I watch him walk back to the table to grab the whole bowl of strawberries and the bottle of champagne. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you brought the table back here?” He smiles at me, and I know he’s up to no good.
“Then we couldn’t have a champagne waterfall,” he says, holding the bowl of strawberries out for me. “Now the thing with a champagne waterfall is that you can’t move.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t understand,” I tell him, and his smile just grows bigger.
“Lean back on the couch,” he directs me, so I place the strawberries beside me in the corner and lean back. “Not like that.” Coming over, he places the champagne on the floor, then grabs my knees and pulls me out. My head is on the cushion, and my butt is on the edge of the couch. “Now open your legs.” My legs open without my brain even knowing what it’s doing. He grabs his glass of champagne and fills it again. “Now remember what I said; you can’t move.” He stands over me and bends, pouring champagne on the middle of my chest. I yelp out at the coldness of it, then look down, seeing it run down my chest to my stomach, stopping at my belly button. He bends down, licking the path down to my belly button where he sucks the rest of it.
“That was fun,” he says and does it again, this time pouring more and catching it with his tongue as he sucks my belly button. “Time for more,” he says, and my head is becoming heavy. My nipples are aching, and I have a strong need to close my knees for friction, but I can’t because he is kneeling between them. He fills his glass again, his eyes on me now when he brings the glass not to where it was before but to the tip of my pubic bone.
“Time for the waterfall,” he says, getting lower. Pouring the cold champagne on me, he tries to catch it with his mouth while his sucks on my pussy. I don’t know how much he actually got because my head fell back at that moment. He does it again and again, pushing me to the edge, and right before I’m finally ready to come, he stops sucking. I hiss out each time, my head thrashing from side to side and my body tingling.
Just when I think he’s finally going to let me come, he pulls back again. I curse at him as he laughs, then goes back again and again, and finally, when I’m about to come, he throws the glass down beside him, gets on his knees, and thrusts his cock all the way in me. “Fuck,” he says with one of my legs raised on his hip while he looks down at us. I didn’t even see or feel him put a condom on. His thumb makes little circles on my clit while he pushes in and out of me, and I can finally come. He lets me have it, and I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. And just when I think it’s almost done, he pinches my clit, and I come again, one orgasm rolling into another. I must squeeze him more than he can take because in the middle of the second one, he joins me.
His body covers mine when he finally stops. “We need another shower,” I tell him, and he nods. Waiting a bit before he finally pulls out of me, he walks to the bathroom to discard the condom and then comes back. “Shower or bath?” he asks, and I get up slowly, making sure my knees don’t give out on me.
“Shower,” I say, then grab the bowl of strawberries and walk over to the table to grab the chocolate syrup. “Time to show you cockaberry fondue.” I wink at him and walk away, swaying my hips. He follows me up, and we get a lot more dirty before we get clean. Then both of us crash for a nap the second we get back to the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks me from over his shoulder. I look up from where I’m sitting in the chair in the corner while I tie my shoe. “Why are you dressed again?” I look at him as he turns around and sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I figured you would sleep through the night, so I would go back to my room,” I tell him as I tie the other shoe. I woke up an hour ago and lay in bed fighting with myself about getting up, knowing that our time would be over, and I finally gave in ten minutes ago. “Besides, we scratched the itch, right?”
I look at him now; he’s sitting with his back to the headboard and the sheet at his waist. His hair crazy from my hands and sleep, and he glares at me. “Itch?” He repeats the word, and it feels shitty hearing it from him.
“Well,” I say, getting up and standing in front of him, “we clearly”—I point at him and me—“you know.” Trying to make it less awkward since I’m the one doing the walk of shame, I say, “Had an itch.”
“So, you scratch it on my dick?” He glares at me, putting one hand over his head and another on his stomach. I’ll always remember this moment, him like that, the look of no cares in the world.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I say, “Don’t look at me like that. We both had an itch, and we scratched it.”
“The difference is that I didn’t need to ‘scratch an itch’,” he says, using his fingers to do air quotes. “I wanted to scratch that itch, and I wanted it with no one but you.”
“Tyler.” Hearing me whisper his name finally gets him out of bed, and I watch him make his way to me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asks, standing in front of me. “Don’t say that I wanted this; don’t say that I wanted it with you? What exactly am I supposed to say?”
“You’re supposed to say, I don’t know, thank you for the best night of my life.” I look down, then up again. “Thank you for cockaberry fondue.”
“Yeah, and what if I said I wanted to do it again?” he asks me. “What if I told you that I want to scratch the itch, again . . . and again . . . and again?”
Cocking my hip to the side, I fold my arms over my chest. “Now?”
He cups my cheeks. “Now, later, tonight, in the middle of tonight, maybe tomorrow before we go running, then definitely tomorrow night.” He looks straight into my eyes. My chest is heaving and then the sound of my heartbeat fills my ears.
“That is a lot of scratching.” I place my hands over his. “What if Cassie comes in? What if—”
“Will it make you feel better if we did the scratching in your room?” The question stumps me. “Or we can go to your room, grab your workout stuff for tomorrow”—leaning in, he kisses me softly on the lips, my body doing a full sigh—“then after we run, I’ll come to your room to make sure you aren’t itchy, and then I’ll come back here, and we can, you know, scratch it again tonight.”
“Just so we are clear,” I say right before I give in, “we are still talking about sex, right?” My laughter is swallowed by his kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
Tyler
Looks like this in-demand actor was just caught sneaking out of his new love interest’s house. Sources say he fled the scene once the estranged husband showed up!
“Are you even listening to me?” Cassie asks from beside me as we walk out of the hotel toward our boat in Venice. “Your parents are in Paris.”
“Oh, good,” I say to her. After getting into the boat, I turning to hold out my hand to help her. “I spoke to Ryan today, and he thinks he can squeeze one more day in Paris before we fly back to New York.”