To Kiss You Again (2 page)

He breaks the kiss and pulls me, stumbling, to the end of the deck, a dark corner, just beyond the reach of the light. We resume our passionate hold, our lips lock once again, and my brain loses the capacity for rational thought. His hands cradle the small of my back, but soon travel to stroke and squeeze my ass. When he pulls at my cheeks, I feel my nether lips part. I break away and gasp for air. All I want is for him to throw me down on the deck and fuck me senseless, even if other travelers are watching. Instead, he kisses a path down my neck while his hand rises to cup my breast. Through the fabric of my dress, he grazes my nipple before gently pressing it between his fingers.

The world around us fades. My focus is on him and the way his touch sears my soul. The hardness of his cock is digging into my stomach, and I realize the pressure comes from my hands pulling him to me. He pushes the offending material away from my breast, bends his head and laves at my stiffened nipple before pulling it between his lips. Oh God. Can anyone hear me moaning and groaning like a porn star from his attentions? A quick glance around tells me we are alone.

His hand slips under the hem of my dress and travels up my thigh and hip, to the leg band of my panties. One by one, his fingers slide under the elastic until he holds the flesh of my ass in his palm. Still, his mouth sucks at my bud while his fingers work their way across my cheek, following the natural depression leading to my sex. I bite my lip just as a finger glides along my slit and he raises his head to reclaim my mouth. Little bursts of my stuttered breath meet his kiss. My knees feel weak, but his free arm hugs me around the waist to hold me steady. With little effort, he finds the sweet spot between my legs and works it like it’s something he’s done every day of his life. Another finger dips inside my opening, blindly forging a path into my depths.

I grab for his cock in near panic, so consuming is his touch. My fingers trace along either side of his hardened length, and I feel him twitch under my hand. When I unbutton his jeans and release him, it jumps into my grasp, longing to be stroked and pleasured too. I am relieved, now, to know his enjoyment must be close to mine – his fingers exploring me and driving me to indescribable ecstasy.

He is out of breath when he holds me against the railing and lifts me slightly off the ground, one hand wrapped around each of my thighs, my panties pulled to the side as he aims to impale me with his thick spear. I’m already so close to coming, I know it won’t take much to send me over the edge.

“Oh, baby girl, I wanna fuck you,” he whispers in my ear as he presses his cock into my opening.

The blast of the ship’s horn stops us cold. Two more times it blows, and I look over my shoulder to see the lighted waterfront of the island village. Beyond us, people begin to move – waking from their long-journey’s-trance and gathering their bags. A girl twenty feet away stands and shoulders her backpack with a glance our way. I push at him until he lets me slide to the ground, his cock bouncing in confusion and unrequited passion.

“I have to go,” I say, straightening my dress and reaching behind my back to tug my underwear into place. After he stows his erection and zips his pants, he pulls me close. Stretching to the tip of my toes, I kiss him again.

“Change your plans and come to Rhodes,” he pleads.

I feel a little guilty about my laughter. “I can’t.” My arms push him away. “I have to go, but thank you so much.” I know my face is flushed. “It’s been a lovely trip.”

In the distance, I see Carla looking around and I head in her direction. From behind me, he calls, “Wait! I don’t even know your name.”

I turn and smile, my heart still racing. “I’m kind of sold on ‘baby girl.’ The way you say it is so ... hot.” When I turn back toward Carla, I know he stands with his mouth agape. At our bench, I grab my bag and push her toward the stairs. I want to get away before he has a chance to approach me again. By the time he comes to his senses and returns to his spot, we are halfway down the stairs to the gangplank. The hurt on his face makes my heart aches as I lose sight of him.

~

It is late evening when we finally disembark, but the port is bustling with new and departing visitors, men and women hawking ‘rooms’ for the newcomers, and the normal host of people parading the waterfront, out on the town for a Saturday night. I point to a row of waiting taxis.

“Can’t we stay in town for a few hours?” Carla asks. “I want to check out some of those clubs you talk so much about.”

“It’s late, and we have our luggage.” I continue toward the queue. She stands her ground and pouts. I’m in no mood to fight with her. “Fine, you stay and find your own way to the house.” The trip was long and emotionally exhausting. All I want to do is stretch out on the familiar veranda with a drink and fantasize about my beautiful stranger. Fighting off the Greek playboys at the bars is the last thing I need.

By the time I secure the first taxi in line, Carla is waiting behind the car to load her bags into the trunk. We don’t speak on the short ride to the villa, and I wish she
had
stayed in town – wish for solitude in my homecoming. After I take her to her room without a word, she knows I don’t want to talk.

In the kitchen, the bottle of wine I had stowed in my bag opens with ease, and I pour two glasses. I take mine and the bottle, and head off. I don’t care if she finds the wine and follows me or goes to bed. The bars locking the doors to the grand veranda take a little more muscle than normal, having not moved in over four months, but finally lift away from their encasements and let me outside. It only takes a moment to untie the tarp from the daybed and remove the captain’s chairs. I open one and set it in my usual spot, lift my feet to the marble table, and look out over the moonlit sea. I am home.

~

The sun is barely over the eastern mountains when I wake. It’s funny how easily I slip into my old routine – don my flimsy robe, start a pot of coffee, and head down the dirt path through the orchard to the beach. I think my morning swim is what I miss most when I’m away. This time of day, the water is so calm and glassy. I drop my robe to the sand and run at the water, my dive propelling me out, into the cove – no suit to slow me down. As my momentum slows and I reach the surface, I turn to glide on my back. At first, I squint against the sun, but then I turn and swim farther out. My heart fills with joy as I swim my laps, stopping occasionally to dive under and look for unsuspecting creatures, sometimes, to do an underwater flip. The salt water burns my eyes and blurs my vision, but swimming with a mask is cumbersome.

On my second dive under, I spy an octopus scurrying under a rock. Natural instinct makes me want to give chase, surprise him in his hideaway and harvest him from the sea, but I don’t want to be bothered with beating and scrubbing him against the rocks to tenderize him. Maybe tomorrow. Now that I know where he lives, his days are numbered. No, today I just want to enjoy my homecoming, even if it includes taking Carla into town.

When my muscles tingle from the exercise, I leave the crisp water behind and rinse away the salt residue under the makeshift shower my father and I built years ago. Hot days have warmed the tank, so I bathe in leisure. I close my eyes and allow my hands to travel over my body, to remember the thrill of the stranger’s touch. It was like a feather, so tenderly did he caress my skin. With one hand, I tweak the nipple he gently sucked, and with the other, I reach for my sex, my clit already throbbing with the memory. I run my finger along my slit, back and forth, until I’m sloppy wet. Remembering how he came at me from behind with his hands and knew exactly how and where to touch has me gasping for air. My pussy seeps lubricating juices – they give me heightened sensation and allow me to manipulate my clit just so, and when I finally spear myself, my g-spot too. There is no wall to lean against as my body becomes weak from my approaching climax, so I widen my stance and brace my foot against the short enclosure of the shower. I am so close, but I need more, and I let one hand take over clit duties so the other can add fingers to pound into my flesh. A fog of pleasure closes around my mind. I briefly open my eyes. There, just behind the rock wall, Carla’s head dips out of sight. I am too far gone at this point. I can almost feel his hips thrusting against me as his cock rips through my tender flesh. Even though she watches, the fantasy of my stranger fucking me brings my orgasm crashing down.

After the very satisfying shower, I lie on another stretch of wall to dry in the sun and give Carla time to make her escape. The sun bakes into my skin, and through closed lids, red spots dance across my vision. I think about Carla’s voyeurism. While it seems I should feel embarrassed to be caught red-handed, so to speak, I don’t really care. Somehow, entering my mid twenties has left me less self conscious, less likely to give a rat’s ass about what anyone thinks. Except my stranger. I wonder what he thinks of me – the way I deserted him, left him wanting more, the way I let him fondle my flesh and my fantasy, but wouldn’t give him my name. Will he think of me affectionately in the years to come? Will he be angry and think me a whore? Will he remember me at all, or will the tryst fade away, like a tan come winter?

What if I had stayed on the ferry and followed him to his island? We could have found a secluded spot and made love until the ship’s horn blew again, I am sure. Days we could have spent as carefree lovers, vacationing in the summer sun, dancing the nights away in a fancy club … fucking each other’s brains out every night, until the sun came up and we could no longer walk straight.

But what if he is meeting friends? What then? Or, maybe he is on a working vacation, and I would be left to my own devices for hours on end, too tired from waiting when he finally arrives back at our room to wake for him. Then I start to wonder, what if he came with me, to my home, and there was no Carla? A smile plays on my lips as I imagine us swimming naked and making love anywhere the mood strikes us. He playfully slaps my bare ass as I cook for him, in the nude. Pretty much everything I imagine us doing, we do in the nude.

The sun is beginning to burn my skin, so I rise and fetch my robe from the sand. I look up and down the beach and see empty bottles and trash left behind by intruders. While I call it my private beach, it really isn’t. The cove is small, and when I am home, I can usually scare off unwanted visitors, but when I’m away I can’t keep them out. Later, I will return with a bag and clean up the litter of the trespassers.

On my way back to the house, I stop in the orchard and pick some Valencia oranges for breakfast. My farmer neighbor tends the trees when I am out of the country, and in return, I let him pick and sell the harvest in town. I will stop by his house later and let him know he can begin bringing eggs and milk again.

Carla is in the shower when I return to the villa. She has put a good dent in the coffee, but several cups remain. I pour one and head to my studio. Though it is dark and damp, but the problem is easily remedied when I open the shutters and windows, and the light Mediterranean breeze blows through the room. I unpack the art supplies I purchased on my trip. My pulse is racing. For months, I’ve waited to get back to work. Sketching and doodling through the long stretches of art shows and gallery openings can never sate my hunger to create. It is a necessary evil, but by the time I get home from every journey, I can barely contain my giddiness to get started. However, it will have to wait.

“So can we go into town now?” Carla asks from the door. I nod. We need supplies, and I know she’ll never handle it on her own.

“Yeah. Give me a few minutes to get ready.” After a deep breath and a quick look around my haven, I follow her out the door. “There are fresh oranges in the kitchen if you want some.”

Part II

Ginny was still pissed at me. Showing up on her doorstep late at night, and a week sooner than planned at first had her squealing with glee, but after some sleep, anger set in.

“I don’t have your room ready, the house is a pit, I was going to whitewash the patio,” she whined the next morning as we sat drinking coffee on said patio, even after I bestowed her with two cartons of American cigarettes and several bottles of maple syrup.

“I can go to a hotel for a week if it’ll make you happy,” I grinned and pulled my shades down to the end of my nose.

“Of course I don’t want you to go to a hotel,” she flicked my arm. “I just don’t understand why you’re here. You said you’d go to Rhodes first, spend a week with Mom and Dad,
then
come here.”

“By the way, I should probably give them a call and –”

“You didn’t tell them you changed your plans either?”

“No. I told you last night – it was a spur of the moment decision.” I drained my cup, the nasty NesCafe leaving a bitter aftertaste. Anything instant is
not
coffee, and unless you went to a café, instant is all you would find. Ginny turned her head and peered at me through narrowed eyes. My sister has always had an uncanny ability to read me.

“Just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “for no reason at all, you upend everyone’s plans.”

“You know I don’t like schedules,” I said, and reached over to pluck a dying leaf from her failing geranium plant. I rolled my eyes as soon as I said it.

“Ha! Don’t like schedules my ass. The only reason it’s taken so long to get you over here for a visit is because it would strain your schedule.” She snapped her lighter and lit one of my gifts with a flourish. “You never do anything without a reason, so spill it, Matt.”

The air rushed out of my lungs as she deflated me. I’ll never understand some people’s need to get to the bottom of every situation. As anal as I am about keeping my life on track, Ginny is just as obsessive about knowing everyone’s business. “I met a girl on the boat.”

Instead of the ‘Ah ha!’ I was expecting, Ginny seemed to deflate as well. “You’re here early because of a girl you met on the boat?”

“Did I stutter?” Sibling-crushing – a force of habit. I probably shouldn’t have been so mean to her. Where I expected her to give me some lecture about settling down instead of chasing tail, she seemed pensive. “Don’t worry. I lost her.”