We distributed the chocolates, drank ice-cold beer, and ate fish grilled with curry and rice. Then they turned the music up loud and some of them danced around the fire. Ivan and I didn’t dance. We sat close to each other and just listened to the others. Their stories.
All I knew was that I was happy. Ecstatically so.
By nine the bonfire was put out and everybody left. Part of the group went to bed to prepare for the second shift of the night. The others went to the different locations on the island to guard the nest eggs. They made nightly patrols around the island to check for evidence of sea turtles. If they found any nests they collected the eggs and took them to the incubation center.
Ivan and I walked back. I was feeling pleasantly tipsy, happier than I had ever felt in my life. I looked up at him hardly able to hide the way I felt about him.
As we walked into our house all the lights suddenly went out and all the big fans stopped blowing.
‘What the hell?’ Ivan said.
‘Oh, darn it,’ I said. ‘The generator has stopped working and it gets hotter than hell at night around here.’
‘Where is it? Let me have a look.’
‘Let me get a torch,’ I said. It was a moonlit night so I quickly found my way to the kitchen drawer, fumbling around before I found one.
Carrying it we went out behind the house to have a look, but there is nothing to see. Just a massive, ominously still, silent, locked, grey container.
‘We can go back to the volunteers’ hall and sleep with them tonight. Rosli will call someone to come and repair it tomorrow,’ I suggested unhappily.
‘Er … no.’
I bit my lip and thought of what else we could do. ‘There is another generator that keeps the fridge working. Maybe we can keep the fridge door open and sleep in front of it.’
He grinned, his teeth gleaming whitely in the dark. ‘Sure, I can have sex in front of an open fridge.’
‘You want to have sex in this heat? I don’t think you know how hot it can get without the giant fans.’
‘I haven’t given up on the idea yet.’
We went back into the house and lit some storm lanterns. The white nets surrounding us billowed in the gentle breeze giving the scene a hazy, unreal atmosphere.
‘God, it’s so damn hot. I’m having a cold beer. You want one?’ I asked.
‘Sure,’ he said.
I opened the fridge door, took one out and rolled it along my neck. The bottle was wonderfully cold and I sighed with pleasure. I turned around to find Ivan looking at me.
‘Mmmm …’ I gave him a sultry look. I reached for the bottle opener that was hanging by a string next to the fridge and removed the top. It clattered on the stone.
He said nothing, just stared at me.
Then I knew what I wanted to do. I’d seen this in a Tarantino movie once. She had given the killer a lap dance. I would improvise and use my bottle instead.
I arched my neck and dragged the bottle down to my chest. I pulled the neckline of my T-shirt and stroked the heated skin on my shoulder with the bottle. I let the cool glass travel slowly down to my cleavage.
The dark lust in his eyes made my breath come in short gasps.
I grasped the edge of my T-shirt, lifted it as I rubbed the bottle on my stomach. It was no longer ice-cold, but since I was not actually doing it to cool myself … Slowly gyrating my hips I threw my head back and poured the cold frothy liquid onto my chest.
That did it. He began to peel the clothes off his spectacular body. He walked over to one of the low sofas and sat with his knees spread wide apart and his cock pointing up.
‘Come here,’ he said, his voice thick and full of wanting.
I put the bottle on the table before walking up to him and, putting my bare foot between his legs, almost touch his balls.
‘Talk dirty to me,’ he invited, his eyes half-hooded.
I had never talked dirty with anyone, but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. In the sexiest voice I could manage, I said, ‘Mmm … when you say talk dirty what do you actually mean?’
Something flickered in his eyes as if he had expected a totally different reaction from me. ‘Do you like my cock? Tell me what you see. Talk about it. Describe it. Go a little over the top,’ he encouraged.
‘OK,’ I said slowly. Describe his cock. I decoded that as praise my cock. Mama used to say all men are in love with their own cocks. That should be easy enough. In fact, I could be great at going over the top.
He fisted his beloved cock and waited expectantly.
I took a deep breath. ‘Your cock,’ I said in a grandiose voice, ‘is an exquisite work of art. It is so beautiful and so distinctive it should be hung in the portrait gallery.’
An odd expression crossed his face and was quickly gone. He was definitely … surprised, or probably even disappointed. Obviously, I needed to up the ante.