30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ronan
T hough we have only been at the villa a few days, a pack routine has begun to emerge.
Mavren and I are the earliest risers—Mavren rolling out of bed and into his running shoes or a yoga mat, me—crawling from the covers and directly to the French press to make that sweet, sweet life giving nectar we call coffee.
Though our first mornings together involved a bit of whispering about how ‘for real’ Teddy is, Mavren seems content to sit back and watch how things unfold after his date with Ursula last night, in which she seemed to confirm that Teddy was still on the level, despite our over-protective worrying.
Ironically, Teddy tends to be the next one up—hazy and sleepy until he’s had coffee or a protein shake. Once that himbo braincell of his gets up and running, he’s off to do his own training—calisthenics, barre work, carefully walking through several high-level katas from different martial arts disciplines I don’t recognize.
Ursula wakes before Ash, a mostly nocturnal creature in his line of work, and Lysander—our pack’s theta prince of slumber.
Mavren starts breakfast once our princess wakes—serving out hot plates of eggs, pancakes, bacon, grits, fresh fruit, and tangy dressed greens as Ash and Lysander stumble sleepily into the kitchen, wiping sand from their eyes.
“You two all packed up for your little excursion today?” Mavren asks as he hands Ursula and me glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Mmmhm, no idea what they have in store for us though.” Ursula gives an excited little shimmy—sitting between Lysander and I at the long breakfast table.
“I promise I’ll have her home before your date tonight, Mr. Ewing,” I tease Lysander—who is visibly panicked about his rapidly approaching date with Ursula. He doesn’t even have the words to respond—just nods manically—his big brown eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.
“What do you think, sugar?” I ask Ursula, munching on a rasher of bacon. “Are they going to put us up in a seaside gazebo with a bunch of flowers so we can make bouquets or arrangements? I can’t dance, cook, or croon—all I’ve got is being a plant daddy.” I waggle my brows playfully and smile, but I’m feeling more than a little self-conscious about how I measure up next to my other packmates.
“If they do, I’m stealing all the spider lilies if they got ‘em. Be prepared!” She shoulder checks me gently, and I can’t help but be endeared to her. Whether Ursula senses my worry or not, she seems to always know how to set me back on the right track.
As has become our custom—Ursula makes her way down the receiving line of the rest of our pack on our way out of the villa; a deliciously short linen sundress—its breezy fabric revealing the blue and white chinoiserie print two piece bathing suit beneath as she steps into the full light of the sun—her wide brimmed straw hat casting tiny pinpricks of light through the gentle shadow across her face.
Kimmy and Timmy inform us during the van ride we will be dropped off at the base of a small waterfall on the resort property. Once we arrive, we can see the small pop-up canopy furnished with a woven reed mat and cushioned rattan furniture—a small table replete with food and drink nestled at the temporary shelter’s center.
“Well, this looks better than the flower arrangement I was imagining.” I offer my hand to Ursula—helping her keep her balance as she steps out of her cork wedge sandals, the air hot and thick with moisture around us.
“Without the sea breeze, it’s really steamy. Not going to lie, I’m really looking forward to getting in the water.” She plucks her hat from her head and tosses it like a frisbee onto the nearby high-backed rattan chair.
“Yeah it’s hotter than a two dollar pistol,” I concur, sweeping my sweat-drenched hair back from my brow, perspiration pooling beneath the two leather cuffs on my wrists, the underarms of my linen shirt soaked through.
The two of us stand there a moment, unsure of how to go about removing our armor in front of one another.
Ursula has been so brave throughout this whole process—I decide in a momentary rush of confidence I can be brave, like she has.
Trembling gently, I work the buttons on my teal linen shirt—little discs of shimmering abalone, like burning coals under my worrying fingers. All the while, Ursula watches—her golden eyes soft but searching.
I let the thin garment drop from my shoulders, slipping out of it and tossing the shirt in a messy ball onto the pile of my ratty messenger bag and abandoned Birkenstocks. I can feel Ursula’s eyes travel from my bare chest and stomach, up and over my shoulders, down my arms—her gaze alighting on the explosion of colorful tattoos, continuing more tentatively to the leather cuffs still snapped to my wrists.
While I haven’t worn the cuffs the entire time since the reveal, I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t strategically taken them off only during periods of time that were safer than others—in low light settings, while underwater, or to go to sleep. Now, I reach for the triple snaps that fasten the cuff of leather to my right wrist—Ursula’s hands clutched in the hem of her sundress.
The several inch wide strips of leather come away from my wrists easily—the skin beneath, hot and sticky with sweat. I see her eyes catch the shine of scar tissue beneath the deep greens and vibrant colors of the flowers tattooed over it—I look away when I see her lips part, hear the tiny strangled gasp she makes.
I keep my eyes on the woven mat beneath my bare feet—my view beginning to cloud with tears, despite my best efforts.
“I’m not proud of it. I had thought about attempts for years before I did it, but after my great aunt died and left me the fluff’n’fold …I just stopped being able to see a way forward for me. There was no future that didn’t seem like…well, pain.” I struggle to breathe through my barely-leashed sobs.
“I met Mavren during the last cover-up sessions. Kal, my artist, specializes in covering these kinds of self harm scars, even though that’s not what Mav was there for.” The tears stream down my face in scalding rivers of saline, my eyes pressing shut as the sobs take me.
“You can’t see mine so easily,” Ursula’s voice reaches me seconds before her soft hands do, palms running up my chest, over my shoulders—down my biceps—fingers trailing from the tender place inside my elbow down to the vertical slashes of scar tissue at my wrists, her hands closing gently around them before she brings my hands to her lips, placing a line of tender kisses on my palms—moving slowly upward.
“But the scars are there. They run deep.” Ursula guides my hands to the hem of her sundress and together we pull the gauzy white fabric up and over her head, her breasts—barely contained by her swimsuit top, bouncing down slightly—her soft stomach marked with silvery-lavender slivers of stretch marks against her olive gold tan.
“I couldn’t say in the bubbles, but I was hospitalized for an eating disorder.” Ursula does her best to keep her voice steady, but I can hear the tears threatening to choke the sound from her.
“Things got pretty serious, there was a question of whether or not I was going to make it—between the anorexia and the self harm,” she sniffles, pressing her petal-soft lips to the scars at my wrists.
“Look at us—‘damaged goods,’ eh?” I blink away my tears, my hands moving to touch the soft flesh at her belly, my hands curving around to the small of her back, drawing her against me.
“Just taking it day by day—every day,” Ursula sighs, resting her head against my chest—our bodies settling against one another in quiet comfort.
“If the past few days have felt kind of like—what do you call it? The thing in Japanese culture—where broken pottery is mended by filling the cracks and missing pieces with gold?” I nuzzle my face into the part of her hair, sweet smelling and soft.
“Kintsugi,” she whispers against my chest, her body softening with relief now that we’ve bared our confessions. “I like that.” She nuzzles against me and I feel my heart rate slow, the muscles in my jaw beginning to unclench.
I’ve been alone so much of my life, I’m not sure—but I think this is what love is. Finding comfort in others, knowing they will always have your back—that they’ll always be there to hold you.
“Sorry to start our date off with all of this doom and gloom,” I sniffle, pulling back from Ursula just enough to wipe the tears from her face before kissing the salt trails from her round, apple cheeks.
“No, no—this was a long time coming.” She shakes her head, reaching up to push a sweaty lock of my wild, flaming hair out of my face. “This is the kind of stuff we need to talk about, even if it isn’t fun—it isn’t easy,” she coos gently, my hands in hers as she ferries us closer and closer to the water’s edge.
“But—I think we’ve done enough soul bearing for now—don’t you?” I give her a wink, allowing myself to be led.
“Yes, I think it’s time to make out under a waterfall—then have some lunch. No more trauma bonding for today.” Ursula nods emphatically before letting go of my hands and cannonballing into the nearby pool of water with a loud whoop.
After a goodly amount of paddling around in the crystal clear waters of our private swimming hole, and a light lunch of fresh fruit and assorted charcuterie—Ursula, and I spread out a set-provided beach blanket on a large stone outcropping, lounging in the midday sun as our feet dangle in the cool water.
Beside me she basks in the golden heat, her head thrown back—her heart-shaped sunglasses liquid white reflection. Without thinking, she begins to untie the bow of her bathing suit top—the lycra blend fabric already threatening to burst open and let those glorious breasts free—before she catches sight of the camera crew in her peripheral vision and stops, thinking better of it.
“They can’t use anything intimate,” I remind her, giving her a playful smirk —encouragement for her to continue the process of becoming topless.
“Easy for you to say.” She sticks her tongue out at me playfully. “You’re not the one exposing yourself.”
“Touche,” I concede, throwing up my hands. “I should lead by example. You’re right.”
Ursula arches a raven brow in challenge, and I’m in motion before she can say anything else.
I stand up on the blanket, making awkward eye contact with the gentleman holding the boom mic as I hook my thumbs through the elastic waist of my swim trunks—preparing to drop trou.
Ursula giggles maniacally as the camera crew scrambles back over the rocks to give us a bit more privacy, but her laughing abruptly tapers off as I turn around and step out of my swimsuit—the sun calling to all of my many freckles as I stand before her in my birthday suit.
“I know everyone keeps saying I don’t have a type.” She blinks—her eyebrows raised scandalously close to her hairline. “But if they were getting the same views I’m getting—one might accuse me of being a size queen. ” Ursula laughs—her eyes flitting from between my legs back up to make eye contact.
“I mean, I don’t wanna spoil anything for you—but after what I’ve seen, I was starting to feel self conscious—and not to brag, but I’d never been worried before.” I recline casually on the rock beside her.
“Oh, really?” she prompts, her hands returning to the tie of her bikini top—those glorious teardrop breasts bouncing free of their lycra bounds, as Ursula undoes the bowknot.
I turn from my side onto my stomach as I feel my cock begin to stiffen, propping myself up on my elbows—still greedy for the sight of her, even if I’m trying my best to remain a gentleman.
“Yeah, really.” I wink, my eyes following Ursula as she walks on hands and knees toward me on the blanket. “Teddy isn’t the only one Lysander’s had a little playtime with.”
“Hmmm, I was wondering when I might hear some details about how you all get along in the lounge,” she purrs, her body warm from baking in the sun as she sidles up alongside me—propping herself up on her elbows—her breasts pressed nearly up to her chin in this position.
“I happened upon our boy prince in the shower, cranking his hog.”
Ursula snorts a laugh.
“Oh my god, did you have to say it that way?” she laughs—her head lolling over my shoulder as she leans against me.
“Wait until you see it! Sandy is packing serious heat.” I defend myself through my own torrent of laughter.
Ursula just shakes her head, a loud snort escaping her as she tries in vain to catch her breath.
“Of course I didn’t know he was a virgin—like a total predatory creep, I show up like I’m at the bathhouse—asking him if he wants some company—and before you know it, I’m cranking his hog! He didn’t say anything until after—but when I tried to apologize, he told me there wasn’t anything to be sorry for, that I had ‘helped.’”
“I see. You jumped right to making him cum.” Ursula turns on her side, facing me—the points of her hard nipples brushing against the outside of my arm.
Her words send a jolt of heat through me, my cock twitching against my own stomach as I continue to lay face down on the blanket.
“What can I say, my loudest love languages are physical touch and acts of service…” I trail off, Ursula’s face drifting closer to mine as I turn onto my side—facing her—my insistent erection springing up in the small space created between us.
“Is that so?” she hums thoughtfully, her hand gingerly finding its way down my ribcage to the peak of my hip, her thumb dipping into the depression between the ridge of my pelvis and the curve of my lower abdominal muscles.
“Uh huh.” I nod slowly—our lips pressing together, my hand creeping between us—stopping a moment to toy with one of Ursula’s hard nipples before moving lower, toward the waistband of her swimsuit.
I moan into her mouth as Ursula’s hand closes firmly around my hard shaft, her tender grip bobbing down toward my swelling knot before languidly milking me from base to tip.
My tongue pushes past hers, my hand slipping into the front of her bathing suit bottoms—fingers seeking the warm slickness between Ursula’s legs.
We break the kiss—Ursula letting out a tiny whimper as I run my fingers along her slick lips, stopping to use my index finger to tenderly pull back the hood on her swollen clit, my middle finger gently circling the pulsing bud of nerves.
Ursula whines and bucks against my hand, her grip tightening on my knot—gently throbbing in her palm.
“Mav told me about how you milked him while fucking him with your fingers,” I rasp out, surprised that the words escape me so readily.
Ursula lets out a mewling noise, her slick running down the heel of my palm—thick, sweet as honey, and smelling of roses and saffron.
“I can’t wait to knot you with him.” The words keep tumbling out—my fingers leaving their careful work with Ursula’s clit to push inside her—finding that tender place deep within that will make her scream.
Her hand grips my knot as I speak, our faces so close that we draw one another’s hot breaths as we pant against our building pleasure.
“To watch Lysander cum inside you for the first time,” my voice gutters as Ursula begins to stroke me hard and fast—my legs quaking gently as I return my ministrations to her buzzing clit.
“I want you inside me when he bites you in,” Ursula moans as I flutter the tip of my middle finger in looping circles over her tender bud. “I wanna feel you cum inside me as he takes you.”
“Fuck, I want that too, sugar.” I half hiccup down a loud moan—my glutes and quads firing with tiny spasms as I cling to the edge of cumming.
The closeness of our bodies—both racked and trembling with the potential energy of our pleasure, is almost too much to bear. Ursula’s sweet scent, her dirty words, her velvet-lined-iron-grip on my cock.
“Are you close?” she manages to bite out, and I can’t help but be reminded of that day with Lysander in the shower.
“Real fuckin’ close,” I moan, trembling under her grip as she pumps my cock relentlessly.
Without warning, she gets up from her place beside me, pushing me off of my side and onto the flat of my back—getting onto her hands and knees. Before I can ask what she’s doing or process what’s going on—she’s sitting astride my hips—my cock nestled between her creamy pussy lips and my lower abdominals as she grinds on me.
“Fuck, Ursula, I won’t last if you do that.” My head lifts off the rock—my hands moving instinctively to grip her hips as she gyrates above me, her head thrown back—a loud moan escaping her as I rub against her.
“I won’t either—so cum for me baby,” she moans, her hands splayed on my chest as she grinds—my cock nearly disappearing as she bucks her hips forward, the head of my cock reappearing—her slick heat sliding back over my knot as she slams her pelvis back over and over again.
“Ursula!” I grunt, shooting my load onto my own tense abdominal muscles.
“Ronan, I’m gonna cum!” she wails, my cum adding to her slick lube as she continues her spirited humping—I feel the spasms of her pussy muscles against my softening knot as she shakes with orgasm—and it’s all I can do not to be instantly hard again.
When the tremors finally stop racking her body, she dismounts me in a lazy roll.
“That got a little messier than I anticipated,” she huffs and puffs—an arm draped over her eyes to block the glare of the sun—her beautiful olive gold skin glistening with our cum as she works to catch her breath.
“Well, I’d say it’s about time for a skinny dip—wouldn’t you?” I flex my legs—my cock already half soft—but still sticky with Ursula’s sweet honey.
“I would,” she sighs happily, rolling over to peck a kiss onto my parted lips—before launching herself from the blanket and off the edge of the rock into the beautiful, clear water with a loud splash.