Chapter 42
Lily
“Idon’t think I’ve asked my three questions yet today.” I’m lounging on the deck, glass of champagne in hand, sunglasses covering my eyes, soaking in the afternoon sun, and I can honestly say I’ve never felt more relaxed. A weight has been lifted, and I finally feel at peace.
“I don’t believe you have.” Marcus is lying next to me, his tanned, tattooed chest out for me to admire, and with my eyes covered by my sunglasses, my gaze can linger a little longer, and I’m definitely not mad about it.
His dark brown hair is messy and flopping forward, and his eyes are also covered by dark aviators.
He looks every part the millionaire ex-footballer he is. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know your biggest fear. You know mine, so now I think it’s only fair that I know yours.”
“Hitting me with the big guns out the gate. Not easing me into it.”
“Don’t worry, the next won’t be so intense.” I nudge my bare foot against his.
“My biggest fear?” He looks up to the sky, and I shamelessly take in his profile of sharp lines and the slight stubble dusting his jaw, and I start to imagine how it would feel between my thighs. “My biggest fear is probably being alone.”
“Being alone? But you’re hardly ever alone.” I frown as his comment pulls me from my ogling.
“During the day, maybe, but life can be pretty lonely at times. I want someone to share everything with. The thought of having all these opportunities at my fingertips and not sharing them with someone is quite depressing. I also watch older couples when I’m out and about, how they are just so comfortable in each other's company; they don’t have to talk, they are just enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, but they are together, just happy.
To have someone to reach out and hold their hand just because they can, someone to look after and be their calm and safe space.
They know everything about the other person, what makes them happy, and what makes them sad; they are their other half in every sense.
The fear of never finding my other half is probably my biggest fear. ”
“Wow, that was deeper than I was expecting you to go. I was thinking you’d say spiders or snakes. That’s actually quite profound.” Putting my glass down, I turn fully towards him, resting on my elbow. He angles his body towards me and smirks.
“Not just a pretty face.”
“Who said you’re pretty?”
“I believe Leanne called me pretty, and then there was Jenna—”
“Alright, big head.” I cut him off. “I guess you aren’t too bad to look at.”
“Thank you.” He lays flat on his back, arms crossed underneath his head, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Next question.”
“You're not asking me one?”
“I’ll save mine for when you’re done.”
“Okay, how about, have you ever done anything illegal?” I ask.
“Thought you were going easy on me after that first question?” He lets out a deep chuckle, and tingles travel up my spine.
Jesus, he really has turned me into a sex maniac.
“I am.” Staring out at the tranquil, still sea, I tamper those thoughts down. “Your shifty behavior means you have, so don’t keep me waiting. What did you do?”
“I’m not hiding some sort of criminal hidden life.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
“You want me to be some high-level criminal?”
“Well, no, but it would make you more exciting.”
“Am I not exciting enough?” He lifts his sunglasses as he turns to look over at me.
“You could be more exciting.”
“You’re insane.” He places his glasses back down, staring up at the sky, which is now starting to turn beautiful shades of reds, oranges, and pinks. “So anyway, there used to be this donkey that was tied up at the farm up the road from my school.”
“Donkey? Really, Diaz, another animal story? What is it with you? First the bunny, then the geese, and now a donkey? Should I be worried?”
“No. Will you let me continue?” He sighs.
“Yes, proceed.”
“Right, so this donkey always looked so sad—”
“Don’t donkeys always look sad?” I question.
“Not the point. I was eight—”
“You were eight?” I cut him off again.
“Yes.”
“So, you weren’t a criminal mastermind?”
“Of course not. Am I allowed to continue?” He brushes his unruly hair back, and my eyes fix on the way his forearm muscles flex and his biceps bulge.
Seriously, Lily, head out of the gutter. But fuck, look at those tanned arms and his abs. Jesus, his abs. I want to lick every damn ridge.
“So, this donkey.” Yep, the donkey. The man is talking about a donkey, and you, Lily Chambers, are thinking about licking every inch of him.
Told you, sex maniac. “He looked sad, and I saw him every day on the way to school. Me and Franco, my best friend at the time, decided we would make it happy by rescuing it. So, one day after school, we unhooked his reins and walked him up to my Yaya’s farm, putting him in her field. We called him Burrito.”
“Eight-year-old Marcus was cute.”
“I was. But anyway, not sure how we thought my Yaya wouldn’t notice a donkey in her field, especially when she didn’t have any on her farm.”
“How long until she noticed?”
“Half an hour. We had to walk Burrito back to the owner. He laughed, but told us we could come after school to look after him. And he told us that donkeys always looked sad. Which we didn’t believe and still thought he was being treated badly.
We went every day after school. Turns out they really do always look depressed.
” He chuckles, brushing his palm against his scruff, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, thinking about how that would feel running along my sensitive skin.
Yep, he’s broken me.
I’m having more sex than ever, and not just good sex, out of this world, mind blowing, I actually nearly black out sex, and it’s created a monster.
“I wouldn’t exactly call that illegal,” I croak out, trying and failing to clear my thoughts as I watch a tiny bead of sweat run down his smooth tattooed chest, over his nipple and down his stomach toward the V of muscles that has my knees going weak because I know exactly what they’re pointing at.
“Not really, but it's all I have.” Yep, he’s still talking. Focus Lily.
“So, you never drank before you were allowed?”
“We have a different drinking culture here than you Brits. It’s not really customary to binge drink.”
“I suppose not.”
“Have you done anything illegal?” he asks, still not looking at me, his gaze fixed on the paradise surrounding us.
“Thought you were waiting to ask your questions?”
“You’ve intrigued me.”
“Not really illegal, no. But we did get into clubs and quite often be nursing hangovers at school.” I roll over and mimic his position.
“Last one then.” I blame the sun for my next question.
I must have sunstroke; that is the only explanation for why my head is foggy with lust. “Favorite sex position?”
He laughs next to me. “You’re definitely one of a kind.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know if I’m satisfying your every need if I don’t ask?”
“Trust me, you’re definitely satisfying my every need.” Arousal rushes through my veins at his deep, sexy tone, setting every nerve ending in my body on fire.
“Good.” I swallow. “But—”
“Missionary,” he cuts in, his tone indifferent. “But with your legs up by my ears.”
“Sounds pretty basic,” I stutter, as visions of exactly how good that particular position is play out in my mind.
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I get to thrust deep inside your pussy while gripping your firm ass tightly, pushing my fingers deep into your skin to leave marks.”
Jesus Christ.
“I can see your fucking perfect tits bounce as I thrust further inside you, seeing your face morph into pure ecstasy as I hit your G-spot over and over again.”
Oh God.
“I have the perfect view of your pussy, stretching to take every inch of me, coating my cock. Your cunt dripping for me. Yeah, it’s pretty basic.”
Well, fuck.
I’m squeezing my thighs together as my core tightens at the image he has painted. And fuck me, I want it. I peer over at him as I try to control my breathing, wanting nothing more than what he has just described.
“You okay over there, Petardo?”
“Definitely not.”
He chuckles. “Didn’t think so.”
Why won't he look at me?
He is truly trying to make me beg.
“Favorite flower?” he asks.
“You’re honestly changing the subject just like that?” I shriek.
“Just like that.”
“Fine, daisies.” I throw up my hands, exasperated by this whole situation. Jesus Christ, he can’t say stuff like that to me and then hit me with the flower question. I’m a mess.
“Is that all I’m getting?” His voice is calm as he continues to still not fucking look at me.
“I’m hoping it’s not all I’m getting,” I huff, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Struggling over there?”
“No.” I pout.
“Need me to help?”
“No.” I lift my chin defiantly.
“Sure?”
“Yes.” I instantly regret my stubbornness because, yes, of course, I want him to help. I want him to do everything he just described and then a whole lot more.
“Suit yourself.”
We are silent for what must be five minutes with just the sounds of the waves for company.
While he’s still, calm and collected, looking all kinds of hot and fucking edible, I’m fidgety.
My head is a mess, my pussy is throbbing, pulsating, aching, and he’s just going to sit there?
I thought this swimsuit would tease him, but no, apparently, he has restraint.
“You ever going to ask me the final question?” I say exasperated.
Rising, he sits, staring down at me with a huge smile on his face, and I don’t know if I want to smack or kiss it off him. Who are we kidding? We all know I want to suck the man’s face. Or sit on it, let's be honest.
“What question do you want me to ask, Petardo?” He grazes his fingers lazily along my exposed skin from my hip and around my thigh, but not where I want him the most.