Page 104 of Mayflower

“Ar-cher?” she warns me.

“Wild thing?” I mimic her, holding her foot hostage.

There’s a sneaky smirk on her lips when, slowly, she slides her hand between her legs and, with a forefinger, pulls her panties aside, baring her pussy for me.

I have to stifle a grunt as my cock stirs to life in my pants.

Without taking my eyes off her pussy, I pick up her other shoe.

She knows what this view does to me, my cock hardening, my balls heavy with need. I slide her foot into the shoe, taking my time with the clasp so I can stare at her finger that makes circles around her clit then slides between her pussy lips.

“Are you gonna do something about it?” Kat asks seductively.

I flick my gaze up at her. “After dinner, yes.” I tap her foot. “All done.”

Kat straightens up, her lips puffed out in disappointment.

I rise from the bed, step close to her, and reach in the slit of her dress and between her legs. Slick with want—my kitten is fucking drenched. In seconds. Jesus fucking Christ, and I always thought I was the sex fiend.

“Tease,” she exhales when I brush her pussy with my fingers.

“Your panties are soaked,” I murmur into her ear, not kissing her so that she is all wound up and ready for me by the end of the night. “Such a horny girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Tsk,” she responds with reproach in her voice.

I pull away from her and slap her on her ass. “Go change.” She’s so wet, it’ll stain the dress.

I don’t follow her, don’t peek into the closet, though I want to. I adjust my erection in my pants, because the image of her pulling off her panties is enough for me to pull my dick out and quickly have my way with her.

“Wait!” She darts out, trots on her heels out of sight, then comes back with her phone. “There.” She stands in front of me, her back to my chest, grabs my hand, and puts it on her waist. By the time she opens the phone camera, I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle her neck, and she laughs as she snaps a selfie of us.

She’s never come across as girlie, but little moments like this make me want to fucking melt into a puddle at her feet.

“Pussified,” Marlow calls it. Droga says, “Domesticated,” finding new things in our living room every time he comes. I mean, I’m into minimalism. With Kat? Fuck me… Shelves, plants, curtains, gadgets, paintings—there are so many additions in our villa that it’s by no means minimalistic. But neither is Kat. She is a fire starter. My villa used to be a beautiful tomb. Now it’s a beautiful, messy home.

I open the front door for Kat as we are leaving for the restaurant. “After you, my lady.”

“Oh, now I’m a lady, not a horny thing?”

But when we walk into the Bacaro restaurant and the cliff terrace reserved just for the two of us, she lights up in awe.

Our table is set under a flowery gazebo, overlooking the ocean and the lit-up yachts. It’s glowing in candlelight and lanterns floating in the air above it. Something out of a fantasy.

“Archer? Candles, really?” she coos as I lead her to the table. “You feeling all right?”

I laugh. We don’t do this often. Well, not just the two of us, dressed up and all. But I flew in a famous Venezuelan chef Tsariuk recommended. The chef is making dinner for us. Hispanic music is playing. Kat’s hips are already swinging to the tune before she takes a seat. I am planning to dance tonight. Dance with my beautiful girl.

She surprises me every day. She is a mystery, still. Not a tigress but a unicorn with fangs and claws and so fucking gorgeous inside out.

“Where’s the menu?” she asks. “I want those beef medallions they make. I’m starving.”

“There won’t be any. It’s a special menu tonight,” I say.

She frowns, a little annoyed. “They changed it?”

“A Venezuelan chef will be cooking your favorite Central American dishes tonight.”

She stalls in surprise for a second, so fucking adorable when she forgets to keep her face straight.

---