by C. J. Wells
Grabbing my legs, he holds them wider, his perfect cock pumping into me with abandon, his breaths ragged amid his grunts of desire. “Look at me, baby,” he orders breathlessly, pounding through the wildest orgasm of my life.
Our eyes lock, his face twisting in his passionate completion, stilling as my pussy milks the delicious pulsing ridges of his explosion.
“Fuck,” he mutters, flopping down on top of me, our chests heaving, gasping for breaths. “You will be the death of me, Aby Ryan,” he whispers roughly, his parted lips smiling against my breast as he struggles for air. “Every perfect part of you.”
MMMM, I MOAN in contentment, stretching in peaceful wakening before opening my eyes to the most beautiful man staring back at me. “What are you doing?” I whisper sleepily, not ready to lose the serenity of the moment.
“I’m enjoying you. Appreciating you.” The slow, perfect pull of his lips into a smile is breathtaking.
“You’re watching me sleep,” I laugh lightly, reaching to touch his perfect face. “How long did I sleep?” I jolt up, looking around for signs of dusk, panicked at the idea of sleeping our first afternoon away.
“Just an hour. You needed it, baby.”
“What I need is to spend every waking moment of this amazing vacation appreciating you. And, perhaps, a shower,” I grimace playfully, lying back down on my side to face him. “We need this time together. I don’t want to sleep it away.”
“No rest for the wicked,” he winks, the gleam in his eyes hitting me straight between the legs.
“Do you plan on keeping me in this bed for the duration of our stay, Mr. Tate?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he traces his finger down my arm, across my bare chest, his eyes devouring the trail of goose bumps in their wake. “I actually plan on doing many things with you while we’re here. And, no,” he looks into my eyes, “…a bed is not a necessary requirement.”
“Warning heeded,” I smile devilishly. “So, what’s on the agenda first?”
“I believe you were on the agenda first,” he teases with a sinful simper, my core clenching at the memory of his touch. “How would you like a romantic dinner on the beach?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It does, doesn’t it? I thought we could investigate the island first.” The grin of excitement plastered across his face is a joy to witness. His love of adventure and the outdoors is one of the very many things I’ve come to admire about him.
“That sounds perfect too,” I smile. “Everything with you sounds perfect.”
“Everything?” his brow skyrockets, and I just want to lean up and lick the damn thing. “I’m not sure the flashing cameras and invasive microphones thrust in our faces at the airport could be classified as perfect,” he adds somberly, averting my gaze, his eyes tracing his finger down my arm.
“Au contraire, my love,” I attempt to ease his obvious worry about my fears - though, at the time, I absolutely was a bundle of nerves and sweat at the hands of the vultures. “Your brilliant answers to their asinine questions were perfectly perfect.”
He doesn’t look up, his lips pulling into a bashful, crooked grin, “You handled them perfectly, yourself.”
“I ignored them,” I laugh. “And gladly faded into your background.”
His gaze darts to mine. “You could never fade into the background. And it was wonderful to have you by my side,” he adds softly, cupping my cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing lovingly along my jaw.
I swallow hard, reeling from the sincerity in his eyes. The man the world fantasizes about, the man the paparazzi hunt shamelessly, is so much more than the beautiful British heartthrob actor they see. I know him for who he truly is. The real Alexander Tate. For that, I feel truly blessed. I owe it to him to draw from his strength - the poise he’s demonstrated so many times at the hands of the prying eyes of the world. “I’ll always be by your side,” I kiss his lips. “Or hiding behind you,” I add playfully with a shrug. “They’re like bloody vultures,” I scrunch my nose dramatically.
“Bloody vultures?” his thick British drawl makes me laugh out loud, and he laughs with me. “I don’t particularly like the idea of you hiding behind me, Miss Ryan. I want to show you off to the world. I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he annunciates the word, staring into my eyes, stealing my breath away. “Besides,” he adds, his lips curling devilishly, “…I much prefer the idea of you on top of me, or under me,” his eyebrow quirks as turns me on my back, his rock hard, delectable body coming over me.
I giggle through the motion, my pulse picking up pace. “Mr. Tate, we will never make it out of this bed at this rate,” I manage, my breaths fluttering in a pant of stirred arousal.
“You want that romantic dinner on the beach,” he sighs playfully in defeat, his inner struggle for control pinching his lips into an undecided pout of his own.
Nibbling my lip at the tempting idea of never leaving this guesthouse, I nod, eyes bright with the equally inviting thought of romance.
“I want it too,” he smiles sincerely, moving to stand in his deliciously naked glory, his jaw dropping erection pulling my gaze. “I’m looking forward to wining and dining my beautiful lady. Right after we take that shower you suggested,” he adds with a wickedly suggestive grin, offering me his hand.
Oh dear God.
“I’M SORRY, I’VE been going on and on,” Alex pulls his napkin from his lap, wiping the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t be. I love hearing stories about your childhood and your family. Your parents sound like such well-rounded, wonderful people. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I add with a smile, taking a sip of my wine.
“They are great. I’m blessed to have them, but every family has their moments,” he shrugs, grinning.
“Ummm, I think mine has more than it’s fair share. We’re all a little crazy,” I add dramatically on a whisper.
Laughing, he shakes his head, looking into my eyes with a sweet smile. “Call it what you will, it’s one of the many things I love about you.”
Uncontrollably, my eyes widen at his use of the word and I immediately note the shift of his brow and cock of his head at my reaction. “You know what I would love?” I quickly aim for a detour of distraction. “A walk on the beach. It’s so beautiful and quiet out here,” I look up and down the strip of isolated sand before looking back to him. “The staff really do leave the guests in peace, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do. And since we’re the only guests here,” he stands, taking my hand to pull me up against him, “…a private stroll by the water sounds very inviting.”
“You want me naked and wet, don’t you?” The thought elicits an eruption through my core.
“Oh, absolutely,” he simpers. “But I’m still delivering the romance portion.” He cups my jaw to hold my gaze, his thumb brushing along my lip. “Let’s talk a little more,” he adds, kissing me softly before bending down to remove my sandals, a soft hold of my calves through the motions. Laying them to the side, he looks up at me, his eyes filled with longing as his hands run up the span of my legs. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?” His touch glides up with my short sundress as he stands. “You really are beautiful, Aby,” he whispers, bending to kiss my neck.
Closing my eyes, I bite my lip against the shrill of ecstasy coursing through me. His words are my euphoria. They hypnotize me, leave me breathless. Speechless.
“Come,” he offers me his hand, looking into my eyes, flashing that amazing combination smile - the sweet, though sinfully sexy, knowing one that drives me wild. “Let’s go for that stroll.” Kicking off his sandals, he leads me toward the water’s edge.
The ocean breeze blends with the warmth of the evening as we walk hand in hand in silence, just out of reach of the slow, soft waves. We’ve been here less than a day, and it feels like a peaceful forever. A world away from all of our troubles. All of my fears. The quiet moment is perfect. Safe.
“It’s all about perceptio
n, you know,” he says out of nowhere, and I look to him in confusion - clearly he’s not riding the thoughtless wave with me. “The issues you have with your family. Or, rather, I should say, your Mum,” he continues, his eyebrow doing its sexy shift.
“Nail on the head,” I tap my nose at his accurate summation of my issues with my mother. “Do go on, Dr. Tate. I welcome your psychoanalysis with an open mind,” I tease with a smile, before looking ahead. I’m not sure why he’s thinking about this right now, but I’m intrigued as to what he has to say.
“Perception is everything. In my world,” he pauses, pulling my gaze before continuing. “That world we agree can be difficult,” he purses his lips and I laugh. “My every word, every step is perceived by everyone, rightfully or wrongfully. It’s particularly eye opening to be on the constant receiving end of those presumptions and assumptions. However, the positive side is that it reminds me to try to look past what appears on the surface. I try to see what is real beneath, before allowing my own perception to come into play. We can never predict the reactions of others to our own actions, Aby. Anymore than they can truly perceive them in light of our honest intent.”
“Wow. That’s deep.” I try to hide my smile. He’s being sincere, and I feel bad for making a joke.
“I’m just suggesting that perhaps you should try that with your Mum.” He offers a closed lip smile with a small shrug, before his lips curl into a playful grin.
He’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met. His boyish charm is ridiculous.
“So, essentially,” I smile at him genially in return, “…you’re suggesting I’m projecting my own self doubts onto the actions of my well-meaning mother.”
“Essentially, yes.” He squeezes my hand, and I bump into him playfully as we walk. “Your Mum adores you and your sister equally, Aby. I can see that. Why can’t you?”
“I know she does,” I sigh. “And I know you’re right. I do look for things in everything she does, and take them the wrong way. But,” I put my finger up with a laugh, “…she still drives me crazy regardless.”
“Because she loves you, worries about you, and wants the best for her daughter. I’m sure Anna would agree with everything you’re feeling, Aby. I do see how my Mum treats her daughter differently than she does her son.”
“Ahhh, the proverbial son,” I tease and he laughs, pursing his lips.
“I wouldn’t say I’m spoiled. My father would never allow his son to ride the easy road. That being said, yes, Mum does dote on me,” he flashes that boyish smile that pulls at my heartstrings. “So have you ever spoken to Beth about how you feel? Perhaps she feels the same way, and you’re simply unaware.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I mutter, suddenly realizing I’m doing it again. Perception…Assumptions and presumptions. Yeah, it’s definitely a bad habit. “Communication is not exactly my family’s strong suit,” I add, grimacing at my part in the lack there of.
“So, I’m assuming,” he nudges me teasingly, “…you haven’t spoken to your Mum about it before either.”
“Now that, Dr. Tate, is a very good assumption. See, they’re not all bad,” I laugh. “Mom would never be open to such a conversation. She’d take it completely offside as a negative attack and associate the entire ordeal as me blaming her, instead of trying to tell her how I fell. Translation, I’m assuming that she will assume wrongly. And I’m probably right.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he squeezes my hand again, and I turn to take in his mocking smile.
“No, I guess it doesn’t,” I laugh.
We fall back into peaceful silence, our gait having moved into the oceans waves. This feels right. Being open with Alex. Sharing my demons and talking through them. I’m a work in progress. We’re a work in progress. And it feels wonderful. He feels wonderful.
“Thank you,” I look towards him, captivated, grateful, for everything he is to me. “For the talk and the advice. For all of this,” I span the air around us. “For just being you,” I look into his eyes as we walk, the warm water rolling in over my sinking steps in the soft gooey sand.
“You’re welcome,” he smiles bashfully. His humility melts my heart. “I would like to talk about what happened earlier as well,” he adds, his eyes on the stretch of beach ahead.
“I’m open to talk about anything, but you’ll have to be a little more specific. Which part would you like to discuss? The one where you swept me off my feet, or the one where you swept me off my feet?”
“Well, specifically,” he glances towards me, “…the part when you bugged out a little when I mentioned the love word.”
“I didn’t bug out.” I scrunch my nose in mock defiance. “You’re really picking up the North American slang, aren’t you? Maybe I’m a bad influence.”
“Aby, I’m serious.”
“Alex,” I stop abruptly, turning to face him. “I love you,” I reach up to touch his cheek. “I can say that because I’m ready to. It doesn’t mean I expect you to reciprocate something you’re not ready to.” My hand slides down along his chest; it’s a purposeful motion to avert my gaze. I’m not lying to him, but I would be lying to myself if I ignored the pang in my heart that longs to hear him say those three words. “Love comes with trust for you,” I bravely smile up at him. “And despite that I’ve tested that lately, I do know how you feel about me.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I do. And until you’re ready to tell me,” I nip at my lip seductively, desire oozing from my gaze, “…just show me.”
His eyes burn sapphire in the moonlight, his mouth parted on a husky breath as he cups my face to take me in a fierce kiss.
Trembles of need burst through every nerve as his tongue claims me, his hands devouring their way down my neck and spine. I reach for him, moaning as he grabs my waist, squeezing me tight against him. Every touch, every brush of his lips and tongue speak more than any words possibly could. I feel his need for me, his pull to me, as strongly as the air I breathe.
Reaching for the hem of my dress, he tears it up and over my raised arms, tossing it to the side before I witness his surprise. He devours my nudity, looking into my eyes with carnal hunger - a hunger that tells me we wouldn’t have made it this far into the evening if he had known what was missing beneath my pretty little sundress.
Grabbing my nape, he pulls me in for another assault of the senses at the realm of his perfect lips and tongue, my hands feverishly tugging at the closure of his shorts.
I moan from the loss of his kiss as he reaches to pull off his shirt, bending to discard his bottoms to the sand. The sight of his erection, bobbing eagerly against his sculpted abs is the end of me. Pouncing, I wrap my arms around his neck, reclaiming his lips as he cups my ass to lift me, my legs securing around his waist as he carries me out into the warm ocean waves.
“MMMM…WHAT WAS that for?” I mumble against Alex’s lingering lips.
He brushes my cheek, straightening to sit down on the porcelain edge of the claw foot tub, “I woke up wanting to kiss you.” His eyes, raking over my submerged body, leave a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “As delicious as this visual is, it wasn’t nice to find you weren’t lying next to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I pout dramatically. “My body was begging for a bath. I swear I have sand in every crevice.”
“Not possible.” His heated gaze repeats its consumption of my naked form before his lips curl up in slow, soul burning grin. “I devoured every crevice of your perfect body in the shower last night.” He dips his hand in the water, lathering me with lust at the touch of his fingers up my thigh and tummy, a breathtaking, teasing caress of my sex in their journey.
“Well, perhaps you weren’t thorough enough,” I bite my lip devilishly.
His smirk widens, and I take advantage of the attention of his eyes returning to mine to display my overwhelming need for him in my gaze. Insatiable doesn’t describe what this man does to me. Being naked and wet under the captivating pull of him merely add
s to his effect on me. Not to mention the euphoric romance of our locale. I only wish we could stay here on our little fantasy island, hidden from the realm of reality forever. For now, I’ll settle for the warmth of his beautiful body wrapped around mine in this tub. “Off with thy pants, Alexander the Great.”
“Not just yet,” he replies on a whisper, tracing a path through the beads of water leading to my belly button, his eyes lost in the motion.
I’m lost, myself, to the feel of him, my body reacting to the explosive current of his electrifying touch and the heat of his gaze. In his hands, under the spell of his eyes, I’m transported to another world. His world. And he has this way of making me feel like I’m the only one in it.
Mine, his profession zings through my psyche as his touch tantalizes along my core. Yours, I reply silently, moaning, closing my eyes in the pleasure of his fleeting graze. Always.
Opening them to his stare, I note the sudden melancholy floating across his face. “Alex?”
He says nothing as he stands, turning to dry his hands in the terry robe hung nearby. Although he offers a warm grin at my questioning frown, I can’t help but shiver at what lies beneath it. Leaning against the wall, he bites the corner of his mouth as though preparing to break bad news. Damn. Please don’t be bad news.
“I received a message from the producers,” he begins, looking down momentarily in regret. I’m sure it has something to do with the disappointment that unconsciously, though, undoubtedly flashed across my face. “They need to push the shooting forward,” he looks back to me, crossing his arms over his chest, relaxing into his lean against the wall.
“What does that mean for you?” I attempt to lace my question with an odd mixture of nonchalance and understanding; an added forced smile in hopes of passing. I’m sure I failed.
“We shall see. I have to call them.”
