egg.
“This is bobotie,” our server, whose name tag read Sam, said, “one of South Africa’s most popular dishes.” She gripped the serving spoon and scooped out a hearty portion of the dish, leaving heavily spiced steam wafting upward. She then showed us the condiments, the fruits I had noticed earlier and a tangy and sweet chutney. “That is how South Africans eat it.”
We dug in, experimenting with the odd mix of flavors and textures. It was shockingly good, though unusual.
“Will you be joining us this afternoon, Nikki?” Olivia asked me.
“No, unfortunately. I’ll be here waiting to join for dinner though.”
Olivia glanced at Alex and then smiled at me. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure Alex isn’t too lonely back there.”
Between mouthfuls of food, Alex gave her a charming smile. “You are delightful company, Olivia.”
She tittered. Such a charmer.
My afternoon agenda was more photo shoots of the guest rooms, the pool, and cocktails that Delina whipped up. And, helpfully, Sam had offered to assist me in some staged shots around the grounds around sunset.
But first, it was nap time for everyone, and the staff was going to be busy cleaning the lodge. Once our plates were empty, the guests began filtering back to their tents. I followed behind Alex, buoyant and energetic. It was remarkable how much the safaris wore you out, I thought, as Alex yawned in front of me.
He slipped into the bathroom for the post-safari scrubbing of sand and sunscreen, and I pulled out my laptop to transfer files, switched SD cards, and cleaned my lens. I wasn’t tired, but Alex was surely going to nap.
Sure enough, when I stepped out of the bathroom, Alex was in bed, having kicked off the heavy duvet and lay sprawled under the light sheet.
I settled at my laptop to check up on the files. I moved files around, named some folders, clicked a few things here and there.
“Nikki,” came a sharp voice.
I looked up to Alex glaring at me. “What?”
“Your keyboard is very loud.”
“You’re a light sleeper.”Great insult, Nikki.
He grunted and glared some more before flopping over.
