Chapter 12
LORENZO
After that sexy version of yoga, Abigail and I get lunch. I’m hungry for her, not food. But it’s the only thing that allows us to escape from Emily and Doug without agreeing to another double date.
“I think she actually rubbed one off on Doug,” Abigail whispers conspiratorially as though she didn’t nearly do the same thing to me.
“Ah, to each their own.” I shrug, unconcerned with anyone else’s proclivities. “I am relieved they had a moment to themselves and left us alone.”
“Barely.” Abigail shudders as though she’s still picturing Emily and Doug having a bit of exhibitionistic playtime.
I take her hand in mine across the table and pull her attention back to us. She laughs a tinkly sound of disbelief. “This is so crazy,” she confesses.
“What is?”
“You. Me. Us. This whole scheme. I knew it’d all come back to bite me in the ass. I just didn’t know how. I certainly never would’ve imagined this in a million years.”
“Scheme?”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m to blame for the whole Violet and Ross fiasco.”
“Fiasco? You mean their happy marriage and new child? Blame doesn’t seem the correct word.” I get it, my English is good, but sometimes, a usage confuses even me.
For example, I heard a comedian once joking that if you’re ‘the shit’, that’s a good thing. But if you’re just ‘shit’, that means you’re an awful human being. Nuances are tricky things.
But blame? That has a negative connotation that doesn’t fit with the smiles I see on my cousin’s face each time I spend the day with her.
“Well, it ended up great, but it could’ve gone the other way.
And then Courtney and Kaede too, though that was their doing.
But I’m always the puppet master, and now I feel like someone else has my strings in their hands.
” She mimes her arms lifting at the elbow and dangling loosely as though she’s out of control of herself.
“It’s humbling to feel this way. I hate it. ”
“Or perhaps there are no strings at all?” I hypothesize.
“Even with Violet, you might have pushed her, but she made those choices. And us? I stepped in—my own doing,” I remind her.
“And you went along with it. That’s your part in this.
Each choice we make, thousands every day—what time to get up, what to wear, what to eat, who to spend time with, what to do—all direct us one way or another.
None are wrong, none are right. They simply exist along a path of our life, creating new experiences with each decision. ”
“Very philosophical,” she agrees.
“Are you regretting the choices you’ve made?” I’m not sure I want this answer, but it seems prudent to ask.
She shakes her head quickly, but it doesn’t seem to be a knee-jerk reaction. To the contrary, it seems as though she’s thought about this quite a bit. “No. Not regretting things I’ve done or things I want to do. Just realizing my own limitations and respecting other people’s too.”
That definitely sounds like she’s talking about me. But she sounds resigned to where she thinks we’re going. Truth be told, I have no idea where we’re headed. That’s usually how I live my life. I enjoy the possibilities of not knowing, of making those choices each day and seeing where that leads.
Except there is one very specific thing I would like to choose.
Tonight.
“Another surprise?” Abigail says. I can hear the fresh delight in her voice. “Two in one day. You’ll spoil me.”
“I would be honored to have that privilege.”
I asked Esmar for recommendations for tonight’s plan. He’d sagely nodded and said he knew just the place. I hope he’s right.
I follow his directions to the letter, carefully walking Abigail down the patio outside the resort to the beach.
We turn right and begin the short walk to the secret cove Esmar told me about in whispered tones after extracting a promise that I won’t tell the tourists.
That he told me feels like a sign of acceptance as one of the crew.
“It’s so pretty out here tonight,” Abigail whispers into the darkness of the night, though there’s no one around.
Further down the beach, I duck around a large rock and follow the new curve of the shore as the beach behind us becomes invisible. We are truly alone now, in a private paradise of our own.
I pull the blanket from the bag I’ve carted along with us and spread it out along the sand. “Sit with me, mia rosa.”
She daintily lowers herself to the blanket, and I pull things out of the bag like a magician. “What all do you have in there?” she asks.
“Strawberries and champagne. Cheese and bread. What would you like?” I prepared the platter of food this evening, packaging it up carefully to make the trip.
The plastic glasses took less prep and seem cheap, but glass is forbidden on the beach and I didn’t want to risk one breaking.
However, with the sweet bubbly in them, they seem perfectly adequate.
Holding one up, Abigail toasts, “To moonlit romantic picnics in paradise.”
“Si. And to beauty personified before me. It is a sight I am fortunate to behold.” We click our cups together and I see the shy smile on Abigail’s lips.
She’s not bashful in the slightest, but sometimes, her worries float to the surface and make her seem so.
“You are beautiful,” I repeat. I do not want her to ever doubt or question her loveliness for even a moment.
We sip at our champagne, talking of food and flowers, of the past and home, carefully avoiding any discussion of the future. We talk philosophy and point out constellations in the stars that we can’t see at home in the city.
Lying back, our hands connected between us as we stare into the dark abyss above us, I can’t wait any longer. I can barely believe I’ve waited this long to taste her, touch her, feel her beneath me.
“Abigail.” A statement, a question, and a plea in three syllables that she has heard her entire life, but she knows this time is different.
“I’m ready too. Please, Lorenzo. Make love to me.”
Bold and direct, that’s my Abigail. It’s sexy as fuck to think she could be feeling even a portion of what I am for her.
I want Abigail.
For now. For more. Forever.
Forever?
I don’t know what makes me think of a future where we could live this charade out in truth, but it teases along the edges of my mind like the promise of a hazy fog, blurring out other possibilities until there is only Abigail.
I focus on her in the here and now, hair fanned out on the blanket like a dark halo and eyes gleaming in the full moon’s light.
“You look . . . take off your dress,” I tell her gruffly, knowing that right now all my sweet words won’t help. Instead, I take charge, getting to my knees and helping her pull the excess of fabric down once she finds the clasp behind her neck and releases her breasts.
She’s a goddess. I grew up on tales of the old gods, of Jupiter and Apollo, of Diana the Huntress and Minerva the Wise. But of all of them, I have the living embodiment of Venus herself before me, her creamy skin bathed in moonlight.
I unbutton my shorts but don’t push them down just yet, so overwhelmed with desire that I have to kiss her, tender at first, holding myself over her body much the way she did to me today. Our kiss deepens with every second until she reaches up, pulling me on top of her warm body.
The feeling of her nipples brushing against my chest is like little sparks between us, igniting the fire that threatens from the heat of our lips. I kiss down her throat, licking and tasting the salty tang from where the sea’s breeze has claimed her skin.
“Mmm . . . Lorenzo,” Abigail whispers, her words disappearing in a gasping moan when I find a nipple and suck it into my mouth. I flick and wrap my tongue around them with teasing licks, one then the other, as my hands roam her skin, my fingertips exploring every inch.
This isn’t before, when we were faking it for Emily against the door even as our bodies took us to the limit or when we knew we’d have to stop or put on an intimate show the way some of the other yoga couples did.
This is real, the true Abigail and Lorenzo choosing to make love under the moonlight.
Her ass dimples under the grip of my squeezing hands as I kiss my way lower, knowing what I really want.
I pause just below her bellybutton, looking up at her face as she gives me a slight nod, knowing what I want. She’s surrendered to me, and that fuels me even more as I lower my lips to her.
She’s smooth, supple, and wet, ready for my probing tongue.
She’s tangy, sweet, and deliciously intoxicating as I swipe a long lick between her lips, lapping voraciously at her pussy.
Whatever it is that makes up Abigail’s special juices, I can’t get enough of them and am an instant addict, hungry for more.
I suck and nibble, tasting and worshipping every inch of her flesh until she’s squirming, lifting her hips, and begging me for release.
“Lo—oh, God, Lorenzo, please.”
I grin, trailing my tongue up to the button of her clit and flicking her with the tip of my tongue. She bucks, jolted into pleasure, and her hands fly to my hair, her inner sexual animal growling to be liberated.
She is magnificent in her wanton abandonment of any rules or expectations, freely giving in to her basest urges and instincts.
I do my best to release her, letting her cries guide my pace and her tugs on my hair lead the placement of my tongue.
She grinds her clit against me, searching for completion.
The intensity rises and builds until she’s reduced to guttural noises. I grip her thighs, holding her apart and not letting her shrink back from the enormous release that’s building within her.
“F–fuck . . . ahh!” Abi screams, her voice rising over the lap of the waves and the nocturnal cries of the animals to pierce the night.
She is fierce and proud, a woman claiming her release and celebrating her pleasure.
It’s beautiful, more than the finest opera, more arousing than any other sound I’ve ever heard. In an instant, I’ve let go of her thighs to push my shorts down, and I quickly roll a condom onto my raging stiffness.
Even before the last quiver’s left her pulsing pussy, I bury all of my cock inside her tight velvety wetness with a single deep thrust. Abigail cries out anew, her body still thrumming with the throes of her orgasm.
The fluttering squeezes are almost too much for me.
I’m on the edge from all the flirting and teasing we’ve done, and I almost come right there, but I hold back, looking into her wide, vulnerable eyes.
“Mia rosa,” I whisper, swiveling my hips to feel every inch of her pussy wrapped around me. “How do you want it?”
We have shared much, but this is something different . . . and though I can’t bear to think it, it’s perhaps a one-time memory in the making. I want it to be everything for her, a perfect blissful moment she pulls out of her mind with a smile every time she thinks of me.
Abi takes a deep breath, biting her lip as she reveals her inner truth. “Hard . . . dirty.” She gulps, grabbing my arms. “Take me.”
I kiss her once as I withdraw, pausing with just the tip of my cock poised at her entrance before slamming hard and deep into her body. The sand under the blanket cushions the blow just enough to transform the pain into pleasure, and she cries out, her voice swallowed by my lips.
I pound her, long, deep strokes that stretch and fill her, her body clenching around me with each withdrawal. It’s not the wild positioning of our yoga class. Rather, it is simply us, face to face as we feel every inch of our joining.
Maybe we can try a wilder position next time?
The errant thought gives me hope for more, even if I know that’s not a certainty. But for now, simply staring into Abigail’s eyes as she takes pleasure from me and feeling her pinned to the sand by my cock are enough. It’s more than enough.
We rise together, my balls tightening as I feel my climax coming. Abigail’s there too, her breasts shaking with each slap of our hips and her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths.
“Come for me. Come all over my cock.” I grunt. Abigail cries out, falling apart underneath me and pushing me over the edge. I come hard, my cock pulsing as I growl through the spasms of my release before leaning down to kiss her again.
I stay inside her, our bodies entwined as I roll to pull Abi on top of me. Stroking her back, I feel her body relax against me.
“Mia rosa,” I whisper. I said it before just as an off the top of my head phrase, something to use as a way to give her a ‘pet name’ in our deception.
Now it’s real. She is my rose, tender and perfect in her small imperfections, a woman to be treasured and kept safe and protected. But I’d be a fool to think she’s helpless. Like every rose, mia rosa has her strength and her thorns.
But right now, there are no thorns, just petals. The petals of her lips teasing mine, the petals of her pussy wrapped around my cock, the petals of her heart opening to me. Maybe not all the way, but I can feel myself being allowed in the slightest bit.
It’s not something she does easily or without consideration, and I feel like a god at being granted this special access to her soul.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, just audible over the lapping water.
“I am,” she says, stroking the hair at my nape. “Just . . . wow.”
“Wow?” I ask with a chuckle that makes my softening cock jump inside her. “You were wow.”
Abigail sighs happily. “Maybe we’ll have to agree that we’re both wow? This feels so good.”
I don’t know if she’s only talking of our sex or of us in the entirety. Both are so good.
“It does,” I admit, meaning more than my cock inside her.
She looks down at me, her hands resting on my chest where I know she can feel my heart racing.
And like that, it’s no longer pretend, no longer fake. We might not have answers, plans, or a plotted course, but we have something. Together.
She’s inside me, gaining a place in my heart.
And I’m gaining a place in hers.