“You like my mouth…”
“… so fucking much.”
He undid the second string. And I remembered we were not alone on the boat.
“Can you see Captain Craig?”
He was pushing aside the fabric, his fingers unclosing me. “This isn’t Captain Craig’s first boat ride. He’s not coming back here. I can assure you.”
I stopped breathing in that moment that he lowered his head. Anticipating his arrival. Knowing how quickly he could make me come.
He did not disappoint. His lips wrapping around my clit, so wonderfully precise. That sucking thing he did. “Hiiii.”
“Hi. So is this dinner, then?”
“No.” He shook his head, letting me feel his tongue. “This is tea.”
I laughed, my hands in his hair, the sun beating down on us, the water lapping at the sides of the boat. His mouth.
Far into the future, when I thought of Anguilla, this was the moment I would think of. Whether I wanted to or not.
We stayed in on New Year’s Eve, forgoing celebrations at the Viceroy and Cap Juluca, to avoid the crowds, the madness, the cameras. “I just want it to be the two of us,” he’d expressed on the boat ride back into port. “I just want to be with you. Always.”
Late Thursday, I’d installed myself before my easel on the wraparound balcony outside of our suite, capturing magic hour and the mountains of Saint-Martin, indigo spires against a salmon sky. Hayes was in the bedroom going over his tour itinerary. They were heading to South America in a month’s time, and he wanted me to join them.
“At least Brazil. And Argentina,” he said, stepping out onto the balcony. “We have days off in between and we can explore.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck. “I’m sure that’s your dream holiday, right? Buenos Aires with me and the lads.”
I laughed at that, the idea of me and the five of them. And then I paused, setting down my brush. “I don’t trust your friend, Hayes.”
“Who? Rory?”
“No, Rory is harmless. Despite being the least gay.” I smiled. “Should I not trust Rory?”
“I wouldn’t say he’sharmless…”
“I don’t have a problem with Rory,” I said.
He pulled back then, turning me to face him. He knew. “What did Oliver do?”
I told him. Most of it.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me when it happened, Solène?”
“Because I didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than it was… than it is.”
He sighed, wrapping me in his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay. I can take care of myself.”
“Oliver is smart. Oliver is one of the smartest blokes I know. But he can also be a prick and that’s not always the best combination.
“He’s like… the closest thing I have to a brother…” he continued.
“I know…”
“… and all that entails.”
“I know,” I repeated.
