Page 57 of Oyster

“I’ve had so many fantasies about making love to you on this rug,” I murmured sometime later. “Romantic ones, involvingcandles and wine. The fire actually lit. Me not sobbing my heart out. I’m so sorry, Éti.”

My head had been in Éti’s lap for a while. I was minded to move in there, permanently. My face felt sore, as if the skin was stretched too tight, and my chest ached, like it had done for as long as I could remember. While she soothed me like a child, a fragment of peace blossomed in a tiny corner of my unhappy soul, and I clung to it as I reached out for one of the chestnut curls framing her pretty, pretty face. “You’re so beautiful, by the way. I meant to say that when I arrived. And I’m sorry for messing up your outfit. You looked amazing.”

A chipped-tooth grin split her face, the naughty one that made me feel naughty too. “We could always see if I’m amazing out of it. And that kindling is ready to go. We only need to strike a match. I’m happy to skip the wine if you are.”

Her hand strayed to her blouse buttons, and the first one popped open. Followed by the next and the one after that, until the garment slipped from her shoulders. Her bra followed, a frivolous black lacy thing, revealing an unblemished, creamy expanse of chest. Reaching up, I grazed a fingertip over the bud of a nipple. As we both watched it bloom to a hard point, a sweet blush pinked her cheeks.

“I can’t undress the rest of me with your head in my lap.”

Instead, she started on the buttons of my jeans, palming me through the thick denim. A delicious warmth settled in my belly. I felt hazy and calm. Yes, I could definitely live here forever. Her hand dipped under the waistband of my boxers, and while she fondled me back to hardness, I sighed with contentment.

“I’m enjoying you too much to move my head.”

She chuffed softly. “That’s okay. I’m quite enjoying your head there.”

My eyes never straying from hers, I rubbed the gritty stubble of my cheek up against my swelling pillow. Her lips parted, andI caught a hitch in her breath. I did it again, turning my face into the thin fabric of her skirt, blowing a gust of hot air against her. She moaned, weak and soft.

“Tell me if this is okay?”

“Better than.” She rolled her hip against my cheek. “I like how you make me feel.”

I blew again, my lips pressing against the fabric, knowing more flimsy black lace lay hidden under her skirt. “Can I touch you here, with my mouth, like this?”

Another soft moan and she pushed up again. “Putain,yes. It makes me feel sexy. You make me feel… like a sexy woman.”

Absolute emotional honesty. We’d reached that level now.

“And how about this?” I mouthed her arousal, feeling it pulse, then buried my nose deeper, nuzzling into the skirt folds over where her thigh met her groin. I breathed into her again, and she leaned back on her elbows, spreading, and arching up into me, revelling in the sensation.

As I pulled away and rose to my feet, she made a frustrated sound.

I grinned down at her. “Patience, sweetheart. I have a fire to light, remember?”

Mon dieu, her pale body was magnificent as she leaned back on her elbows, waiting. Wanton and debauched; her blouse and bra abandoned; the scrap of black lace buried in the thick woollen pile. The crimson skirt bunched around her knees, and I threw her a wink. “Looks like I’ve already lit one.”

With a satisfyingscritch,the match spluttered to life.Squatting,I nudged it against the balled newspaper piled in the grate, blowing gently, coaxing it to life. Thin ribbons of flame licked against the dry kindling; sharp fragrant pine smoke filled the air. Taking a second match, I lit the two fat candles squatting at each end of the mantel, then shrugged out of my shirt andturned back to Éti. With my hand at my open fly, I paused, all innocent wide eyes. “What? You want these off too?”

I gave myself a lazy stroke and then another. The fire crackled to life behind me, and Éti wriggled.

“I want you to get back down here and stop torturing me.”

When we were both naked, I settled in the cradle of her spread thighs. Taking their own sweet time, her fingers smoothed a path down my spine, setting a fire herself, like she was lighting a match over every vertebra. Her mouth, made for mischief, curved up at me as she jerked her chin towards a little niche tucked in the side of the brick hearth. I followed the direction of her gaze.

“A strange place to keep massage oil, Éti.”

“Keeps it warm, though.”

“Aren’t we going to make a mess of the rug?”

She shrugged. “I have other rugs. Can we do it like this, facing each other? I mean… can we… does it work?”

The rosy glow spreading up her neck was like catnip. I lowered my face to hers, planting a kiss on the end of her nose. “I don’t see why not. There has to be some point to all that yoga shit you do.”

Relaxing again, she giggled. “Several thousand years of transcendental searching to liberate the soul into the true self dismissed as ‘all that yoga shit’. You have a silky tongue, Nico La Forge.”

“No complaints thus far.”

I prepped her, surer of myself than our first time, tangling my silky tongue around hers in time with my fingers coaxing her open. She dripped some oil on her own hands, and tentative fingers explored the divide of my arse as I ground against her thigh. One fingertip circled my sensitive rim before neatly dipping inside. Heat flooding my face, I flinched. Her finger stilled.

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