Page 32 of Sinful Beauty

Our legs intermingle above the comforter and I’m taken aback by my pale leg next to her golden olive skin. I could be mistaken for Casper the Ghost.

“It appears I might be in need of some sun.”

She snorts and I have an urge to pinch her.

“Has your skin ever seen the sun?”

“Now that is quite unnecessary.” I needle her ribs and she squirms, laughing. “We can’t all have color as lovely as yours.”

“Stop.” She rolls, attempting to break free from me. “No. No more tickling.” She wheezes because she’s laughing so hard.

I continue because this is fun.

“You win. You win. You’ve clearly spent loads of time in the sun. You probably go to one of those sun contraptions.”

“A tanning bed?”

“Yes! One of those.” I hover over her, fingers twitching to find another ticklish piece of her. “You probably go weekly.”

And then I’m after her, and she’s squealing and I’m on her until we roll with a thump onto the floor.

My head hits the musty rug and my elbow smarts. But we’re both laughing too hard for it to matter.

She crawls back onto the bed and offers me her hand. “Only if we’re done with that,” she warns.

I push up, rubbing my elbow. “I suppose it’s a good thing your bed is one foot off the floor.”

She smiles. Like so much of her, that wide open smile stuns. It’s wide and full and her golden brown eyes light with mirth.

She pushes up and treads across the room, naked. Her dark hair cascades down to the curve of her lower back and her full ass sways with each step.

When she returns from the lavatory, I know I should get up and go. But she slips on a silk nighty and steps before the microwave.

“You’re staying, right?”

“I should really—” I half rise, scanning the floor for my clothes.

“In an ice storm?”

The shoes I wore to work today won’t do well on ice.

“Fine. I’ll stay. Will give us a chance to re-enact our game.” She grins and my cock stiffens. It’s going to be a fun night indeed.

Chapter12

Lucia

Flashes of the night before heat my skin, a welcome side effect in the morning’s icy wind. Last night was…memorable. My body is utterly, gloriously used.

We ate straight from the dish, with blankets across our shoulders and little else. We never opened the wine. He crinkled his nose at my discount purchase and mumbled something about hangovers. But I made tea, and we talked and laughed like friends. Like he wasn’t the wealthiest person I’d ever come in contact with, like he wasn’t sending my boss into nervous fits with worries he’d take his job on a rapid escalator to the top, like I wasn’t an executive assistant with little hope of becoming more unless I secured a job elsewhere. If I was a Swiss citizen, the chances of promotion might be greater, but I’m not.

Yes, my days in Switzerland are ending. Whether I move to Portugal or another EU country, with my Lumina work experience, eventually I’ll net out with a proper livelihood.

My body hums with optimism, which is odd. Maybe all I needed was a good night of hot sex to drag me out of my doldrums.

The departure of my friends had me down, but a revolving door is part of the expat life. People move. And my turn approaches.

Sex with a handsome, skilled gentleman feels like a splendid goodbye kiss. A cherry on top of an era spent exploring an unknown part of the world while stashing money for my family. With my Miguel in prison now, along with my father, there’s no one to send money to. My brother should have come with me to Portugal. But he didn’t.

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