Once my mind begins to clear, my breathing slides into a comfortable rhythm. I hear the waves crest and hit the shore, but they’re starting to sound far, far away. I’ve drifted somewhere heavenly when Gray’s hands move to my buttocks, manipulating the large muscles.
His touch is intimate, and I try to remain relaxed. But when the warm oil drips onto my lower back and slides between the cheeks, I shudder, squirming against the tabletop.
“You’re tense again. Let go,” he encourages, his fingers deft and skilled. “This isn’t about sex. This is about you getting comfortable with my hands on your body. Instinctively knowing that they will only bring you pleasure—even in pain.”
I sigh wistfully. There is nothing I crave more desperately than the delicious pain that brings pleasure. When he nudges my legs apart, there is no resistance. Lavishing one leg with attention, and then the other, he works the warm oil into my skin, his knuckles occasionally grazing my pussy. I wait in anticipation, longing for more of that kind of touch.
I’m no longer relaxed. All I can think about is my arousal, growing and growing, until it’s bigger than I am. Until it’s bigger than both of us. It’s then, when I’m about to beg him to fuck me, that he slides two fingers into my aching pussy. A gasp twined with a grateful groan twists its way out into the salty air. Somewhere in my head, somewhere faraway, a little voice reminds me that this is a mission. But the surf and the unremitting bliss drown out the good counsel.
“Squeeze,” he demands, and I do, eagerly obeying. I clench my walls around his fingers, hugging tight. “Release, and relax.”
He keeps his fingers inside me, while the other hand massages the back of my neck. “Squeeze those walls around me,” he instructs, again. “That’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmhm,” I whisper. It’s as though his careful ministrations have zapped so much of my strength that even my voice is barely audible.
Without any warning, he pulls his fingers away. I whimper at the loss.
“Turn over,” he says simply.
I roll onto my side, and then to my back without giving it any thought. It’s as though, in my listless state, I’ve been programmed to follow his commands. In a sense, that’s what all this is about—but right now, I don’t care.
I lie quietly, looking up at him. His features are relaxed, and even in my dreaminess, I admire his maleness—maybe even more so in my fog.
He brushes a few strands of hair off my forehead with the back of his hand. It’s a gentle caress. “Your skin is so soft, I can’t get enough of it. But you are still much too tense. Let’s see if I can fix it.”
He begins with my feet, and when I’m purring, he moves to my calves and then higher and higher until my back arches off the table. “Keep still.” He splays a hand on my belly, his thumb skirting my mound, and presses until my back is flat. “Close your eyes. This is about what you hear and smell, and above all, what you feel.”
Gray slides his hands up my body, avoiding my breasts in a cruel tease. He rolls my arms and shoulders, finding the pressure points and excising the negative energy.
Ahhh! His warm mouth covers my nipple, sucking it into a hard, tight tip. When I whimper, he rests a heavy hand on my belly, holding me firmly in place while his mouth and tongue massage my breasts. My nipples ache from pleasure, but it’s nothing compared to the throb between my legs. A throb I can easily remedy.
I let my hand find its way to my pussy. But in seconds, he snatches my wrist, wrenching it away from the hot, slick flesh. My desperate groan echoes.
“As tempting as it would be to watch you play with your pussy until you come,” he says in a lazy drawl, “that’s not happening right now. Squeeze those inner muscles,” he murmurs, “just like you did around my fingers.” He lays his hand low on my belly, where he can feel the muscles quiver as they tense. “That’s it. Do it again.”
I’m so worked up. My nerve endings are screeching like banshees, and my core is wet and needy, wild with want, but the rest of my body is heavy and limp from the massage.
He stands over me, and brushes my cheek. “Let’s get you up.”
I don’t want to get up. I want more. But I’m slightly woozy from the massage, and let him help me.
“Just sit for a minute. Let your legs dangle.” He hands me some water. “Take it slow.”
As I sip the water, I notice the tent in his pants. I reach for it—for him.
He grabs my wrist, before I hit my target. “Not tonight. I told you this wasn’t about sex.”
Even in my fog, I’m embarrassed for begging.
“Go up and take a quick shower,” he says in a gruff, thick voice. “You’ll sleep well tonight. Good night.”
I pick up my torn dress and panties, balling them under my arm. “Good night.” I turn in the doorway, glancing at the outline of his cock. The thin fabric is no match for what’s awakened inside. He’s as ready as I am. Why is he doing this? “I would sleep better if—you’re clearly interested too.”
“Not tonight, Delilah.” His tone is final. I might get off, but he’s not going to participate. “Don’t make me say it again.”
I take my clothes inside with as much dignity as I can muster. There’s nothing that can cut a woman to the quick faster than being turned down after she asks for sex. At least I didn’t beg. Did I? Oh, God. This is going to be one big mindfuck, as training for a covert mission always is. Only this will be worse. It already is.
After a long shower, I fall into bed. I think about giving myself the release I desperately want, but I’m not sure if there are cameras. I’m also not sure why I even care, although I don’t want him to see me give myself an orgasm, after begging him for it. I do have some pride.
16
Delilah
The burble of running water wakes me from a sound sleep. It’s pitch-black in the room. I fumble for my phone—one thirty.
It takes me a minute to orient myself. The beach. I’m at the beach, in Gray Wilder’s bed. I glance at the undisturbed side of the mattress. Alone.
Once my eyes adjust to the dark, I throw off the quilt, and follow the sound of water into the bathroom. I don’t know why I go—yes you do. We have unfinished business from the patio—business that he started. Even after a nap, I still want the grand finale.
The light’s dim, but the glow of the chandelier casts shadows on the ceiling. There’s something enchanting about it, and I take a few seconds to admire how the light and the prisms play off one another.
When the splash of water beckons, I creep to the edge of the room and peek into the cave-like entrance to the shower.
I freeze there, with a silent gasp, my toes curling into the cold floor.
Gray is under a cascading waterfall. His legs apart, one hand gripping a smooth stone jutting from the wall, the other gripping the rock-hard cock jutting from his body.
There’s no door into the natural setting of the grotto shower. Nothing separating us.
He’s at an angle, and I can’t see him full on from here, but I can see plenty.
My eyes dart between his handsome face with its taut jaw, and the fist pumping his swollen cock. The breath gets caught in my chest as I watch his sculpted muscles clench—beauty and violence intertwined in each rough pull.