A sultry breeze blew up from the ocean. The air was moist, balmy. Hayes’s fingers slipped beneath my hem and I flinched. For a long time neither of us spoke. He held my gaze as he forced my knees apart, uncrossed my legs, pried open my thighs.
There was another couple on the banquette not far from us. Agroup of Basel types across the reflecting pool. We were not alone. And yet I did not stop him.
“I take it we’re done talking about Penelope…”
He chuckled, sly. His fingers pressed up against me, inside me. “We are very done talking about Penelope.”
He leaned into me then, his mouth near my ear, his breath hot on my neck. The thought occurred that I would miss this when he moved on. When he was with someone ten years my junior, and I was somewhere invisible. I was going to miss his hands.
This.
His thumb on my clit and my heart in my throat and the humidity enveloping us like a blanket.
When I thought it might happen, that I might come right there in the courtyard of the Setai, he stopped, pulling away. I reached for his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. And then he took his hand from between my legs and rubbed his wet fingers over my mouth. My lips, my tongue… I sat, speechless.
He smiled his half smile, took a swig of Scotch, and then kissed me. Deep.
“You,” I said, when I found my voice.
“Me.”
“You. Are so fucking dirty.”
He leaned in again to suck on my lip. “Am I?”
“Can we go back to the room now?”
“Not yet.” He was smiling when his hand returned between my legs, his fingers slipping beneath my underwear, sliding up inside of me, effortless. “You. Are so fucking wet.”
I sat there for another minute, lost in him. And then I grabbed his wrist. “Pay the bill,” I said, “and then meet me upstairs.”
“Okay.”
It took him longer than I would have liked to arrive at the suite. But the sight of him at the bedroom entrance—black dress shirtslightly unbuttoned, glass still in hand—gave me such a rush, I forgot to question where he’d been.
“Candles?” he said, taking in the room, taking off his boots. “Were you hoping for something romantic?”
“Actually, I was just hoping you’d bring your mouth.”
He smiled at that. “I bet you were.”
From my position on the bed, I watched him make his way toward me, his body long, lithe, beautiful. He took a moment to hook his iPhone up to the speakers. Then, as the music started, some evocative baseline I did not recognize, he took a sip of Scotch and drank me in.
“Are you going to make me wait, Hayes Campbell?”
He grinned, setting down his glass. “Maybe. Just a little.”
The vocals kicked in then. A haunting, familiar voice. Bono. Although nothing I’d ever heard before. Raw, sexy, disjointed lyrics.
“U2?”
“U2.”
Hayes joined me on the bed, took his time unzipping my dress. His fingers warm against my flesh. A driving guitar, his hands unclasping my bra, his mouth on my breasts. His tongue… He lowered himself, eventually, index finger running along the waist of my panties, from hip bone to hip bone and back. Bono’s voice, lulling.Sleep like a baby, tonight…
He paused for a second, his eyes finding mine, and then he bowed his head, took the material in his teeth, and slowly, slowly pulled them off. When he’d succeeded in getting them down to my ankles, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression almost smug.
