Wallbanger(101)

cheeks were pretty pink, and I hadn’t even added blush tonight.

I went to the kitchen to pour myself a quick glass of wine and wait for Simon. As I poured the Cava, I saw him on the terrace, facing the ocean. I

smirked when I saw he was wearing a white linen shirt. We’d be quite matchy-matchy tonight. Khakis completed his look, and he turned just as I

was walking out to meet him. My heels clicked across the stone as I sipped my bubbly wine, and he leaned back on his arms across the wrought

iron railing. As a photographer, he was innately aware of the kind of imagery he was creating, I felt certain. Anytime he leaned, he oozed sex. I just

hoped I didn’t fal in my heels…sex ooze could be slippery.

I offered my wine to him, and he let me bring the glass to his lips. Slowly, he sipped, his eyes on mine. When I removed the glass, he quickly

wrapped an arm around my waist and pul ed me to him, kissing me deeply, the taste of wine heavy on his tongue.



“You look…good,” he breathed, pul ing away from my lips to press his mouth against the skin just below my ear, his scruff tickling me in the

most fantastic way.

“Good?” I asked, tilting my head back to encourage everything he was doing.

“Good. Good enough to eat,” he whispered, grazing my neck with his teeth, just enough to make me aware of them.

“Wow,” was al I could manage as I wrapped my arms around his neck and sank into his embrace.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow al around, making the terra cotta blaze red and orange, coating us in fire. My eyes were

drawn to the cool blue of the sea crashing against the rocks below, the salt in the air actual y present on my tongue. I clung to him, letting myself feel

and experience everything. His body, hard and warm against my own, the feel of his shaggy hair against my cheek, the heat of the railing against

my hip, the rush of every cel in my body curling toward this man and the pleasure he would surely bring me.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice gruff in my ear.

“So ready,” I moaned, my eyes rol ing back in my head at the nearness of him, the feel of him.

And then Simon took me to town.

After Simon had driven me to the brink with his kissing on the terrace, he’d literal y driven me to the brink. We were now at a restaurant

overlooking the water, which was easy to do in a coastal town. But where the little hole-in-the-wal places we’d been frequenting this week had their

cozy charm, this was a romantic restaurant with an emphasis on romance. Romance was served on a platter here. It was in the wine, the pictures

on the wal s, the floor beneath our feet, and in case you missed the romance, it was also being piped in through the air. If I squinted, I could see the

word romance floating through the air on the sea breeze…I had to real y squint, but it was there, I tel you.

Floor-to-ceiling window panels had been rol ed back to let in the briny coastal air, and hundreds of tiny tealights sparkled in hurricane glasses.

Each table was dressed in white, with low tumblers spil ing over with dahlia blooms in rich shades of crimson, pomegranate, and lusty fuchsia. Tiny

white Christmas lights twisted into the wooden beams overhead cast a magical sepia tone over the entire scene. In this restaurant, there were no

children, no tables of four or six. No, this restaurant was fil ed with lovers, old and new.

Now we sat, pressed closely together at an epic mahogany bar, slowly sipping wine and awaiting our own tiny table. Simon’s hand settled

against the smal of my back, claiming me quietly and succinctly.

The bartender placed a tray of oysters on the bar in front of us. Twisted and craggy, they glistened, with slices of lemon nestled here and there.

Simon raised an eyebrow, and I nodded as he squeezed the lemon, his strong and elegant fingers making short, erotic work of the oysters. He

pried one from its home and brought it to my mouth on a tiny fork.

“Open up, Nightie Girl,” he instructed, and I surely did as I was told.

Cold, crisp, like a burst of seawater in my mouth, I moaned around the fork as he slipped the tines back out. He grasped his own oyster and

tossed it back like a man, licking his lips as I watched this little bit of food pornography play out. He winked at me as I looked away, trying not to let

on how desperately turned on I was. The entire day had been like one giant, control ed bal of sexual tension, a slow burn that was now igniting into

a wildfire. He slurped two more in quick succession, and as I watched his tongue dart out to lick his lips, I felt the sudden urge to help him. With no

shame or sense of social propriety, I closed the distance between us and kissed him, hard.

He grinned in surprise, but kissed me back with equal intensity. The sweetness and tenderness that had been marinating between us al week