Chapter 7
At some point before she suffocated me underwater, Isla realized I was still down there and leapt up, dragging me by my arms.
“Oh my God, Stefan, are you okay?”
I fill my deprived lungs with air, then slump against the tub, spreading my arms and resting my elbows on the edges. I wipe my face and look up. She’s standing over me like a mother hen, a concerned look on her face. I smile. “I’m a dandelion.”
Her eyebrows arch.
“Never mind,” I say and flick my fingers. “Come here.”
Isla kneels between my legs, palms resting on my abdomen. I flex those muscles on purpose and grab the back of her head, bringing her closer, and kiss her like my life depends on it. She responds and knows what to do.
Her hand travels down my abdomen and grabs me, pumps slowly, rubbing the tip just how I like. I cup my balls and squeeze, because that’s also something I like, and a few pumps with her soft hand makes me shoot a load into the water.
She breaks the kiss, her eyes glazed over, and I know she’s fucking horny as hell, no matter that I just made her come. “Pray that there’s condoms in the grocery bags.
Which I still haven’t unpacked. So while praying for condoms, also pray there’s nothing that needs to go in the fridge for the next…oh, I don’t know, three hundred days, because that’s how long we’re staying up here in the loft.”
“I’m not on the pill.”
“Me either.” I wink.
“I’ll put away the groceries and make you dinner.”
“I had dinner.”
She blushes. “Stop it.” Isla leaves me in the tub, and I do my thing while she showers and leaves. I hear her downstairs almost immediately. I rinse and grab a towel, then check my phone.
Sokol called.
Nikola called.
Ivana called.
Before heading downstairs in a towel, I leave my phone in the bathroom and fix my hair.
Isla is naked in the kitchen, putting away the groceries. I’m feeling overdressed and pause at the bottom of the stairs to appreciate the fine view. Her soft curves make me hard again, and I wanna stroke her, but move to stoke the fireplace instead.
She can’t be naked if it’s cold. I throw extra wood in there, then round the little bar and enter the kitchen. Isla turns and opens her mouth to say something, but I grab her hair, spin her around, and bend her over the counter.
Isla spreads her arms and grabs something, then hands it to me. It’s a box of condoms.
I hand it back. “Open it. I’m busy.” I spit on my fingers and rub her down there, coming away with her natural lubricant, which I spread over her little back hole.
Isla produces the condom, but I don’t take it.
I step to the side, rub her bottom, then gently hit it.
I move her head and jerk it up a little so she can look at me. “Would you care for a spanking?”
Isla stares at me, unsure and confused, aroused but also cautious. I swing and connect my palm to her bottom. It barely shows red. “Like that,” I say.
“Okay.”
I press a palm over the back of her neck and hold her down while squeezing her fine big bottom.
I spank her in rapid succession, never hitting the same place twice or changing intensity.
Since I watch her expression, I see the moment her eyes glaze over and she licks her lips.
I stop and swipe a hand over her entrance, coming away with more clear liquid.
I lick it off my fingers—mmmmm—and get behind her.
“Stay down, and lace your fingers behind your neck.”
Condom on, I aim and enter, burying myself in her warmth.
I throw my head back, sighing as she shudders.
I grab the globes of her behind and spread them, moving inside her while reciting countries in alphabetical order—Brazil—a little trivia for the times like these where I need to take my mind off—Cuba—how good she feels on me, how much I like seeing her nude and how much—Denmark—I enjoy it when women aren’t afraid of me and don’t necessarily want to just bang me.
She’s quite perfect. I make it to Puerto Rico when she comes, and all the way to Zimbabwe when I empty into the rubber.
I step away and remove the rubber, toss it into the bin, and pick her up by her hair. She squeaks, and I spin her to pin her against the counter, then kiss her until her lips are swollen and red. I kiss down her cheek to her ear and whisper, “Do you like anal?”
When I get no answer, I fist her hair and pull. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re perfect. Make me dinner.”
She chuckles and slaps my shoulder.
I wink at her. There’s something indispensable about a woman who can fuck and take a joke when it’s intended as such. I like this girl, and as I round the corner, I end up sitting on the bar and watching her move around in the small space. Before turning on the stove, she slips on an apron.
“What are you making?” I ask, hearing my phone ringing upstairs.
“Steak and salad.”
“And potatoes, of course.”
She glances at me, then says, “Sure.”
“You don’t eat potato with steak?”
She shakes her head. “I try to avoid carbs.”
“Why?”
“I have a hard time controlling my weight.”
“You seem fine to me,” I say, and the moment it comes out of my mouth, I know I should’ve just kept nodding. Fucking nod, asshole, nod. I don’t talk about weight with women. Nope.
“Thank you,” she says.
Went better than I thought. I nod.
“Your phone keeps ringing.” Isla heats up the mini grill, throws butter on it. I watch it slide and think that’s how ice would slide over her soft warm skin.
“Yeah, I hear it.”
She glances at me, likely wondering why I won’t pick up, but that’s none of her business right now. Right now, we’re having a moment in time we will never again have, and I want to make the best of it with as much small talk as possible.
“I thought all the books were online now,” I start.
“Hm?” Isla asks.
“Online. You brought actual books. A shitload of them.”
“Ah, that. They’re online, but I learn better when I’m holding one in my hands.”
I smile. “I bet.” She can hold my dick for four years, get a bachelor’s in Ludi’s dick holding, a master’s in Ludi’s entire body, and then the ring so I can keep her for the duration of her life.