Chapter 11 - Marlen
The waitress gushes over me, nothing I haven’t experienced before. Women often throw themselves at me. It gets boring after a while because it never feels genuine. Just raw attraction. To me, to my money.
I walk toward the exit and notice that Stef isn’t standing there anymore. When I leave the restaurant, I don’t find her outside either. What in the world is going on? Looking up and down the gravel street outside the little wooden deck, I frown, wondering why she’d run off like this.
Beyond the gravel road is the start of the beach.
Instinctively, I step onto the sand and walk toward the water, then along the shore for a while before I spot her.
She’s standing with her feet in the gently lapping waves and her sandals in her hand.
Her short dress catches on a warm breeze blowing in from the ocean, and her hair moves gently in the wind.
She looks gorgeous, staring out at the water.
For a while, I just watch her, taking in her natural beauty.
She must feel my eyes on her because she turns to look at me. Instead of the smile I expect, she throws me an agitated scowl.
I frown, confused. A moment ago, we were laughing and having another incredible night together.
The past few days on the island have been amazing.
I’ve been getting to know her and enjoying every second of it.
She’s a very special person—pure sunshine who refuses to let the world around her dampen her spirit.
I’ve watched her interacting with the villagers, and it’s brought a smile to my face more than once.
She is funny, caring, and sweet. And more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever met.
But why does she look furious now?
“Are you ok?” I ask, standing still as she walks toward me.
“Yes, let’s go,” she huffs, trying to walk past me.
I reach out and grab her arm, pulling her to a stop and forcing her to stand in front of me.
“Something’s wrong, tell me what it is,” I demand.
“Nothing is wrong, Marlen. I just want to go home. Don’t I have a right to go home?
In fact. What about home home? Why are we even here?
Why would you bring me here and show me this place?
What do you want from me? And then you take me to a nice dinner, and I start…
I feel…” Her words drift away when she can’t find the right ones to explain herself.
“What do you feel?” I ask, trying to understand.
“What do you care what I feel?” she shouts, trying to pull her arm away from my grip, but I don’t let her. Her behavior doesn’t make sense. It’s in contrast to how the night has been going so far.
“I care,” I say defensively. “I brought you out here to enjoy yourself. You look like you’ve been having fun. Why the hell are you so angry with me? What happened?” My agitation is growing as the argument intensifies. I just want to know why she’s angry. Why won’t she tell me?
“Stop acting like we’re friends… Or anything at all…
I’m nothing to you! I mean less to you than the waitress back there.
In fact, why don’t you call her and go spend the night with her?
” she snaps with heated fire burning in her eyes as she stares up at me.
Her breathing is heavy, her chest heaving.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips parted. She looks gorgeous.
Well. She just slipped up.
That’s what’s going on.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. Something inside me peaks. An acute awareness of her. A carnal sort of possessive streak that pulls tighter when she presses her lips together, unable to answer me, her eyes darting away from mine as her cheeks grow redder.
“You are jealous,” I mutter, reaching up to wrap my hands around her jaw and pulling her face toward mine.
She scrunches her nose, angry with me. Angry because I worked it out.
But as our eyes meet, something stronger moves between us. A potent, feverish need that overpowers anything else.
Within seconds, my lips are pressed against hers. The anger shifts into passion, and her fingers claw at me, pulling me closer as she presses her lips harder into mine. There is no resistance. She doesn’t push me away or hesitate.
I slide my hands down her back, feeling the curve of her body beneath my touch. I slip them beneath her ass and lift her into my arms.
Stefania moans against the kiss, intensifying my need. She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, tilting her head to the side, her lips still locked with mine.
I carry her to an empty sun lounger near the shoreline and lay her down on it, pressing my body over hers as I push her legs apart.
She arches her chest toward me. My hands trail over her perfect breasts, full and soft. Her nipples are hard against the thin fabric with nothing but her bikini top beneath it.
I play my thumb over her pert nipples, causing a deeper groan to escape her lips. A sound of pure desire. My cock throbs, rock hard against my jeans.
My hand moves over her waist, down her leg, slipping beneath the soft fabric of her dress.
My fingers leave a trail of heat as they move up her inner thigh and brush over her bikini bottoms.
She gasps as I gently touch her swollen lips, feeling the softness of them through the fabric.
My cock is aching now. I hook my finger under her bikini and pull it aside, then slip my fingers into her.
Warm, inviting, slick with her honey. Her pussy is throbbing around me as I slip my fingers slow in and out of her. I want her. I need her.
I don’t care about anything else.
What if this is fake?
What if she’s manipulating you again?
But no. This is more real than I’ve ever felt. She can barely contain herself. My touch is driving her wild.
Fuck.
This is very, very real.
The thought panics me.
How can I be with her? She’s my prisoner. This would be wrong. I’d be taking advantage of her in so many ways. I’m not that person.
Worry bolts through me, and I pause, hesitating. She notices, and her brows furrow as she looks at me.
“What is it?” she asks, her breath barely a whisper.
“I… I can’t do this,” I murmur. I won’t take advantage of her. She doesn’t deserve that.
Stef’s eyes widen with surprise, then embarrassment. She sits up, pushing me off her, and I stand up, straighten my pants, trying to adjust them around the massive bulge of my desire.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, seeing her expression.
“Whatever,” she snaps, straightening her dress and walking back toward the villa.
I jog after her, catching up and walking at her side in silence.
The night is heavy with tension now. Walking into the villa, she doesn’t even look at me; she heads straight to her room without saying goodnight.
I groan in desperation. My body is still humming for her, pulsing in heartbeats of desire.
I take a cold shower, thinking it might help, but it doesn’t. And when I climb into bed, I toss and turn, my mind locked into what I didn’t take from her. What I so desperately want.
Without any other option, because my fucking cock won’t stop tenting the blankets, I wrap my hand around my shaft and jerk off.
With each stroke of my hand, I picture her.
I picture thrusting in her as she lies beneath me on that sun lounger.
I imagine pulling her dress off her shoulders and licking my tongue over her dark nipples.
Her lips part, her breath is hot against my mouth as I kiss her while I fuck her.
My cock slides into her as my tongue plays across her lips.
She moans and arches, spreading her legs wider to let me fill her up.
She is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen…
When I come, I come hard, my body shaking and a loud groan slipping from my lips.
The physical release is a relief, but only briefly.
It isn’t really what I’m craving. I’m not craving something so simple.
I’m craving her. Everything about her. Her smile.
Her laugh. Her skin. Her taste. It’s confusing.
I’m not the type of man who has ever wanted more than sex from a woman.
My whole life, it was just stress relief to be with anyone.
There wasn’t much of a connection, and I preferred it that way.
I didn’t have time for more. Nor did I want more.
Why is Stef so different? Is this all stemming from the fact that I can’t have her? That it’s wrong of me to want her?
I fall asleep dreaming of her and wake the next morning with another hard-on that I have to deal with before I can get out of bed and join her for breakfast.
***
Stef is sitting on the wooden deck, out in the sunshine, watching the sun creep higher over the water.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to keep the tension from my voice.
She throws me a flicker of a smile but says nothing.
“Nutella pancakes. That’s an island favorite,” I muse, glancing at her breakfast. “I think I’ll have the same.”
Stef remains quiet, determined to give me the silent treatment. I sigh softly and head to the kitchen to see what the chef has made.
There is a plate piled high of Nutella pancakes, so I grab a few and head back out to the wooden deck to eat with her, even if she’s going to be silent.
For some reason, I still want to be near her.
It’s our last day here. We’re heading out around lunchtime.
I don’t want the holiday to end this way, but I also don’t know how to fix this.