I’m in denial about so many things.
But Strol, he understands me. He accepts me for who I am, and while he doesn’t know why I am the way I am, he doesn’t judge me.
“Alien daredevil,” I murmur as I push off the seat and finally stand.
His lips curl into a wonderful smile. “Admit it,” he says with a boastful air. “Admit that you’re dazzled by the alien daredevil.”
I tilt back my head and laugh. “So very cocky.”
“Yes,” he murmurs, his voice husky now as he wraps an arm around my waist.
A thrill goes through me, and I shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asks, running his hands up and down my back.
“No,” I murmur.
He gently pulls my shirt, so it's free from my shorts, and his touch against my bare back burns me. With a simple caress, it feels like he's searing me, branding me, and I tilt my head back again.
This time, he uses that as an opportunity to plant kisses on my neck, to suck the delicate skin there. He’s gentle, though, and already, this time feels different. It’s tender and slow. It’s not hurried, but it’s still passionate, just in a different way.
An even more intimate way.
“Strol,” I murmur, his name almost coming out a prayer.
“Isabella, I want you.”
I open my eyes, not even certain when I closed them, and I stare into his eyes. He doesn’t just mean physically. He doesn’t just want my body.
He wants me.
All of me.
I cup his face and kiss him. A few more tears fall. Why does this feel like I’m saying goodbye? But am I saying goodbye to him or this version of myself?
Slowly, he removes my clothes, his fingers trailing down my body, caressing every inch of skin. He plants kisses all over my body. Sometimes, he’ll lick a spot instead of planting a kiss, and I shiver each time, not jerking with surprise, allowing him to have access to my body, to let him do what he wants to me.
He's behind me, lavishing my back with attention, and when he comes around to the side, he doesn't finish and come to my front. Instead, he sweeps me into his arms and takes me to a door. At his nod, I open it, and inside is a tiny bed, almost a cot.
“Even fighter pilots need to sleep,” he murmurs. He tenderly places me on the bed. “Do you want to sleep?”
Why is he asking me this? He’s set my every nerve ending on fire, and I need him to fan the flames.
This is one fire I don't want to be extinguished.
“Only if you’re going to sleep with me,” I murmur, reaching up to clasp my hands behind his neck.
He kisses me with passion, and he climbs onto the bed with me. He has to be on top of me because the bed is that small, and I try to rub against him, but he draws back, somewhat on his side, cupping my boobs, playing with my nipples, tickling my stomach. My one leg moves to the side to give him access, my other leg pinned, and I wait for him to help me with this deep-seated ache that’s building within me.
But he takes his time, lavishing my body with love and attention. Yes, love. There’s no other word for it. He’s touching me everywhere, and he’s staring at me with wonder in his eyes, as if he wants time to stop, as if he wants to memorize my body.
Because he knows this is a turning point.
We both do.
I lean up and kiss him and gently manage to shift us so that he’s on his back. Without taking him inside me, I mount him, and now it’s my turn to touch him everywhere until his breathing is as ragged as mine.
Unlike Strol, I’m willing to touch his most private part, and I play with his balls, cupping them and gently tugging them away from his body. His cock is covered with precum by the time I stroke him.
At his nod, I finally line up him with my opening, and I ease him inside. I move slowly, so slowly. This isn't the time for being like a jackrabbit. This is slow, sensual…
My head tilts back, and my eyes close. Strol lifts up, the bed creaking in response, and his hands wrap around my neck and shoulders.
“Open your eyes,” he murmurs.
I do, watching him as I enjoy him. His lips twist with mounting pleasure, but he stares up at me, and this just makes the act that much more intimate.
At this point, it can’t get any more intimate except if we’re two become one.
In a way, it already feels that way, and I’m frightened, but I’m in too deep. He’s stolen me, taken me. What was that word he used? Dazzled? That might actually be fitting.
With a strangled cry, my orgasm rolls over me, cresting like a massive wave, reminding me of Niagara Falls. We should go back and find a spot where we can make love outside where the mist can spray over our slick bodies.
Make love. Did I really just think that?
I did.
Another orgasm overwhelms me, and this time, Strol comes too. He pulls me down to rest on him, and I have to wait a long minute for my heartbeat to slow.
I shift to lie beside him, which means we both have to be on our side or else risk falling off the small bed.
“Yes,” I murmur, cupping his face. “Yes, maybe I am a little dazzled by you.”
“Don’t worry.” He props up on his elbow and traces lazy circles on my neck and upper chest. “I’m dazzled by you too.”
13
Strol
It’s not easy sleeping on this
