How wrong I am, and how wonderful it is, especially when I reach up to cradle her breasts.
“So responsive.”
My calloused thumbs circle her buds.
“So tight.”
I repeat the motion a little quicker, her chest rising and falling in response.
“And so perfect.”
On my rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, her drawn-out, wanton moan lets me know she likes it. Boy, does she ever.
The edge taken off following our first coupling, we take our time with the second. Luxuriating in the sensations, exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know what we like.
So far as I can see, that’s everything, only reinforcing my earlier statement that we’re made for each other. Certainly, I’ve never experienced this with a woman before. It’s different with Phoebe.
Sure, there’s lust and libido in abundance, but there are also gentler emotions. They’re the sort that sees us in the four-poster for the afternoon, with no plans to go anywhere other than paradise.
EIGHT
PHOEBE
As I lay back on the sun lounger next to Wyatt’s, I revel in the sun warming my skin. The courtyard being as private as it is, there’s no risk of tan lines for either of us.
Unless you count Wyatt’s body covering mine, as it so often does. Three days it’s been, three glorious days during which Wyatt hasn’t left my side. There’s been no sign of Ralph. It’s as if he’s disappeared into the ether.
The biggest surprise in all of this is that even though Wyatt has seen me first thing in the morning, and without make-up, he’s still keen.
Since becoming better-known as a model, I’m all too conscious of men wanting to date me, only to be seen WITH me. Someinfluencerswill go to extraordinary lengths to garner more clicks.
If any of them had seen me bare-faced and with my hair all over the place, they’d have run a mile. With Wyatt, it doesn’t seem to matter what state I’m in. He still looks at me with affection and desire. This has me able to relax around him, as no man before.
After sliding my sunglasses up on my forehead, I turn to Wyatt. “Has he been back to his room?” There’s no need for me to reference who I’m talking about.
“No, he hasn’t.” Wyatt’s brow wrinkles before he continues. “But he’s paid through to the weekend, so we have to leave his stuff where it is.” He rolls onto his side and props his head up with one arm. “The license plate he gave us when he registered doesn’t tie in with any of the cars on site, either.”
This news has me flopping back on the sun lounger, my sunglasses automatically sliding into place. It makes no sense. He must have driven here, because what stalker catches a bus?
Ralph’s location really is the one cloud in my otherwise clear blue sky. I know he’s only leaving me alone because I’m with Wyatt. And much as I love spending time with this gorgeous, loving man, I have a life, too. One that’s currently on hold.
The response to the poolside shoot with Claude has been encouraging. My agent even called the photos ‘spectacular’, which is saying something for someone as taciturn as Carol.
It’s for this reason she wants to book me for another shoot, this time back in LA. And I’m torn. While it’s another career-making opportunity, it will have me once again on my own; once again at the mercy of Ralph.
I’ve told her I’ll get back to her tomorrow, but for now, I’m putting it out of my mind and enjoying the last of my halcyon days with Wyatt.
Following yet another dip in the plunge pool, Wyatt is about to drop back to his lounger when an alert sounds on his phone. This has him drying his hands so he can check it.
Unable to stop myself, I sit up, ready to hear the news I’ve been waiting for since Wyatt moved me from my room to the villa.
His rolling his eyes has disappointment flaring. Whatever it is, it’s not about Ralph, but something mundane. Something he would have delegated to someone else if not for Ralph keeping such a low profile.
“Yeah, I’ll be over as soon as I can.” The look he gives me then warms me more than the sun. “Give me half-an-hour.”
On my dropping back on the sun lounger, arching my back and rolling a hip in his direction, he adds. “Better make it an hour.”
He leaves sixty-five glorious minutes later, but who’s counting? He also leaves me languid and replete, my body soft and compliant. Of course, he’d also carried me inside and locked the patio doors.
