They were drunk on lust and enjoying it.
‘We’re on a boat and sailing for ever,’ Layla said as he took her face in his hands. ‘Tomorrow never comes.’
They had shared many, many kisses, but she had never tasted him so tender as his hand traced her spine and then unhooked her bra. She felt her breasts naked against his skin; it made her ache from the inside.
It was Layla who went for his belt but then changed her mind. Her hand held him through the fabric, growing him, holding him, stroking him, till Mikael pushed her hand away and led her to the bed.
Layla lay there, watching him undress, and she slid under the sheet as a naked Mikael joined her.
He kissed not her mouth but the breasts he had never tasted, and Layla relished the gentle licks and soft sucks, looking down at his lips as he blew her nipple to a painful peak and then kissed down her stomach and then back upwards.
‘Take them off,’ she said as his fingers stroked her through her bikini bottom; she wanted to feel him there.
But Mikael would not.
And so she did.
She undid the sides as he kissed her, and they wrestled just a little with each other, and with self-control—and then Layla’s hand went where it must not, and she held him with no barrier this time.
Mikael rose to his knees and Layla looked at him.
‘Just a little way?’
‘Not a chance,’ he said, and his hand was over hers this time as she stroked him, feeling the soft, soft skin that encased his manhood, moving him closer to where she wanted him. And it was cruel, for they deserved more.
Mikael moved down the bed and kissed along her thighs, over and over, till she pleaded with him to taste her there again.
This time he pulled her legs so that they lay over his shoulders and down his back, and she felt every breath from him; the flicks of his tongue were intense and they made her sob with both need and frustration, for she wanted him inside.
He struggled to stay gentle, not to bury his face in her mound and suckle and nip and probe her till she was ready—for that was where his mind was, and so too was Layla’s.
‘I don’t care, Mikael…’ she said as her fingers tried to pull his head from her, as she tried to move her legs so he would slide up the bed and take her. ‘I don’t care what happens when I get back…’
But his arms held her legs down, and his tongue was more rapid and probing, and he took her from the edge of potential disaster to temporary oblivion. Yet even as she came to his mouth, even as her body rode the high, somehow it was not enough.
She still wanted more.
‘I want to taste you,’ she said, and she smiled as she felt him moan with want between her legs.
‘You said…’
‘I can do this,’ she said—for she would make her own rules. She would never do it with another…she would marry Mikael the only way she could: with her mouth. ‘Please, Mikael, I will only ever do this with you.’
He lay on his back and Layla lay astride him, lowering her head to the base of him and slowly kissing the long way up.
‘My hair…’