“Do you want to go to your bed?” I exhaled the words when I pulled back, stroking her smooth cheek with the rough of my thumb. “I understand if you don’t.”
“There’s no reason not to, is there?”
I laughed, the sound low and rumbling. “That sounds like something your sister’s taught you.”
“Maybe sometimes it’s useful to listen to her. And sleeping with you isn’t going to change anything now.”
I saw what she meant on her face. Her heart was already broken. Maybe it had already been in those pieces before I met her; maybe I’d taken something fragile and fractured it without thought. Now I wanted to be the balm that soothed it, that helped her glue it back together, make it even more beautiful than it was before.
The kiss I gave her told her what I wanted, although I’d never be sure if she understood it or not. I’d never be sure if I’d totally understand it myself.
Jameson ended up on my lap, the parasol only giving us a small amount of privacy. I felt myself harden, my body too used to being able to find solace in hers, and before I could stop myself my hands were cupping her breasts, feeling their weight, feeling her nipples start to tighten.
“Not here. Upstairs.” She untangled herself off my knee, trying to pull me up with a hand. “Where we don’t have an audience.”
I followed, the finca full of shadows and beams of light that found a way through the semi shuttered windows.
No one else was to be seen, but I didn’t ask where they were. Maybe the island had cast its magic, clearing a path for us to find space and time together, for one last time.
Maybe the very last time.
Her room was full of soft light, the voile drapes blowing at the windows with the slight breeze that filtered through. Her bed was made, the sheets slightly crumpled, a cushion still left on the floor.
We both found the bed at the same time, our mouths not leaving each other. Her skin tasted of salt and sun, her body warm and sun kissed. It took moments for us to be stripped of clothing, the only sound our movements that were slower than usual. The desperation was there, but it was tempered with a need for this to not end, for the finish line to never be quite met.
I listened to her breathy moans as I kissed my way around her body, memorising her curves. I sucked each nipple until she was gasping under me, trailing fingers around her to tease, but never quite giving her what she wanted, keeping that part back.
Her hands explored me, palming my back, my ass. She gripped my cock until it was becoming too much and I shifted her fingers to her breasts, telling her to play with them while I watched, but that was too much too. We dragged out the foreplay like two teenagers who were apprehensive about the act itself, only our motivation was different.
This had an ending. It had always had an ending.
She was on top of me when I first entered her, resting on her knees above my cock, I watched as she lowered herself onto it, her skin flush, her pupils dilated with lust. I stopped myself from taking over as she started to move, taking in more of my rock-hard dick, her little moans almost my undoing. She moved slowly, with grace, her tipping her head back and letting her mass of blonde hair trail down her back.
I waited until she was nearly there before spinning her back onto her back and plunging back in to her tight, wet cunt. Her cry was louder and I didn’t hold back, the calm rhythm we’d had before now bursting into a brutal need. Her nails dug in my back, her legs spreading to allow me in deeper.
We fucked until we came, me filling her with my seed while my teeth were on her neck and our breath was almost painful.
Then we lay together, touching where we could, my eyes not leaving hers because there was no other way to communicate what that was.
“More,” she said.
And I obliged, because I knew I was never going to say no to her again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jameson
Atincture seemed to have been applied to my soul, one that soothed away the burn of the last couple of weeks. That tincture seemed to have been made by the man who had possibly caused the wound in the first place, but his touch and his words mended, although I knew the scars would take longer to fade.
There was a sea-change that afternoon that we spent in bed, the act between us no longer feeling like fucking; instead it was closer to what I imagined making love felt like, the words exchanged when we held each other carrying more weight.
Maybe it was sweeter now to combat the sour that would remain when I left the island.
Lala arrived home in a blaze of drama, bringing with her a friend she’d made on a modelling shoot, a man who was definitely not interested in anyone with breasts and was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. He was called Crispin and he was heartbroken after the love of his life – the singer in a rock band – had left him for someone else. Lala had decided that she and Ibiza were the ones to cure his broken heart, so the morning after I’d spent the day and the night with Tommy were full of life and a buzz that hadn’t been there since she’d left.
Carl had been around, with his girlfriend, a friend of his cousin that he’d known for years. Lala had told me she’d heard Carl was going to marry her. She didn’t seem hurt or upset, but then I was never sure anything was real when it came to Carl, or whether there was anything other than a teenaged drama between them both that they’d never grown out of.
Tommy left early that morning, before Lala arrived. He woke me with a kiss that made me cry when he couldn’t see, because I knew that time was shorter than he thought, and my heart was singing louder for him now than before.
