Page 61 of The Cruiser
ChapterTwenty-Two
MORGAN
I wake up slowly,dopey from the wine. I’m crusted with come, the skin on my back lashed and sore from the rake of her nails. Buttery fingers of light streak across the room, and I’m guessing it’s close to five p.m. Hard to say. I also don’t want to know. Dream worlds should go on forever, not be tied to time. If Vandana wasn’t curled up beside me in the deep, endless sleep that follows godless fucking, I’m certain she’d agree.
I bury my nose, take a deep inhale of her hair spread along the pillow. It smells like her, but also like us. Despite the punishing abuse, my cock stirs to life again. Oh, where to start? It’s tricky rating sex. So many factors play into it, like all the atmospheric elements of an evening that turn an ordinary bottle of wine into the finest vintage.
But this… Her…
I had a sense of what it would be like, but I never imagined this. My mind can’t even compute a number. There is no scale on which to judge. We created our own scale.
The duvet rises and falls innocently with her breathing and I smile, remembering her at the end—soaked and cursing, crumbling in my arms. A woman’s pleasure is an elusive thing, and a man can go mad in pursuit of it. But there was no shame between us. No guessing. As expected, she is a woman who knows what she wants and is unafraid to tell me.
A woman who gives as good as she gets.
Round two, that debauched damage, the heights she took me to… Whatever it is that’s clogging up my throat knows.
I am totally, one hundred percent screwed.
Leaving the bed is an act of treason, although I imagine Vandana will be out for a while. With utmost care, I disentangle myself from the sheet and tiptoe to the bathroom. I knew all along the pearls were a front. Vandana is a raw, blazing diamond and this afternoon, I was her craftsman. Sculpting brightness and fire, my tongue coaxing a sparkle from deep within her quivering flesh. God, she enjoyed that. Her moan turning into a cry of sweet surrender, the bashing of the bed frame against the wall, every part of her uncoiling.
I really need to stop thinking about her.
It’s impossible to piss with an erection.
Yes, I know my friend, I’m on the same page. We’re not leaving this place without having her again. But for now, settle down.
Finally, my mast deflates and the plumbing kicks in. I rinse my hands and slip on a thin, cotton robe to sneak outside. The terrace is washed in shadow, although the paving stones still hold the day’s heat and feel warm under the soles of my feet. Fat bees buzz around the bursting wisteria blooms, but a different buzzing draws my attention to the lounge chair. I don’t want to look at my phone but I do, and twenty-one messages take the shine off my mood. There is no true down day between shows, even if the calendar says otherwise. I was supposed to be back in Monaco this afternoon but have found myself pleasantly sidetracked. Something I forgot to tell Olivier.
Strangely, his barrage of texts doesn’t seem to indicate someone under the weather.
OL: Where are you?
OL: We need to talk!!!
OL: Are you ignoring me?
OL: For Christ’s sake. Call me!!!
He’s an abrasive little fellow about time and commitments. Surprisingly, he loses track of both when he’s at the casino. I take a seat on the chair and make quick work of my replies. I confirm meetings and events, address issues and questions. Dorothy and Frankie want to meet in Monaco tomorrow. Will Vandana and I be available for drinks?
I gaze up, across the valley to the mountains, where the glow of late evening turns their green mounds to gold.
Vandana and I.
How strange.
How wonderful to be thought of as a unit.
How very apropos.
When I finally buried myself inside her in one battering thrust, when her flesh gripped me in long, shuddering spasms and my name left her lips in a delirious gasp, we fused like the thick cream and chocolate in a decadent ganache.
Minds, souls, and bodies as one.
MdRC: Yes, we are available. Lunch at the Yacht Club?
I’m not so wrung out to forget Khaled is the main event. He prefers dinner meetings, and I’ve skewed most other engagements to the day to avoid a potential conflict. Whenever he wants to meet, we meet. Based on his exclamation mark overuse, Olivier must have news. I consider a text, but he’ll pounce and call immediately so I might as well end his misery.
