by Morey, Trish
He took both her hands and kissed each of them solemnly, without taking his eyes from hers, before he swung them over her head and pinned her down, collecting her wrists in one hand. Her eyes widened and she gasped as his mouth descended over hers, and he made love to her with his mouth, his free hand roaming the length of her, setting her aflame wherever he touched.
His mouth moved to her breasts, his tongue circling the firm buds of her nipples, then drawing them into his mouth, drowning them in heat and sensation until she clawed at his back and he returned to her mouth, pressing himself along her body. Every part of her seemed to pulse, her heartbeat thrumming, playing bass to the symphony of her senses.
Feelings she’d subjugated her whole life welled up within her, a sensory overload threatening to tip her over the borders of control. He released her hands and she relished in the freedom to likewise indulge in the feeling of him. Her hands raked his body, exploring every dip and plane of his flesh, skin over muscle, tightly corded tendons, strong hips and the firm tightness of his buttocks.
They tussled on the large bed, limbs tangling as they rolled together, their skin heated and glowing in the fire of their passion.
Her hands slipped around, driven to seek that which pressed so insistently upon her, and then it was there, in her hands, rigid and pulsing with its own special rhythm. He gasped and jerked, his breath ragged and hot in her hair.
‘I want you,’ she said with a conviction she’d never known before, the power of her want overwhelming in its simple truth.
‘As I want you, cara,’ he whispered, his voice heavy with longing. He flattened her on her back, masterfully wedging her legs apart with one knee. But then she put up no resistance, her need to have him obsessing her thoughts, driving her to possess him inside her.
He touched a hand to her thigh, squeezing her flesh so that her muscles clenched involuntarily, beckoning him to come closer. His fingers glided between her legs, her breath catching in her throat as they brushed over the sensitive flesh. But she stilled his hand, not wanting him to discover the truth before it could not matter.
‘Please,’ she implored. ‘Now.’
He hesitated for a second, but only for that and she sensed that he too was impatient as he drew himself up over her, resting himself at her entrance as he kissed her mouth, the press of his lips gentle yet firm, echoing the pressure below, at first just a throbbing but then more insistent, more pressing.
Nothing mattered now. Nothing but having him inside her, filling her completely and obliterating this desperate sense of need.
She angled her hips higher to accommodate him as he kissed her softly once more before raising his head and drawing back his hips. She waited, nerve-endings screaming for release, before he made one huge thrust, the momentary flash of pain forcing her head back into the bed with a cry. He squeezed her hand but already the pain was gone and he was inside her, and all she could think about was how exquisite life could be, that it would give her this experience and awaken such feelings in her.
But it wasn’t over. He was moving inside her, slowly drawing back, teetering on the edge, before sliding back home, giving the sensations she’d been experiencing a whole different dimension. She started to move with him, catching on to the rhythm, lifting her hips, rocking with his movements, tightening her muscles to keep him there just a touch longer. Red-hot waves washed over her, each one building on the other.
Sweat erupted on his brow, tiny droplets clinging to the ends of his hair as it flicked over his face. His skin glowed in the pale evening light, his eyes dark and intense, taking her with him as he rocked faster and faster, slamming his long length into her as her own inferno built, each thrust further fuelling the fire inside, pushing her higher and higher.
Until there was nowhere left for her to go. With one final penetrating thrust he pushed her over the edge of reason, the edge of control, and all thought fragmented, nothing mattered but the incandescent brilliance of the explosion of mind and body.
A second later he followed, his body pulsing into hers, until he collapsed, slick and spent, upon her, their bodies humming in the wake of their passion.
She opened her eyes, surprised to see the room unchanged, the windows, the timber, the bed—all where they had been before. And yet nothing about her felt the same. Inside, on some basic level, she was a different person.
He stroked her arm, and rolled her over onto him.
‘Are you hungry now?’
‘Famished,’ she said, her appetite for food reasserting itself with a growl of her stomach.
He laughed and made to scoop her off the bed, pausing over something that caught his eye on the covers. She followed his gaze. Even in the dim light the smudge was unmistakable.
She’d lied to him.
‘I thought you said a week,’ he asserted, his brow furrowed and his eyes flashing with anger.
She nodded. ‘It was. But I believe this sometimes happens when…’ Her words trailed off as she struggled to find the words. In the end she didn’t need to, as she saw the realisation dawn on his face.
‘Then…’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Merdi! Why did you not tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask.’ She delivered the words in as light-hearted a tone as she could muster, attempting to crack through his sudden change of mood, but the look he threw her was dark and malevolent. She shrugged, rolling her body away, trying to look less conspicuous, less naked, on the large king-size bed. ‘Anyway, does it matter now?’
His hand came down, slapping his thigh, and he cursed again in Italian under his breath.
Then he knelt one leg up on the bed, reaching a hand to rest on her hip. ‘Did I hurt you much?’
‘No,’ she said, knowing straight away he didn’t believe her, and so she nodded. ‘But only for a moment.’
‘You should have told me,’ he said. ‘I would have gone slower.’
She slipped her hand over his. ‘I wanted you just the way you were.’
He picked up her hand, turned it palm up to his mouth, and kissed it softly. Then he swept her into his arms. ‘Another shower?’ she asked as he headed away from the bed, trying not to sound too hopeful.
He laughed softly, the sound rich and deep and edged with enough intent to make her insides curl. ‘Not yet. I thought it was time for a swim.’
He carried her through to the deck, and then down one step and into the shallow plunge pool set over the low pandanus palms and bushes. He kneeled down and let her float into the water, still supporting her shoulders with one arm. She gasped at first as the lukewarm water accepted her body, but within a moment it seemed like the most natural place to be, and as it was set over the low rainforest, with the jets spouting water into the side, it was like being in their own private stream. Water spilled over her skin as she moved, sliding off, leaving behind beads that rolled away, a silver trail in the low light.
‘La sirena,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘What is it about you and water?’ He kissed her then and she accepted his kiss, surprisingly already feeling her senses heighten in anticipation of more lovemaking. And she wanted more. Much more.
As if aware of her budding arousal, he shifted his mouth to her throat, to her breast, and with each delicious sweep of his tongue her excitement grew. Her back arched, her head dipping back into the water, weighing down her hair.
He shifted her around, so her arms rested on the step, her body a feast set out for him. He sampled more of her mouth, her breasts, sweeping his tongue down to circle her navel, setting up incredible internal pressure beyond, while his arms squeezed her closer. His hand swept over the scoop of flesh from her belly to her mound, resting as he raised his head. ‘Are you still sore?’
She shook her head, not wanting to talk and interrupt the sweet indulgence he was bestowing on her. His hand dipped below her legs, parting her and gently exploring that unseen part of her. She sighed, revelling in the intensity of feeling his touch generated. Then he stopped and for a moment she
felt bereft, until he was back, somehow between her legs, and feelings that she’d never imagined overtook her. She gasped, her eyelids fluttering open and widening suddenly.
She snapped them shut, trying unsuccessfully to block out the vision of his dark head—there—but there was no hope of escaping the erotic image and even less hope of avoiding the escalating feelings, an electric charge coiling up within her, spiralling higher and higher until she was sure there must be nowhere to go. He entered her then, filling her with his length and completing the circuit as her muscles clenched down on him, building her even higher, until on one all-penetrating thrust her world split apart, a blinding flash that shattered into a myriad of tiny sparkling lights, and she was lost.
‘Thank you,’ she said at last, when her breathing had resumed a more normal rhythm at last. ‘I think.’
He chuckled as he nuzzled in alongside, kissing the beads of water from her throat. ‘Thank you. I know.’
They lay together then, listening to the sounds of the rainforest at night, their bodies in total harmony as the water lapped around them. And she thought about her new life as the wife of Domenic Silvagni. Tonight she had become his true wife, in body as well as in name. And Domenic was a superb lover; even to one so inexperienced that much was clear. It would certainly be no hardship sharing his bed.
The next day Domenic organised a picnic hamper for lunch and they motored around the island to a deserted beach in a shaded dinghy. The sand was white and pure, the sky a clear azure-blue and the sea a sparkling aqua ribbon between the two.
They swam together, Domenic deftly discarding her bikini underwater, so that their bodies could merge in the warm water. Then they dined on sashimi, coriander chicken wings and tiny quiche and washed it down with champagne, shaded from the sun by the brightly striped umbrella above. And they made love again, sensual, languorous love, before collapsing into each other’s arms on the blanket.
She thought he was resting then, like her, finding this time a rare indulgence in a lifetime always focused on the business. She’d thought it would be harder to switch off but he’d seen to that. Already Clemengers seemed a distant memory in the wake of his lovemaking.
But then he stirred and propped himself up on one elbow, promptly putting paid to her assumption that he had switched off completely.
‘How did your mother die?’
She blinked, totally unprepared for the question. ‘I’m not really sure.’
He frowned and she shrugged, rolling onto her tummy, running her fingers through the sand. ‘I guess that sounds odd, but it’s true. I was only nine years old but I knew she’d been unwell for a long time, so desperately unhappy in her marriage. And then one night I heard my parents arguing, really screaming at each other.
‘Not that they didn’t ever fight, mind you. There were always arguments when they were together. Or, at least, Mum would plead and Dad would shout and then Mum would cry. But this time was different. I was so scared…’
She took a deep breath, fisting her hand around the sand. ‘Anyway, the very next day she tried to end it all—no one ever told me the details, I guess they were trying to protect me. The ambulance came and took her to hospital, but even then I thought she was going to be okay.’
She flung the grains of sand away, scattering them on the gentle breeze, and turned her eyes to his. ‘They told me she’d be okay! But they lied. She never came back. And I never even had the chance to say goodbye. Dad wouldn’t let us go to her funeral—said it would upset us—and he never spoke about her again.’
He reached over, weaving his fingers into hers. ‘You were so young.’
‘Maybe. But at least I can remember her. The twins were only four, they have no memories of her at all, only a succession of nannies from then on.’
She sighed, enjoying the feel of his hand against hers. The lesson she took from her mother’s life was stark and blunt. Keep your heart, it said, never give it away. It was a lesson she’d lived her life by and it had served her well. Until now, with Domenic making her aware of sensations and feelings she’d never before experienced, finding ways through her defences.
Already she didn’t hate him. Already she hungered for his touch, his embrace. How long would it be before she hungered for more?
She broke his grip and rolled onto her back, dissatisfied with where her thoughts were heading and eager for a change of topic.
‘Tell me more about your parents. Are they sorry they couldn’t be in Sydney for our wedding?’
‘That wasn’t possible. Not with the state of my father’s treatment.’ He rolled onto his back too. ‘I told you he has cancer. He has had surgery, and now chemotherapy. Reportedly all is going well.’ He sighed, long and deep. ‘But I know they are looking forward to meeting you in December, when they celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary.’
‘Fifty years is a long time,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine people staying together for so long, least of all happily. Surely that takes a certain kind of love?’
Suddenly he sat up. ‘Who knows?’ he said gruffly, studying the sky. ‘It’s time we were going,’ he said, springing to his feet and collecting up the remnants of their hamper.
They were quiet as he steered the small dinghy back to the landing deck, and she wondered what she’d done to make him so uncomfortable all of a sudden.
But by dinner an easy companionship had returned and they chatted more easily, dining on freshly shucked oysters, Vietnamese prawn parcels and seafood dishes with an Asian accent, washed down with the finest Australian sauvignon blanc.
Two more days of Bedarra Island indulgence followed, leaving Opal feeling a confirmed lotus-eater. Clocks and time had no meaning, until it was the night before they were to leave. They’d dined and walked along the moonlit beach and then returned to the Pavilion to shower together, the expectations of another night of passion heightening their senses.
Things would be different back in Sydney, she knew. These few days had seen their relationship move to a new level—a sexual level—and a side of life she’d never imagined existed. Did he realise how much he’d changed her already?
He emerged from the shower after her, looking refreshed and glowing, rubbing his hair with the towel before tossing it into the linen hamper. She watched him pad across the wooden floor, impatient when he didn’t come straight to her bed, her eyes hungry as she drank in his powerful stride, his athletic legs and firm torso. He pulled open a drawer, looping some black silk over his fingers and stepping into the light underwear.
She swallowed, unable to peel her eyes from him. There was little to the black thong, very little, but what there was was put to uncommonly good use. At the back the strap rounded his taut cheeks, forming a V and pointing down invitingly to where it disappeared into the cleft. Around the front the pouch only accentuated his fullness, rather than camouflaging it.
Her mouth went dry.
‘Why are you wearing that?’ she asked as casually as she could.
He walked over to the side of the bed and smiled, that loosely curved smile that made her womanly parts curl and her insides quiver. ‘I seem to remember you prefer your men in underwear.’
‘Not any more,’ she said, reaching out her arms and drawing him down on top of her.
‘Take it off.’
She woke that last morning and looked over at him, his eyes closed and lashes intertwined. Now sporting a four-day beard growth, he looked more like a pirate than ever, rugged and dangerous. And for just a few days he’d been hers. They’d shared four fabulous days and nights together, with barely a hint of friction, and just for a moment the thought crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.
Then the fear returned in a harsh dump of reality. This was the man who’d spent his own wedding night with another woman. Opal was simply the woman who would bear him a child. How long would he grace her bed once he’d achieved that goal?
She swallowed back a lump of regret. She was lucky really. Thin
gs could be worse. As long as she didn’t love Domenic, whatever else he did shouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t pretend that it wouldn’t matter—that was a matter of pride. But at least her heart would be safe.
So for now she would take whatever he was offering. He’d already shown her feelings and sensations she hadn’t known existed and he’d made her hungry to learn more. She’d be a willing pupil and maybe one day, whatever else happened, their stay on Bedarra Island might represent a special time for them both. She already knew it would for her.
Two weeks later Opal stood in the marble bathroom, staring at the white stick. There was supposed to be a line. There should have been a line. She flicked on the down-lights and angled the stick under the bright glare. Still nothing.
She couldn’t understand it. If she wasn’t pregnant, she should have her period by now. She’d even been starting to feel different this last week or so, or so she’d thought. Maybe she’d just imagined it, wished herself pregnant. Or maybe her body was just still out of sync. Considering all that had happened the last few weeks, that should be no surprise.
She sighed. Domenic would be disappointed. But then, in reality, it was expecting a lot to become pregnant in her first month. Didn’t some people take months—years, even—to succeed at conceiving a child? What if she had trouble? Her husband had certainly made a lot of assumptions in his choice of wife.
She tossed the failed home pregnancy test in the bin and studied her face in the mirror, this way and that, amazed she was even thinking along such lines. One month ago the idea of having a child, of carrying Domenic’s child, had been totally abhorrent. Yet here she was, suddenly desperate to see a thin blue line materialise.
