Oliver
SOME OF THE best moments in life are ones you can’t tell anybody about. Her asking to touch me was one. Telling me she was wet another. And then everything that happened in between. I always knew she was sexy, more sensual than anyone before or since. But I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m not sure how we made it through baggage, customs, and out to the Rolls Royce ride we’re in now. All I remember is trying to hide my erection with my carry-on, while holding her hand. We stifled our laughter all the way through the terminal.
Now we’re cruising in the lap of luxury through the old world charm of the streets of Nice. It’s postcard perfect, but I’m only interested in the beautiful vista sitting next to me. Her body’s angled towards me, with one leg bent under the other. Its fucking intoxicating to know she’s as ready as I am. I’d love if I could put my hand under her top and play with those nipples that’ve been baiting me since we were on the plane.
“Are you wearing a bra?”
“No.”
“Fuck me.” I hang my head in surrender.
She just laughs. And that makes me laugh too. My aching balls notwithstanding.
“I was counting on a limo. You know, with privacy glass between us and the driver.” I whisper.
“How dare our friends send us a Rolls.”
“Would you be opposed to stopping at a hotel for a few hours? We can say we got held up at customs,” I say hoping she’s going to agree.
“Inspired. Tell him.” She gestures towards the driver. It doesn’t escape my notice that she wiggled a bit in her seat with the idea.
“Excuse me, driver?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you find us a nice hotel so we can stop off for a few drinks?”
I see his eyes gazing back at us through the rear-view mirror. I don’t like the look he’s giving me.
“I’m sorry, sir. I already informed Senore Dragoni you’d arrived. He texted me to say you’ll be embarking in thirty minutes. We’re only a few minutes from the harbor now.”
Fuck me fucking fucker. “No worries.”
I look at the disappointment on Stori’s face. She couldn’t possibly feel worse than I do. I lean into her. “I’m going to have to call a doctor soon. I’ve had a raging erection for more than four hours now.”
“Did you take a Viagra?”
“Are you kidding, woman?”
“Then don’t worry. You can have a twelve hour hard on. And you probably will have. Once we’re onboard it’s going to be almost impossible to be alone. At least this first day.”
“Watch me.”
“If you can figure out how to do it I’m with you. But I doubt you can,” she says, throwing down the gauntlet.
She doesn’t know I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.
“First I need to stop thinking about what it’ll be like seeing you naked,” I say, adjusting the solid throbbing dick I’m dealing with. “It would be rude to greet the bride and groom with wood.”
“Okay. Let’s enjoy the scenery. It’s gorgeous here.” She takes out her tour book and opens to her marked page. “Nice, the capital of the French Riviera, is open to the sea, and the Cote d’Azur’s crown jewel. The Port of Nice is protected by hills on three sides and the historic huge pink dome stands guard overlooking the beaches and palm lined seafront promenade.”
I try to concentrate on something other than her pussy. Okay. Art. I see so many possibilities for paintings. Colors so rich I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them in nature. The turquoise blue Mediterranean alone is an artistic wet dream.
“I think this is called the Bay of Angels,” Stori says.
“Yes. La Baie Des Anges,” the driver says.
It’s a big city marina, with every kind of seaworthy vessel, from mega yachts to colorfully painted two man rowboats in reds and yellows, blue and purple shades. There’s bicycles everywhere, and gardens and parks teeming with baskets of lavender. Lavender everywhere. I brought a small sketching book for just these opportunities. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if I came back with blank pages. For the first time in my adult life my passion for art may come in a distant second. And now I’m back thinking of her.
“Oh Oliver, isn’t this the most beautiful place?”
I ignore her travel critique. “I’d kiss you, but I can’t risk it. You’re dangerous.”
“If you give me a minute I think I can make things worse,” she says with a sexy grin.
And with that she scoots over and turns my face to hers. I feel her soft lips and that sweet tongue and here I go again. But it’s when she takes my hand and brings it up to her breast that I’m a goner. Fuck me. My dick’s gonna explode. I play with her erect bud and move to the other not wanting to slight either treasure. I feel the round soft weight of her full breasts, and she moans.
“I’ve dreamed of sucking on those.” I say softly in her ear.
“Oh oh,” she says innocently, looking down at my raging hard on.
“Yeah, oh oh. You knew exactly what you were doing.” I say while trying to rearrange my package.
“Here we are!” The driver pulls into the entrance of the port and makes his way slowly towards our drop off.
“Honestly, we’ve got to stop, Stori, I’m about to come,” I whisper yell. I’m not exaggerating. It seems like I could let it fly with just another touch.
“Okay, I’ll be good.”
The car comes to a stop in front of the walkway to the slips.
“You’re slip eleven. The Flying Dragoni. I’ll have your things delivered.”
“Thank you,” we both say in unison.
“Bon voyage!”
He leaves to attend to our pile of luggage. I stop Stori before she can exit the car.
“One more thing. Do you have any problem with our friends knowing we’re together? Because I don’t.”
She looks at me with those stormy blue beauties. “None whatsoever. Let’s give them something to talk about.”
I give myself a minute to calm my problem, then we exit the car and make our way towards the yacht. Slip eleven’s just ahead around the bend, but before I see it. I know we’re almost there.
“Hear what they’re playing?” I say.
Stori tilts her head and tries to make out the tune. Then she gets a dazzling smile on her face and she squeezes my hand. It’s “Gettin Jiggy Wit It”, the teen anthem of 1998 and one we all knew every lyric to.
“Na na na na na na!” she sings.
“They’re playing it for us,” I say.
We round the corner dancing. The Flying Dragoni is moored three yachts down and it stands majestic in the blue waters. It’s sleek and huge, bigger than the boats on either side. It looks as if it’s never been at sea although Fig said the family’s had it for six years. The paint is pristine and the rendering of the large black and red flying dragon well executed. It was an artist who painted this, no doubt. Onboard waving to us I see Fig, Zarah, and Luca standing with their arms linked, singing loudly along with Will Smith. I’m sure they’re feeling no pain. The big cocktails they’re holding says I’m right. All three are wearing bathing suits. Zarah and Fig have matching white baseball caps. As we get close, I see they read Bride and Groom. I hear Zarah’s scream of “woo-hoooo” as she spots Stori and I holding hands. She points to us and says something to the men. Then they join her in celebrating our connection. Luca almost trips over the side of the boat doing his dance of love and gettin jiggy wit it.
“We’re going to give our friends a stroke,” I say.
Stori shades her eyes from the sun and calls up to the revelers. “Room for two more?”
“Get your misbehaving asses up here right now!” Zarah yells. She loses half of her drink with the gesture.
“We’ve got lunch and a cocktail ready for you,” Fig adds.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath.
“We have to. At least for a little while,” Stori grumbles.
“Eat fast.”
We walk to the gangplank and make our way onto the Flying Dragoni. By the time we’re onboard our friends are by our side, greeting us as if we’ve been apart for years.
“Luca, it’s good to see you man,” I say.
He comes in for a big hug, just like his twin does every time we see each other. His muscles are huge and his skin darkly tanned and oiled. He’s on the short side like his brother but he stands extra straight to make the best of things. I flash back to high school when he and Fig were always arguing about who was taller when only a fraction of an inch separates them.
“Beautiful Stori!” He picks her up and twirls her around. I’m afraid he’s going to break her ribs.
“Luca!”
“Put her down,” a voice commands calmly.
It’s Caroline, looking perfectly put together with her best yachting attire. Not a blonde hair out of place. Luca immediately does as he’s told. Caroline turns to us.
“Pardon my husband, he’s a drunken fool today. Hello, Oliver, Stori.” She gives us each a polite hug and a double kiss on the cheek.
Greetings are exchanged, and it seems like we’re all talking at once.
Zarah puts an arm around Stori and leads the way. “I need to know everything. How did it happen?”
“Bella! First things first. Let’s introduce them to the crew.” Fig angles his body to get ahead of the girls and leads the way.
Passing through a passageway leading to the upper deck we’re greeted by the crew in their dress white uniforms. While Fig and company go ahead to get our drinks, the crew introduces themselves to Stori and I. Their Italian accents making each word sound sexy.
“Good afternoon. I’m Captain Orlando.”
We both go down the line of the crew of ten. Beside the captain we meet three stews, Cari, Melba and Rosalie. Three senior Bosman, Antonio, Ricardo and Tag and three juniors, Heidi, Maria and Gem. They’re all friendly but professional. After introductions, all but Cari and Rosalie scatter like ants. At the end of the line we’re handed a frozen red concoction with a paper dragon in flight.
“Let’s start the party!” Fig says. Then turning to the head stewardess, “Cari, I’ll show them around. Let’s have our lunch served as soon as we disembark.”
“Certainly.” And she’s off, followed closely by Rosalie.
“Let me show you your rooms and the yacht’s offerings. Come with me.”
“I’m coming too!” says Zarah.
Caroline and Luca are deep in what sounds like a whispered heated conversation and not interested in a tour. And Stori and I aren’t really either, but we don’t want to be complete assholes. I catch Figs eye and motion him to holdback as Zarah and Stori head inside the boat.
“I need a favor.”
“Sure. What?”
“Stori and I need some time alone. I know it sounds ungrateful, but can you help a brother out?”
He interrupts, his two hands raised, signaling I stop talking. “No need to say more. How can I help?”
All right. “After lunch we’ll be umm, retiring for the night.”
He starts laughing and so do I.
“Is that okay? Or do you think I’m a dick?”
“Why wait till then?” he smiles.
I don’t ask for further approval. I hand him my cocktail and start for where the girls went. “Thanks, Fig. I’ll make it up to you.”
He grabs my arm. “Just call for room service when you get hungry. They’ll make anything you want. And I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you.”
“If you don’t hear from us by tomorrow, call the medics. We may be dead.”
I hear his laughter as I head for my girl. Why is it that women walk so fast? Their retreating backs move to the stairs at the other side of the main salon. I barely notice the impressive room because I’m one-minded now. Making my way down the winding stairs, I find Stori and Zarah at the open door to the right.
“Wait till you see my room, Oliver!”
I get to the door and see what a suite on a multi-million dollar yacht looks like. Damn. Then I notice Melba’s hanging Stori’s clothes and unpacking her things. Crap.
“Zarah, Fig wants to see you,” I lie.
“Why? I’ll be up in a minute. I want to show you your rooms.”
She takes a remote control from the wall. “Look. This controls your lighting and music and . . .”
Stori’s beginning to understand the situation. She’s giving me a look that says more than words.
“He said he really needs to talk to you.” I interrupt.
Zarah slowly gets the message. She looks at Stori then to me. “Oh yeah. That’s right he wanted to discuss . . . oh shit who’s kidding who? Have fun kids. Melba, you can leave Stori’s things.”
Melba stops her unpacking. “Yes, mam.” She exits the room.
“I’m being a bad maid of honor,” Stori says.
As she leaves Zarah returns the remote to its place and calls back. “No, you’re not! This is the best thing to happen to Fig and me. Go forth and copulate. We’ll see you when we see you.”