Laughter rose from below us. Lala. With someone.
I broke the kiss and stepped back. “We should go inside. I think two lots of exhibitionism is enough for a week.”
Only outside meant there were boundaries. Once we were in that room, there was no reason to stop.
I’d had sex with a handful of men. Some of it had been okay. Some very forgettable. Some had been good, great even.
None had made me lose my mind. I’d always been aware of everything, in control and super cognizant. With Tommy, I’d let go. I’d found a freedom in the act I hadn’t known existed. There hadn’t been another lover who I would’ve let me touch me like he had where we could be seen.
I wasn’t that girl.
“Lead the way.”
I took his hand, the act of that seeming more intimate than what we’d done on the boat.
I saw my room through his eyes. Soft lighting, neutral shades, wicker. There were no photos, but the artwork I’d chosen was all personal. Some was from big galleries, where the artist was an up-and-coming name. Investment pieces, as Livi would say.
Other paintings were by local artists, and they were my favourites.
Tommy didn’t look at those. He didn’t notice the bed frame that cost more than a year’s rent in London, or the rugs that were handwoven. All he was interested in was me, or that was how it felt.
“Strip.” He took a step back. “I haven’t seen you naked.”
I froze. I wasn’t Lala who was super confident with her body and would strip naked for whoever without a care.
“Jameson, I’m not interested in perfection. I’m interested in you.” His tone was gentle, but with a fierce undertone. “Just fucking own it.”
I grinned, my hands going to the tie of my robe, undoing it slowly, watching Tommy’s reaction.
I could feel the weight of his gaze on my hands as they undid the knot, controlling the robe so it didn’t fall open. I’d showered when I’d gotten back from the yacht, washing away the sun cream and the salt from the sea air.
Under the robe was a silken slip, one I’d bought myself after things had ended with Gunnar, to make myself feel something like a woman again, rather than ashamed. It was simple, no lace, just white silk that clung to my tits, making my hardened nipples obvious to Tommy.
The robe slipped off my arms and pooled on the floor.
He folded his arms and looked me up and down, taking his time. Part of me wanted to pick up the robe and hide, but the bigger part wanted to make him look more, to allow myself to revel under his stare.
I could enjoy this. I could forget about the scar on my arm from when I fell, aged seven, from a tree. I could forget about the fact that my stomach wasn’t completely flat, or than my arms were strong rather than skinny.
I could let myself feel like the woman Tommy was seeing me as.
“Take that off too.” His eyes alone made me long for his touch. The three feet between us were too much, I needed closer. I needed him on me, over me.
Inside me.
I slipped the straps of the slip off my shoulders, much the same way he’d moved my sundress straps from me earlier on the yacht. But this was slower; I was in control. For now.
The silken material hung off my breasts for a second, before I pushed it down, leaving me bare before him.
The fact he was still dressed should’ve given him the power, but I held it all right then. I was the sun and he was my satellite, only I didn’t know how long it would be until he crashed into me and I burned.
“If you want to stop, say, and I will. Any man who ever says he can’t, that it’s too late, is a liar.” It was a gruff promise, given truthfully.
I nodded, because I didn’t have the words to use, my hands reaching up to move my hair out of the way and bathing in the look of desire on his face.
Then it was my turn to stare. He pulled off the wifebeater he wore, exposing those hardened muscles that seemed to have been sculpted by some Greek god. I looked unabashedly, taking my turn.
Tommy’s grin was knowing. He took his turn, undoing his belt slowly, his hardened cock pressing against the material of his jeans.
