Reckless

Fuck! Samantha!!!”

I arched my back and bore down with my pelvis, quivering as all my weight pressed down on his thick length.

“Christos!!!!” I screamed.

“Agapi MOU!!!!” he shouted.

His body relaxed finally and he fell back to the bed. I collapsed onto his chest, spent, wet, exhilarated, relaxed, released, at peace.

I sighed heavily. “Oh. My. God. What did you do?”

“What did I do?” he asked. “That was all you, agapi mou.”

It was. I couldn’t believe it.

I smiled silently.

Yay, me!

I didn’t suck in bed!

He wrapped his arms around me and I lifted my head to kiss him affectionately. “Mmmmm,” was all I said.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” he replied.

I lowered my head back to rest against his chest as echoes of our mutual orgasm subsided.

I laid on top of him for a long time, silent, my legs wrapped around him. I didn’t ever want to let go.

“I gotta deal with the condom,” he muttered.

“Okay,” I whispered, afraid he was going to leave.

“You should roll off,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to, but I supposed I had to. I felt him pulling out of me.

He reached down and pressed two fingers against the base of the condom until he was withdrawn. He dropped it in a small waste basket beside his bed.

He laid back next to me and took me in his arms.

Thank goodness he didn’t go.

I draped my knee over his hips as he pulled me to his chest and kissed me passionately. We continued kissing for a long time, softly, quietly, intimately.

SAMANTHA

Eventually Christos gently broke our kiss and stroked a lock of hair behind my ear. He gazed into my heart with his healing blue eyes for a long time before murmuring, “Samantha, you are the most amazing woman in the history of women. Every time I’m with you, whether it’s in bed together, or drawing with crayons on a coffee table, or even just sitting in silence, I marvel at how lucky I am to have found you.”

“I thought I was the lucky one,” I whispered shyly as I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest.

He chuckled. “Yes indeed, you are. But I’m luckier.”

“What are you saying, Christos? Are you saying I’m more awesome than you?” I grinned.

“Yup.”

I gasped. “No way! Can your ego allow such an admission?”

“It can, when it’s the truth. You’re even more awesome than I am.”

“Does that mean you’ll stare at me more than you stare at yourself from now on?”

He frowned while smiling. “I don’t stare at myself.”

“You are such a liar! I’ve seen you in my bathroom. You’re so in love with yourself, I’m surprised you don’t jerk off every time you see yourself in the mirror!” I giggled.

“If I was gay, I’d do me in a second,” he smirked.

I squeezed one of his cheeks, and in mocking baby-talk said, “There’s that ego I so wuv.” I gave him a twinkling smile.

“I don’t know about you,” he smiled back, “but I’m getting pretty hungry.”

“Is it time for dinner?”

“Yeah, I need to clean you up first,” he said. “Would you like the shower or my tongue?”

“I’m pretty sure if you use your tongue, we’ll never get out of your bedroom.”

“Shower it is.” He stood and picked me up and carried me into the bathroom attached to his bedroom.

Nope, getting carried never got old. “If you keep carrying me everywhere, my muscles are going to atrophy and I won’t be able to walk,” I joked.

“Then you’ll be stuck in bed and I’ll be forced to ravish you all day long.”

“Do I get time off for sleeping?”

“No, but I will fuck you until you’re unconscious.”

I blurted a laugh. Because I believed he could.

Christos set me down on the bathroom floor while he filled the round jacuzzi bathtub and added bubble-bath soap. When it was full, he picked me up, stepped into the tub, then set me on my feet in the water. He gently washed me from top to bottom while I stood in foamy suds up to my waist. He caressed my body with a sopping natural sponge then rinsed me with the ceramic pitcher kept on the edge of the tub.

I felt like Cleopatra or some other high queen who was bathed by handmaidens, except Christos was much better than a handmaiden. I had a moment to wonder what sort of funny business Cleopatra must have gotten up to with her hot handmaidens. It seemed a likely outcome. I imagined most empresses did whatever the hell they wanted.

When Christos slid his soapy fingers between this empress’s legs, I quivered and moaned. “Bathtub sex, my king?”

He chuckled mischievously and kissed me on the cheek. “Dinner first.”

He finished bathing me and toweled me dry.

“So, was that my present?” I asked.

“What, the hot sex or the bathing?”

“Yeah,” I smiled.

“Nope. I’ve got a couple more downstairs. One is dinner.”

“Awesome!” I couldn’t wait to eat.

While getting dressed in the bedroom, I finally noticed the decor.

Not the man-cave I’d expected.

I had imagined Christos either lived in an actual subterranean cave surround by the bones and antlers of the animals he’d hunted and killed with his bare hands, or maybe some kind of mechanic’s race garage with motorcycles and muscle cars surrounding a red satin bed with a chromed tread-plate bedframe.

Instead, the room was stylish in an art-deco sort of way. Lines and abstract shapes in the form of inset bookcases and earth tones led the eye to a massive abstract painting over the straight-edged king-sized bed stand. A bizarrely delicate light fixture with dozens of tiny white bulbs that resembled a starburst hung from the recessed ceiling.

“I was beginning to wonder if you actually lived here with your grandfather,” I said as I took in the decor.

“Yeah, he likes having me around. He says it keeps the energy in the house young.”

“I’ll say,” I smiled and winked at Christos.

My eyes were drawn to the huge abstract painting hanging over Christos’ bed.

“Tell me about this beautiful painting,” I said. “It doesn’t look like one of Spiridon’s.”

“It’s my dad’s. Well, mostly. I helped him paint it.”

“Really? When?”

“When I was like seven or eight.”

“Wow, Christos, it’s really nice. And that’s so cool that you did a painting with your dad!” I envied that he had, or used to have, such a close relationship with his father.

All I could imagine doing with my own dad was drawing up a balance sheet. Even then, he’d be controlling everything, correcting me and telling me how I was doing everything wrong.

“Yeah,” Christos continued, “my parents were still together at the time. I used to love hanging around in my dad’s studio. I’d be in the corner drawing or painting on an easel he’d bought for me. He’d set up fruit or stacks of