Page 14 of Isle of Beauty

I’ve never slept at anyone’s before. I’ve never stayed the night.

What am I supposed to do? Leave quietly while he’s in the shower? And where the fuck are my clothes?

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

His voice is rich and smooth and sincerity bleeds through it.

Our eyes meet and all of a sudden, I’m very awake. Pierce stands in the doorframe, steam billowing around him, giving him an ethereal quality. He’s freshly shaven, water still sluicing down his naked torso, a pair of black trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips. His wet black hair falls in front of his left eye and gives him a mischievous allure.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you. I would’ve showered in the other bathroom, but all my stuff’s here.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s your home. I… Thank you for letting me sleep here.” I never meant to stay and sleep this long.

I’m taking my time to let my gaze travel up and down his body shamelessly. He’s so thoughtful and he looks like a fucking God with his chiseled chest, thick thighs and corded arms. I zoom in on his veiny forearms.

That shit is my kryptonite.

Lust flairs in my lower belly and I’m acutely aware that I’m naked, my nipples puckering under the sheet covering my breasts, pussy weeping in need already.

The amused smirk on his handsome face tells me he knows exactly where my thoughts and my body have gone.

“I’ll start breakfast, beautiful. Your clothes are on the chair by the window.” I missed it on my first perusal of the place. “And a fresh towel is waiting for you if you’d like to shower.”

“Thank you.”

He puts on a crisp white shirt and steps out of the room.

Wait. He’s not even going to try to fuck me? My shoulders drop but on the bright side, he’s cooking breakfast. The discomfort at waking up in a stranger’s bed is replaced with excitement. The looming deadline of my flight tomorrow is barely pressing in on me as I step out from under the soft sheets and into the bathroom.

I’m used to luxury at the Moretti estate but it was more in a renovated farmhouse fashion than this modern quiet luxury the place emanates. Stepping into Pierce’s en-suite is like stepping into another world of wealth.

Dark grey waxed concrete makes up the whole room, from the floor, to the walls and even the ceiling, with the same panelled wood from the bedroom used in the furniture. There’s no bathtub, just a massive walk-in shower with a simple glass separator and a surprising round window to the outside world.

Warm muted light emerges from under the rounded mirror and the small niche inside the shower where products are displayed, giving the room that same serene atmosphere I experienced in the bedroom.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a bath because I would have probably overstayed my welcome then.

I take my rumpled clothes with me and set them on the counter next to the sink, where a male shirt has been laid out for me. I grin like a fool but then I can’t find my underwear. My smile expands. The thought of him keeping them increases my heart rate dangerously, heat burning my cheeks.

I tie my hair up in a messy bun and step in, lathering my body with his soap, which smells exactly like him, and I breathe it in.

I moan when my hand lands between my thighs. I’m already worked up, seeing him half naked and with the prospect of walking around without any underwear, ready to be used by him. I keep circling my clit with fast movements. I’m already so close.

I drop my head back and close my eyes, imagining Pierce walking in on me touching myself, and joining me, uncaring about the water messing with his clothes. That’s all it takes for my orgasm to hit me like a freight train, his name a whisper on my lips, my knees weak and breaths coming in sharp pants.

When I finally join him in the open kitchen, I wear his shirt and nothing under it. “It smells delicious, Pierce.”

He looks up and groans, closing his eyes in restraint. This might be my new favourite sound. “You look good in my clothes, mo cara.”

His hand cups the back of my head before his lips crash down on mine, leaving me dizzy and needy again.

Before I can act on it, the sweet smell of butter reaches my senses and my stomach growls loudly. Our eyes meet and I’m rewarded with another one of his mischievous smiles.

“Sit down. Let me feed you.”

God, it sounds so dirty in his mouth. It’s my turn to groan.

I sit at the counter and watch him prepare our meal with rapt attention. I openly ogle his thick thighs and perk round ass and I’m assaulted with the need to bite it. Maybe I can do that later.

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