How to Honeymoon Alone

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes downcast between us. The pained look on his face sends my heartbeat racing. Excitement and adrenaline push through my veins with every pulse.

He uses his hands, and I let my head fall forward, my forehead on his, as his fingers tug and tease. It’s been a long time since a man’s hands were on me. His touch makes me more aware of my body, too. It’s as if I’ve come alive under his admiration. Like I’m existing more in this moment than I have been for months.

He pulls me tighter against him, my breasts crushing against his chest, and kisses my neck. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs the words into my wet skin.

I relax into his embrace. “Am I?”

“Yes.” His hands slide down my body. “Your body, your smile, your dark eyes, your hair… it’s been driving me crazy. The long, light-brown mass of it. And these curves?”

His hands tighten around my hips, his eyes on mine appear a darker blue. There’s a hungry question in them.

“It’s been a long time,” I murmur, “since I did… any of this.”

He smiles. “You’re doing great.”Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes. Faultless, really.”

“Top of my class?”

“Definitely.”

I tighten my legs around him, locking them together behind his back. He gives a low groan as our bodies come in even closer contact. “See?” he mutters. “You’re acing it.”

“I always was a teacher’s pet.”

“I knew it,” he murmurs and kisses me again. Warm lips and even warmer hands grip my ass and pull me tight against him. We kiss for a very long time. We kiss until I feel like I’m one with the water around me and so ready for more that it’s an almost painful ache inside of me.

I wonder if he knows that, if that’s his goal, if my little it’s been a long time had made him do this.

Kiss me like he’d be content to do this forever.

“God, Eden,” he whispers, mouth at my jaw. “The way you’re grinding against me…”

My hips stop their movement, and a blush races up my cheeks. “Oh.”

“Don’t stop,” he mutters, and there’s a bit of roughness in the tone, too. “I just don’t want to… rush things here.”

“Good,” I moan. It’s been seven years of sex with the same person, and my nerves are like a tight bundle in the pit of the stomach, competing with the desire.

“Good?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm.”

His hands slide down, and then move further, hovering at the waistline of my bikini bottoms. “Let me take care of you.”

The words spiral through me, spreading heat that sears me along its path.

“I want to focus on you,” he says, stroking over the fabric of my bottoms.

“Okay,” I whisper. My body is pushing down against his hand. Needing. The pressure, even the hint of friction…

He pats my thigh. “As much as I like you here, you’re going to have to release me, baby.”

I unhook my legs and slide down his body. Warm water rushes in between our bodies, and then his hand follows, sliding down my bare stomach and finding the waistband of my bottoms.

I can’t look at him. I can’t-I can’t-and then he kisses me as if he knows that, and I’m back in the moment, needing his touch so badly-

He slides his big, warm hand down and cups me completely. I catch my breath at the sensation, and he gives me back my air, his lips moving to my neck.

I grip his shoulders and hold on as he explores me-gently, then more insistently, his fingers parting and curling and circling within the tight confines of my bikini bottoms. He teases me until I’m arching up against his hand, until the only sound between us is my constricted breathing and his low groans of appreciation.

“Fuck,” he says and pulls his hand away.

“No,” I say. “Please-”

“I’m not stopping,” he says and curses again. “But I need to… come here.”

He grips my thighs and hoists me up, out of the water. He puts me on the edge of the pool and steps in between my splayed legs, his head now at the perfect height…

“Phillip,” I whisper, my hand finding his thick hair. I don’t know if I’m scared or excited or on the very edge of ecstasy, or if it’s all three emotions at once, and the only solution is release.

“Beautiful,” he mutters again and runs his hands up my thighs. He tugs me closer to the edge. I let go of the nerves and sink into the darkness of the night and the soothing rhythm of the waves against the beach and the sensation of his hands tugging my bikini bottoms to the side.

His breath is shockingly warm against me, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his tongue and mouth. He’s skilled, and maybe it’s his enthusiasm and the newness of it, or the star-studded sky above us and the warm air against my wet skin, but I don’t feel self-conscious at all. I’m entirely in the moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, muffled against me, and I look down at his dark-haired head between my thighs. He pushes one of my legs up and over his shoulder, giving him better access. And then a finger is added, and I’m not going to survive this.

“You okay?” I whisper. I want to hear him say it, to confirm that I’m not alone with my racing heart. He lifts his head, eyes that are nearly black look back at me.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” he says, and pushes my left thigh further to the side. “Tell me what you like. What you need.”

“This,” I whisper. “Just more of it.”

He smiles, and it’s equal parts wolfish and victorious. It makes me think of how he said that there are winners in sex. How it was the only game he played where he wanted both parties to win.

“Trust me, I never want to stop.” He lowers his head back down.

And I find myself relaxing on the hard stone deck that surrounds the pool. My leg lifted over his shoulder and the other floating in the water. And Phillip Meyer between my thighs as pleasure races up my body.

It’s hard to breathe. I look at the full moon above us as the pleasure grows and grows and grows, and I must be making noise because Phillip grunts against me and reaches up, his right hand finding my hip, my waist, and then teasing one of my nipples.

I break apart.

The strength of it surprises me. A wave sweeps me under, and it takes a very long time before I resurface from the sensations exploding across my skin.

My knees are clamped around his shoulders, and he’s kissing my inner thighs, looking up at me. The hair at his temples has started to dry in small curls, and there’s fierce color staining his high cheekbones. But it’s the intensity in his eyes that makes it impossible to look away.