Page 22 of Our Secret Summer

Dylan raised her hands above her head so Raffo could get that torturous tank top off her.

Raffo breathed heavily, her gaze locked on Dylan’s breasts. She took her time taking in the sight—ogling Dylan some more. Dylan did the same to Raffo.

She’d been so entranced by Raffo undressing her, by how she’d clasped her fingers around her wrists earlier, that she hadn’t fully absorbed the stunning sight before her: Raffo Shah, topless in her Big Bear bedroom. It was all so far from probable, yet it was happening. Raffo was as beautiful as Dylan had imagined her, but it wasn’t so much the view of Raffo’s bare breasts she was so profoundly drawn to. It was all of Raffo. It was how she stood there, looking at Dylan as though she was the most gorgeous human on the face of the earth, with all that lust lighting up her dark eyes, that made Dylan’s knees go weak. She wanted to tumble onto the bed so badly, and pull Raffo on top of her, yet she waited. She waited for Raffo to come for her again. Time stretched like honey, sweet and slow.

Then Raffo did.

Like the most divine avalanche of soft skin and nimble body parts, Raffo maneuvered them onto the bed. Dylan moved like water beneath Raffo, her body going with the flow, in whatever direction Raffo wanted her to go. It wasn’t so much a matter of being in charge, perhaps—subconsciously—because Raffo had a lot more experience with women in the bedroom, but it was just how things unfolded, instinctively, between them. Raffo on top, Dylan beneath her, her body wild with lust, her whole being enthralled with whatever Raffo would do next—she hoped it would include taking off her shorts sooner rather than later.

Raffo moved Dylan’s arms above her head while her knee slipped between Dylan’s legs.

Then, Raffo smiled at her. A small, but very promising smile. And Dylan smiled back. Of course she did. She had everything to smile about. She might not be romantically—or amorously—interested in Raffo—that was impossible, anyway—but she sure was interested inthis. It had been humming beneath her skin for a few days now. During daylight hours, Dylan had managed to suppress these desires, but this chance midnight encounter had shattered her carefully maintained restraint. Because Dylan was not alone in this.

She shared her desire for this with Raffo. She’d seen that as soon as she’d looked into Raffo’s eyes earlier. She was curious to know what had made her emerge from her room at that precise moment, but there was plenty of time to ask that question later.

First, Raffo’s knee pushed high between her legs, against the useless fabric of her shorts. Raffo’s gaze was firmly fixed on Dylan’s breasts—was she committing them to memory in order to paint them more accurately? Raffo didn’t hide her work in progress and Dylan had seen it, but she couldn’t draw any conclusions about it yet. That would be unfair to Raffo and to what the work would ultimately turn into. The biggest pleasure was to see Raffo work. When she was painting, Raffo was so in the moment, she probably had no idea how much time Dylan had spent just watching her—observing an artist at work. Maybe that’s what had moved her the most, along with all the things that Raffo had revealed about herself.

To Dylan, everything about Raffo was just about perfect. The degree to which she was mesmerizing, but not needlessly mysterious. How, in her appearance, she was both irresistibly masculine and beautifully feminine at the same time. How she could tie her hair so delicately, fling her ponytail about so girlishly one moment, and then sit with her legs wide apart, all abundant big dick energy, the next. How she came across as so stoic when you didn’t know her, as unshakeable—her soul always strong and her heart impenetrable—but then she’d cried on Dylan’s shoulder for a long time the other night. And perhaps most of all how, as a true artist, she had seen Dylan half-naked and had, even though it was challenging, not hesitated to ask Dylan if she could paint her, because it—very simply—was the one image she wanted to paint. Dylan couldn’t get enough of Raffo. And she planned to get all that she could tonight.

Goose bumps bloomed across Dylan’s skin as Raffo’s lips found her nipple. The tenderness of that warm touch would have brought Dylan to her knees if she wasn’t already lying down. She freely—gladly—gave herself up to all the sensations Raffo bestowed on her. She reveled in the soft touch of Raffo’s lips as she trailed a moist path from Dylan’s nipple, to the delicate skin of her neck, to Dylan’s lips for another round of breathless kissing.

While she kissed her, Raffo’s hand meandered down to her breast, capturing Dylan’s hard nipple between her fingers. All the while, Dylan’s clit thumped wildly—uncontrollably. She was so hot for Raffo, the sheer force of it astounded her.

Dylan’s hands traced the planes of Raffo’s back, fingers teasing beneath the waistband of those familiar pajama shorts—the ones that had tormented her for days. But Dylan could hardly hold that against Raffo. She, herself, was very skilled at walking around the house with the smallest amount of fabric covering her skin—knowing full well how Raffo couldn’t look away when she did. Dylan had done so on purpose, but it was summer in Big Bear, and this was still her holiday home—for now—so she could wear as little as she damn well pleased.

When Raffo wrapped her lips around Dylan’s nipple next, she broke the silence between them. Dylan couldn’t help herself.

“Oh, Raffo,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck. I want you so much.”

Raffo didn’t respond with words. She sucked Dylan’s nipple deeper into her mouth and her hand floated downwards—exactly where Dylan wanted it. Raffo’s fingertips dipped below her shorts and Dylan nearly exploded. What the hell was happening to her? But it wasn’t only getting to know Raffo that sparked this madness in her flesh—this bottomless desire that had taken hold of her—it was the circumstances. It was the fact that another human being found Dylan worthy of her time, attention, and lust. That’s how deep her self-esteem had plummeted after losing all that money. It wasn’t just that, in Raffo’s arms, she could temporarily forget. To Raffo, it didn’t seem to matter all that much. It certainly hadn’t stopped her from reciprocating to flirty banter, to touches that were perhaps meant as innocent but, in the end, had turned out to be so much more—and it hadn’t stopped her from painting Dylan in all her topless glory.

It was all of that combined that drove Dylan right to the edge, that made her skin extra sensitive, and her lust peak outrageously, and her desire for Raffo so completely out of control. And she was still wearing those damned shorts.

Raffo’s fingers ventured lower, a deliberate tease, while her mouth claimed Dylan’s nipple with exquisite focus. Dylan dug her nails a little deeper into Raffo’s skin as Raffo’s tongue danced around her nipple. Then Raffo finally let Dylan’s nipple slip from her mouth—and Dylan knew exactly where she wanted Raffo’s tongue to go next.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Raffo spoke for the first time and her voice, low and gravelly, matched the vibe in Dylan’s bedroom perfectly. It only made Dylan’s clit thump more wildly.

Dylan swallowed hard. She was so turned on, she feared she might have temporarily lost the power of speech. She pulled Raffo to her again, even though it meant her clit would be pulsing uncontrollably for a while longer. But she wanted more of Raffo’s kisses. She wanted the lips from which those lovely words had slipped against hers more than anything else. She wanted Raffo close. She wanted to feel her breasts against her own. That soft meeting of skin, Raffo’s knee riding dangerously high again—their tongues again doing a delicious dance with each other.

Raffo ended the kiss and zigzagged a line of kisses along Dylan’s neck, until Dylan felt Raffo’s lips stretch against her ear.

“I’m going to make you come so hard,” she whispered, and her audacious promise was nearly enough to make Dylan climax right there and then, without Raffo even touching her.

This, too, apparently, was who Raffo was. There were no limits to how special, how utterly extraordinary, Raffo Shah was. Dylan could only count her blessings that this was happening. That Raffo had shown up at her house and that Dylan had been here instead of where she thought she’d wanted to be—in Europe. There was absolutely nowhere else she’d rather be than right here in her bedroom in Big Bear with Raffo. This was far better than any spiritual journey could ever be.

At last, Raffo peeled Dylan’s shorts off her legs. Then, Dylan spread wide for her—yet another deliriously sensual sensation. This whole thing was delirious, yet, somehow, it also made perfect sense. It was just another paradox of life, like being smart and dumb at the same time.

Raffo ran a fingertip from Dylan’s knee to the apex of her thighs. Ever so lightly, her finger circled Dylan’s clit. Oh, damn. Dylan had been so beside herself, and what was happening was so unexpected, that she’d forgotten to think about an essential element for any woman approaching sixty. But her throat was so constricted with lust, her mouth so dry, she couldn’t even form the one short word. She’d have to, somehow, trust Raffo, who was in her early thirties and had perhaps never even considered lube because she had no use for it. Raffo, whose magic hands didn’t just produce amazing works of art, but whose fingers were producing round after round of fireworks beneath Dylan’s skin.

Then Raffo sent Dylan a smile that was so gentle and joyful, so perfectly adequate in conveying that Raffo, too, couldn’t possibly dream of being anyplace better than here, that made trusting her easy. Because everything with Raffo was easy. Being around her. Sharing a house with her. Talking to her. Admitting to stupid mistakes. Even this, in this moment, wasn’t complicated in the least. It was a simple matter of one and one equaling two. Of tension turning into lust, then turning into an inevitable midnight encounter. Spreading her legs for Raffo was one of the most logical things Dylan had ever done. It was effortless and easy and oh-so arousing.

Raffo’s finger stopped moving and Dylan’s breath stalled in her throat. Raffo shifted around until she kneeled between Dylan’s legs. Some of her hair had come loose from her ponytail and fanned over her naked shoulders. Dylan couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight.

Raffo angled forward and kissed her way up Dylan’s inner thigh. Every single nerve ending in Dylan’s body was buzzing. Raffo bent at the waist, her stray hair now tickling Dylan’s skin, and she put a warm hand on Dylan’s belly. Dylan covered it with hers as Raffo’s hot breath tickled between her legs.

Dylan closed her eyes and reveled in this exquisite moment, because she knew, with absolute certainty, that what was to come would be even more exquisite—Raffo had promised her, after all. And Raffo didn’t come across as someone who broke a promise easily—or ever.

Then, at last, Raffo’s tongue touched against Dylan’s clit. Gently, at first, but soon Raffo’s warm lips closed around her. Her tongue swept hotly along her clit and Dylan, squeezing Raffo’s hand on her belly tightly, gave herself up to the majestic sensation of it all. To the week she’d spent here with Raffo. To the pleasure of getting to know her. To all the little moments they’d shared that, perhaps, could have only led to this. To the earth-shattering orgasm rolling through her muscles, seizing her flesh and mending a little bit of that hole in her soul she’d come to Big Bear with.

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