Chapter 10
SUMMER
Iwake up to his mouth between my legs.
No warning, just wet heat and the slow, filthy drag of his tongue licking a long stripe up my pussy like he’s tasting what he owns.
My hips jerk violently off the bed, but his strong hands pin them back down instantly, thumbs digging into the soft crease where my thighs meet my cunt, spreading me wide open for him.
“Morning, wife,” he murmurs against my slick folds, voice low and rough with sleep and hunger. The vibration makes me clench.
I gasp, my fingers fisting the sheets as his tongue circles my clit with lazy, deliberate strokes.
He’s not rushing, he’s savoring me, licking, sucking, groaning like my taste is his favorite thing in the world.
Every slow lap of his tongue is obscene, wet sounds filling the quiet room as he eats me like a man who has all the time in the world to ruin me.
“Fuck … Kairo …”
He sucks my clit into his mouth and hums. The vibration shoots straight through me as my back arches hard, thighs trembling around his head. He doesn’t let me close them, he holds me open and feasts, tongue fucking into me, then dragging back up to torture my swollen clit again.
I’m already dripping down his chin.
He pulls back just as I’m about to break, kissing my inner thigh, scraping his stubble across my sensitive skin until I’m whimpering and desperate.
“Please …” The word slips out, needy and broken.
“Please what?” he asks, voice dark. He licks a slow line up my pussy again, teasing. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what this greedy little cunt needs.”
I moan, hips rolling shamelessly against his mouth. “Make me come … please.”
He chuckles against me, the sound filthy. “Good girl.”
Then he stops playing as his tongue attacks my clit with perfect, relentless pressure while two thick fingers push inside me, curling instantly against that spot that makes me see stars.
I come hard, crying out his name, thighs shaking as my pussy spasms around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and sucking through every wave, drawing it out until I’m twitching and oversensitive.
Only then does he crawl up my body like a predator, pushing my legs wider with his hips and sinking into me in one long, deep thrust. I’m still fluttering from my orgasm, and the stretch makes me gasp.
He groans low in his throat, forehead pressed to mine, eyes open and burning as he starts fucking me, with slow, heavy rolls of his hips that grind his cock against that perfect spot inside me.
“Feel that?” he rasps, voice rough. “This pussy was made for me. So, fucking wet and tight every morning … like it missed me while you were sleeping.”
I moan, nails digging into his back as he fucks me deeper, slower, more deliberately. The wet sound of him sliding in and out of me is filthy in the quiet room. He kisses me, deep and hungry, tasting like me, while his cock fills me over and over again.
When he comes, it’s with a low, guttural groan buried in my neck, hips pressing deep as he floods me with thick, hot pulses. He stays inside me afterward, heavy and warm, his cock still twitching as he catches his breath against my skin.
For a moment, I let myself pretend this is normal.
That this man didn’t buy me.
That he doesn’t own me.
That the way he just woke me up with his tongue and fucked me slow and deep, makes me feel like more than an obsession.
But I know better.
After a long moment, he slowly pulls out.
I feel the immediate rush of his cum leaking from me, thick and warm.
Before I can even catch my breath, Kairo moves.
He kneels between my spread thighs, eyes dark and possessive as he watches his seed drip from my swollen pussy.
He gathers some of it on his fingers, then drags them slowly across my lower stomach as he starts drawing on my skin with his cum.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“Marking my name on your skin with my cum,” he says matter-of-factly as if this is normal, not psychotic.
He writes his name K-A-I-R-O in thick, deliberate strokes. The letters are messy and obscene against my skin, glistening in the morning light. He takes his time, coating his fingers again when he needs more, spreading the warm, sticky fluid across my belly like a signature.
“Mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself, tracing the last letter with his fingertip. His voice is low, rough, and satisfied.
I lie there, chest heaving, watching him mark me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sight is filthy, degrading, and yet my body clenches at the possessiveness of it. He leans down and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss right over his name, tasting himself on my skin.
“Perfect,” he whispers against my stomach, voice rough with lust.
He gathers more of his cum from where it’s leaking out of me, scooping it up with two fingers. His eyes are dark and hungry as he brings them to my mouth.
“Open.”
I part my lips, and he slowly traces his cum across them like gloss, painting my mouth with the warm, sticky evidence of what he just did to me, then he pushes his fingers between my lips.
“Suck,” he orders softly.
I do, and I taste us together, salty, musky, slightly sweet. He watches my tongue swirl around his fingers with intense focus, breathing heavier.
“Fuck, Summer … taste that?” His voice is low and filthy. “That’s how good we taste when I fill you up.”
He slides his fingers deeper, fucking my mouth slowly while I suck them clean. When he pulls them out, a thin string of saliva and cum connects my lips to his fingertips. He groans at the sight.
He scoops more cum from between my legs and drags it up my body, circling my nipples until they’re shiny and coated.
Then he leans down and licks them clean, slow, measured strokes of his tongue, sucking each nipple into his mouth until I’m arching and whimpering.
He does this again and again, gathering his release and painting different parts of my body just to lick it off me.
My stomach and my tits, then the hollow of my throat.
Every time he tastes us together, he makes a low, satisfied sound like he can’t get enough.
Finally, he moves lower as he pushes my thighs wide open and buries his face between my legs again. His tongue is greedy, licking and sucking his own cum out of my pussy with long, filthy strokes.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my soaked folds. “So full of me. Such a good little wife, letting me mark you inside and out.”
He eats me like he’s starving, licking deep, sucking gently on my clit, cleaning every trace of his cum from me while I shake and moan above him. When he’s satisfied, he crawls back up my body, his cock hard again and leaking. He pushes inside me in one smooth, deep thrust.
This time, he fucks me slowly and possessively, eyes locked on mine as he fills me up again.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he rasps, grinding deep. “Full of me. Marked by me. Mine.”
Breakfast is on the terrace, there’s fruit, eggs, bacon, coffee, and the ocean glittering beyond the pool. He sits across from me in a white T-shirt and shorts, barefoot, hair still messy from bed. He looks almost normal.
"I'm all yours today," he says over his coffee. "No work. No calls. Whatever you want."
I’m stunned. "Whatever I want?" I ask, excitement hitting me.
"Within reason." The corner of his mouth lifts. "Don't ask to leave the island."
Dammit. "Can we go into town? You said there's a town."
"There's a village, it’s small, but yes."
I can’t believe he said yes. “I’d love to see it. Maybe do some shopping. Walk around and try some local food.”
He studies me for a moment and nods. "Get dressed, I’ll organize it. Wear something comfortable and bring your bikini, too. I have an idea.”
Kairo seems excited about the idea. I don’t care what it is as long as I am out of this house.
He drives us in an open jeep down a road I haven't seen before, through the jungle, past the gates, along the coast. The guards wave us through without a word.
The village is small with brightly painted buildings along a harbor.
Fishing boats bob in the shallows, and a market with stalls sells fruit, fabric, and handmade jewelry.
People look at us but don't stare. They know him here, I can tell by the way vendors nod and people step aside. Not in fear exactly, maybe respect mixed with I don’t know.
He buys me things without asking, a bracelet made from sea glass.
A bag of mangoes so ripe they're almost bursting.
A scarf the color of the ocean that he wraps around my shoulders and steps back to look at, tilting his head like he's framing a photograph. I catch myself smiling. I also catch myself reaching for his hand without thinking. I pull back as I’m not sure we are there, but he notices, and a look crosses his face before he grabs my hand and entwines our fingers together.
We eat lunch at a tiny restaurant on the water, four tables on a wooden deck that hangs out over the harbor.
A woman with sun-weathered hands brings us fish still sizzling from the grill, a basket of bread, and two cold beers sweating in the heat.
Kairo orders in the local language without looking at the menu, obviously he's been here before, a lot.
I squeeze lime over everything and eat with my fingers because he does.
The fish is perfect, flaky and charred, and the beer is so cold it makes my teeth ache.
For a few minutes neither of us talks. It’s just the boats creaking in the harbor, the low hum of a radio from inside, and a dog sleeping in the shade under the next table.
"How long have you had the island?" I ask, pulling apart a piece of bread.
"Five years." He leans back in his chair, beer resting on his thigh. "It was nothing when I bought it. Just the dock and a generator shed. I built the villa from the ground up. It took two years, and I flew in every crew, every material. Drove the architects insane because I kept changing things."
I try to picture him standing in a construction site, arguing over floor plans. It doesn't fit, and yet it does, the same obsessive control he applies to everything, poured into concrete and glass.
"Where's your family from?" I know the answer already, bits of it, overheard fragments from my father's dealings. But I want to hear him say it.
"Greece, a small town in Crete. My mother's still there.
" He peels the label off his beer with his thumbnail.
"She makes this lamb dish, it takes her two days.
The whole house smells like oregano and garlic.
When I was a kid, I used to sit on the kitchen floor and watch her cook.
She'd give me pieces of bread dipped in the sauce to keep me quiet. "
It's the most human thing he's ever said to me as I watch his hands on the bottle and wait.
"My father was a hard man." The label comes off in one clean strip. He folds it in half. "He built everything we have from nothing, and he made sure we knew the cost of it, every day."
He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. I grew up in a house where a father's temper was the weather, you learned to read it before you learned to read books.
"Is he still alive?"
"No."
The way he says it, flat, final, with no grief in it, tells me everything about how that story ended. He takes a long drink of his beer and looks out at the water. The silence isn't uncomfortable.
"I want to show you something," he says, and I'm excited to know what it is.
He drives us deeper into the island, off the main road and down a narrow dirt track that winds through thick jungle.
The air grows cooler as we climb, and I hear the waterfall before I see it, a low, constant roar.
When the track ends at a small clearing, my breath catches.
The waterfall drops thirty feet into a perfect turquoise pool surrounded by black volcanic rock and lush ferns. It’s stunning, it doesn’t look real.
“Nobody comes here,” Kairo says quietly, watching my reaction. “I had the path blocked off years ago.”
“You own it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He gives me a small, almost shy smile. “Yes.”
He leads me along a short path, and at the end, on a flat rock beside the pool, there’s a thick blanket laid out with a cooler, two glasses, champagne, and a plate of fresh fruit. Everything is arranged beautifully.
I stop and stare.
“When did you set this up?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“This morning,” he admits. “While you were in the shower.”
I look at the waterfall, the blanket, the champagne, then back at him. A slow, teasing smile tugs at my lips.
“Are you trying to romance me, Kairo Saint?”
He doesn’t deny it, instead, he steps closer, his voice low and warm.
“Is it working?”
I bite my bottom lip, fighting a smile. “Maybe, a little.”
He chuckles softly, the sound rich and pleased as he pops the champagne.
The cork flies off with a pop into the jungle, making me laugh.
He pours two glasses and hands me one, and then takes his and sits on the rocks by the edge of the water.
I follow as we both dangle our feet in the cool, crystal-clear water.
The mist from the waterfall drifts across our skin, cool and refreshing. For a few minutes we just sit there, sipping champagne, the roar of the water filling the comfortable silence.
“You planned all this,” I say, glancing sideways at him. “The picnic, the secret waterfall. You’re really pulling out all the stops.”
He turns to look at me, his amber eyes soft in the dappled sunlight.
“I wanted to give you something normal,” he says simply. “So, you didn’t feel like you’re living in a cage.”
My heart does a stupid little flip. I take another sip of champagne to hide it. “Careful,” I tease lightly. “If you keep being this sweet, I might start thinking you’re not a complete monster.”
He smiles a real one, crooked and devastating, and gently nudges my shoulder with his.
“Give it time, I’m still me.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound light and genuine. The waterfall roars in front of us, the mist kisses our skin, and for the first time since I arrived on this island, I feel like we are dangerously close to peace in I can’t remember how long.