Page 50 of Oyster

“He’d better be fully clothed.”

She giggled. “Nah. He wears something skimpy. Sometimes we invite Ruiz along too. Light a few candles, put Gainsbourg on the stereo. Make an evening of it.”

I began at her shoulder blades, working the oil in with my thumbs. “Fabien knows about us, you know. Or thinks he does.”

“I’ve spoken about you a lot,” she answered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was putting two and two together.”

And coming up with three. Her mess of chestnut curls splayed like a fan; her head sank deeper into the pillow. “He can think what he likes. I trust him—he’ll keep it to himself. He wants me to be happy.” She moaned with contentment, her cute bum wriggling under me. “La vache, Nico, I’m in heaven.”

Any more moans and wriggles like that and I’d be in heaven too. Coconut and jasmine filled my nostrils—rich and sultry, not a hint of winter ocean spray, thank fuck. I took my time, loving the yield of her supple flesh under my palms, the rippling of her corded muscles as, one by one, they softened to my touch. Her features slackened, her eyes shuttered closed, and that mobile mouth fell quiet for once. As her breaths grew long and steady, in the twilight and shadows of the cool room, I worked the aromatic oil in and the tension out.

I couldn’t help adding a few kisses along the way, one onto each irresistible knob of her spine.

“My masseur at PSG doesn’t do that either,” she observed, sounding sleepy. “Nor Fabien. Maybe I should introduce it into our daily routine.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, my love.”

I worked the oil down the sweep of her taut flanks, her warm skin as silky as the finest nacre worn smooth by the waves. Another sweet moan fluttered through Éti’s parted lips; with a little roll, she snuggled her hips deeper into the plush mattress, and I smiled to myself at the flex of firm thighs under my arse. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against her ear.

“Does your masseur at PSG make you want to do that?”

Face flushed crimson, her eyes remained steadfastly shut. I rose to my knees, so the length of my erection dragged against her white boxers, and my lips found the warm hollow at the backof her neck. She flexed again, with another delightful noise, so I did it once more, and a shiver cascaded down her spine.

“He most definitely has never. I would have remembered.”

Aiming lower this time, I palmed some more oil. Her back dimples were the perfect size. “These were made for my thumbs,” I murmured, circling them. Then shifted even further, rubbing my swollen shaft down the back of one thigh. “And my tongue.”

Gently, I edged her boxers to her hips. My thumb strayed to the top of her crease. With my other hand, I kneaded a peachy buttock. “Does your masseur go as low as this?”

“No,” came her muffled reply. I followed my hands with my mouth, nibbling and sucking her taut cheek. Éti shuddered, and so I did it again. By now, she was humping the mattress, making delicious sounds. Against the fabric of my underwear, my needy dick throbbed. I freed it, giving myself a stroke.

“All these years, your fancy masseur’s been doing it wrong.”

With her boxers cupping her two rounded cheeks, I stretched out above, keeping my weight on my elbows.

“This okay?” I breathed in her ear as my dick settled against her crease.

“More than.”

Her face twisted to mine, and we shared an awkward kiss as I circled my hips up against her, the sweet slipperiness of the oil doing its thing. Like it knew exactly where it wanted to be, my dick glided between her tight buttocks. Every light brush against her hole brought with it a shuddery exhale. Éti’s sweet breath was hot against my cheek.

“Is that good, my love?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

I pressed a little harder, circling her entrance, holding my leaking dick in my hand. Putain, the resistance of that tight ring felt so nice. “You like that, too?”

“La vache, yes. Inside, Nico.” Sweat glistened on her forehead; her eyelids fluttered. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Mon dieu,yes. Just do it. Now. No… no condom. Just you. Now.”

A pulse of desire skittered through me, slowing my thoughts. My dick inside. No condom.

More oil. From spending too many nights listening to Florian, I at least knew to do that. Clumsily, I dribbled some into my palm, too much, not caring when it spilled across the sheets. My clouded brain was already drugged on the scent, or on Éti herself, her whispery sighs, her flushed cheeks.

In a heady trance, I skimmed a slippery fingertip against her tight opening, feeling it quiver as I teased and coaxed, then pushed a fingertip inside. A sharp gasp from Éti and my dick pulsed; already, the room felt warmer, and my skin burned, hungry to be pressed into her clinging heat.

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