Page 51 of Oyster

“More, Nico,” she said in a breathy hush as she writhed underneath me. “I need more.”

One finger became two, the warm oil easing a slick path. Throbbing with need, I stroked oil over myself too, greedy for the feel of her clinched around me.

“Are you ready, Éti? Can… can I…”

“Ça alors, yes.”

With infinite tenderness, I pushed into her. Her hands clenched; I took them in mine up around her head as, inch by inch, we joined as one. She hissed sharply.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Another sound, lower and drawn out. “Mon dieu, you are a very snug fit. But keep going. I love it.”

With every slick glide forward and every tentative push back, my desire climbed higher. At last, I was fully seated, already intoxicated on the madness of it. Blanketing her body with mine,sobriety lost, my cheek lay next to hers. “You are amazing, Éti, you know that? I feel drunk on love.”

“Me too,” she gasped. “Stay there, Nico. Like this. Just for a moment. Wait for me to catch up.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Putain, no. Just… I’m… full of you. It’s a lot.”

She chuckled, soft and low, the vibrations like a caress to my balls. “You’re touching my heart, Nico. I feel you inside with every thump. Like you’re in my bloodstream.”

God, even my skin hungered for her. Gripping her hands in mine, I started to move, giddy from the textures of her body, marvelling at her hard, muscular shell yielding to such intense softness at her centre. We made love cautiously, with a slow tender beat, her edges and my edges blurring into one. Our breath mingled, my mouth capturing her hot gasps and pleasured sighs. My bare skin skimmed hers; my dick sank deeper and deeper as she opened up around me. A lengthening strand of need grew.

“I’m close, Éti.” I gasped, sensing I could no more hold off the inevitable as the tides. “I can’t stop myself. You feel too good.”

“Me too.” One of her hands left mine; she thrust it underneath her, her hips rising. “I’m coming, Nico. Oh, God.”

She spasmed around me, clenching me even tighter. A guttural defeated moan escaped her throat, a bone-deep sound, a velvety, unrestrained hum of pleasure. Raggedly, I pounded into her, tumbling over the edge in a melting hot stream of bliss. “Love you,” I panted. “You don’t know how much.”

“I feel loved, Nico. So much.”

As my senses returned to me, one by one, I withdrew, flopped onto my back, and tugged her into my arms. A soft cushion of quiet nestled around us as she hung, drained and limp, across me, catching her breath. Her damp body pressed me into themattress. An eternity passed before she spoke, so unlike my Éti. What was going through her mind?

Nothing terribly prosaic, as it happened. “Ça alors, Nico. By tomorrow morning, my bum is going to look like the Japanese flag.”

“Have you checked in with home?” Until Éti stirred, I’d been drifting in a snooze. She tucked the covers more closely around us, cocooning us away from harm. I tangled my legs up in hers.

“Yes, earlier. Zoë says my mum is sleepy. But she’s been coughing all evening, so I’m not surprised. I asked if they wanted me tonight, and my dad said no.”

Regardless, I experienced a twinge of guilt. I’d phone home again first thing in the morning, before I set off. “We hardly used to see Zoë at the weekends, until all this. She had a much better social life than me—always out with friends or having sleepovers. Hanging out with a huge gaggle of annoying and excitable teenage girls.”

Éti laughed softly. “You know, when I was about twelve or thirteen, I’d kick a ball around at break time with my mates. I used to watch the girls, out of the corner of my eye. Sitting out on the grass in groups of three or four. Giggling at their phones or at the boys or bitching about a girl they didn’t like. You know the types.”

“I do. My sister was one of them.”

“She was lucky. I used to love those types of girls. The ordinary ones. The others—the popular show-offs with big tits, of course, who all the boys wanted—they didn’t hold my attention. Nor did the nerdy weirdos in the corner. No, I became obsessed with watching the ordinary girls with everyday names. The Camilles, the Eloises. And not because I fancied them. Ça alors,no.”

She smiled at the memory. “I didn’t want any of that. I wanted to be one of them. An Eloise. Amongst a thousand Eloises. I wanted to hang out in the middle of that group of ordinary girls. Share their lip gloss, and at the weekends spend my pocket money buying cheap tops and earrings in Zara. Head to hairdressing college after I finished school.”

“Until my mum became ill, my little sister Zoë was exactly like that.”

“Great. I envy her that freedom. And I hope she finds that person again one day.”

I swept my hand up and down the curves of her spine as she curled into me, intermittently trailing her fingertips around one of my oyster tattoos. “God put you in the wrong body,” I said. “When did you realise that?”

She huffed a laugh. “Around the same time that I realised there couldn’t be a God. Or maybe there was one, but with a very warped sensed of humour. Because whoever is up there sweetened the pill by making it amazing at kicking a football.”

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