“Oh, yes.”
“All…all right,” she agrees, intense and breathless.
The corner of my mouth drags up, as I gently skim the robe back over her shoulders and slide it down. Revealing pale, full curves and soft, mouthwatering swells. I scoop Olivia up under her legs and perch her on the vanity, her legs dangling off.
The cold marble makes her squeak and we both chuckle. Then she reaches up for a kiss—but I drag myself back. “Uh-uh, none of that now. I need to focus all of my attention…” I slip my hand across her thigh, cupping between her legs “…here.”
Olivia’s eyes roll closed at the contact and her hips lift up against my palm just a bit. All I want to do is slip my finger into her wet, tight heat. To get her all needy and clenching for my cock.
I blow out a breath. This is going to be more fucking difficult than I thought.
I lick my lips as I mix the shaving cream into a warm, thick lather, feeling her eyes follow my every move. I run a hand towel under the warm water, ring it out, and wrap it around her calf, to heat and soften the skin.
And then I paint her with the cashmere brush. Dragging the bristles up her leg, over the grooves of her sculpted calf, leaving a trail of white cream behind. I breathe evenly, steadying myself when I reach for the razor, scraping it gently over her skin. I rinse the blade, then go back for more, repeating the slow movements again and again.
After both calves and her knees are done, I get to work on each thigh. Olivia pants and then gasps when the bristles tickle the delicate skin at the apex between her legs. When the razor traces the same path—reaches that juncture—she moans.
And all I want to do is rip the towel off my hips and fuck her endlessly on the bathroom counter. My cock is aching, weepy, and every muscle in my body is strung so tight it borders on pain.
I save the best for last. Her sweet, beautiful pussy. I repeat the process—warm towel first—resting it over her and rubbing her clit beneath it, because how can I not? She starts to shift—writhe—and I have to admonish her.
“Stay still. I have to stop if you don’t sit still.”
Yes, I’m teasing her—taunting. Because there’s no bloody way in hell I could stop now.
Olivia grips the edge of the counter until her knuckles are white and she stares at me with shiny eyes glazed over with mindless lust.
Once she’s covered in cream, I toss the brush into the sink. I press the razor against her flesh, at the bottom—those plump, perfect lips. And I pause, looking into her eyes.
“You trust me.”
She nods, almost frantically. And I slide the razor up, removing barely visible tiny sprouts of hair. I move to her vulva, swiping downward in short, careful strokes—being sure to leave her pretty, soft bush that I enjoy so much.
When I’m done, I set the razor aside and pick up the still-warm towel. Then I kneel down in front of her. I clean any last remnant of shaving cream from her skin and then I look up into her eyes.
And I watch her watch me, as I lean forward and cover her pussy with my mouth.
“Yes, yes…” she hisses.
I suck and lick and devour her like a man gone mad—and maybe I have.
She’s so slick and smooth and hot on my lips, against my tongue. I could stay here—do this to her—forever.
But—forever is much too long for my suffering cock.
Breathing hard, heart pounding out of my chest, I stand up and tear at the towel around me. I push Olivia’s knees up, bracing her feet on the edge of the counter near her hands, opening her up to me. So fucking pretty.
I take my long, hot erection in hand and run the head through her wetness, teasing her clit with the tip, rubbing it over the pink bud.
And there’s no worry, not a single thought of consequences or responsibility. Because this is Olivia—and that makes all the difference.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I drag my cock down to her tight opening, gliding it around, feeling the call to thrust hard and deep.
“Yes, yes I’m sure.”
Olivia nods and I dip inside her.
She closes tight around me, gripping and snug, making me moan loudly.
“Oh, Christ…”
The bareness—flesh-to-flesh—is amazing. More. The slick slide of tight heat that brings so much pleasure with it. I watch as I push all the way into her, feeling every gorgeous inch.
It’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen. Olivia moans—we both do.
And I know without a shred of doubt that we are going to be very, very late for Henry’s party.
By the time we actually leave the palace, it’s so late that Nicholas has Bridget call ahead to tell them to hold the gangplank for us. He says we’ll just be cruising around the bay, but I hope Henry isn’t pissed at us for delaying his party.
I shouldn’t have worried. After we board, it’s immediately apparent Henry is too drunk to notice—or care.
He hugs us both sloppily, like he hasn’t seen us in weeks.
“So damn happy you made it!” he howls, throwing his arms out wide. “I love this fucking boat!”
Nicholas’s eyes crinkle with concern. “It’s actually a ship, little brother.”
Henry rolls his eyes and almost falls over.
“Don’t you ever get tired of correcting people? Have a fucking drink.”
We do just that.
I tried to imagine what a royal yacht would look like, but just like practically every other experience on this wild trip, my imagination falls sadly short.
The “ship” has every luxury imaginable. It’s a floating palace—and almost as large. Strings of lights dot the sky above the deck, and some of the guests—also drunk but not quite as bad as Henry—turn it into a makeshift dance floor. They grind and twist to the beat of the music coming from the DJ’s speakers at the helm. Kanye West is playing—and I laugh to myself, remembering my and Nicholas’s first date.