But he wasn’t moving that fast. He was doling out pleasure, and as much as I wanted the assault, I had to admit that this was fine, too.
He held out his hand for me, then led me toward the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“The deck,” he said, and though I considered protesting—what if there were other people around?—I held my tongue. I was pretty sure we were alone. And even if we weren’t, I couldn’t deny the excitement that came from the possibility of being watched.
“It’s time for dessert.”
“Oh.” I decided not to ask what had happened to dinner. “What’s for dessert?”
“You are,” he said, with an enigmatic grin.
We arrived on the deck and he walked me to one of the large, padded lounge chairs. The sun had finished its descent and now the lake was dark.
“Lay down,” he said, and I complied, looking up at the night sky, the stars hidden behind the gray sheen of the city’s glow.
He ran his finger down the length of my body, slowing as he slipped between my legs, cupping my heat and then sliding two fingers deep inside me. I spread my legs wider, wanting more of him, knowing I was wet enough that I could take more, that he could stretch me as wide as he wanted.
But he didn’t. Instead, he moved away, smiled down at me, and returned below.
I remained on the lounge, frustrated.
And then, when he didn’t return right away, I slipped my own hand between my legs, slowly circling my clit, wanting to take the edge off the pressure building inside me.
“Naughty,” Evan said, his voice soft from where he stood on the far side of the deck. “That’s for me to touch, and me only.”
“I—”
“I’m very proprietary about what belongs to me,” he said. “But we’ll worry about your punishment later. Right now, I have a treat.”
He moved closer, and I could see that he was holding a bowl full of strawberries. There was a can tucked under his arm, too, and it took me a second to recognize it as whipped cream.
I laughed, then stopped when he pressed a fingertip to my lips. Then he took a strawberry and fed it to me. It was ripe and delicious, and I sighed with satisfaction.
“Now close your eyes,” he said. “And maybe I’ll give you a few more.”
I bit back a grin, but complied. Then I heard the shaking of the can. Then the aerosol sound of the cream being dispensed.
And then I felt the cool, soft, wet chill on my breast. Then down my belly. Then all the way to my sex.
“Oh, god, Evan. Holy fuck, that feels good. Strange. Good.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Now open your eyes but don’t move.”
I obeyed and felt every tiny sensation as he took a single strawberry, then rubbed it over my cream-covered breast before popping it in his mouth. He took another, then another. And all the while it was all I could do to lay still.
“I’ve made a bit of a mess,” he said, with a devilish grin. “I better clean it up.” He bent his mouth to my breast, and I gasped and squirmed as he licked every bit of cream up, driving me just a little bit crazy in the process.
And then he used a berry to follow the trail down my belly.
My stomach muscles twitched as he moved lower and lower. My sex throbbed. I was so hot that I was certain the cream had melted into a liquid goo. But he wasn’t inclined to hurry. His tongue laved me all over, lapping up the cream, moaning with pleasure as he swallowed and tasted, nipped and sucked.
In front of me, the skyline rose, the buildings lit like jewels against the night sky. I felt much like those buildings, as if I was light from within, only a few pinpricks of illumination escaping from wherever his tongue had seen fit to tease me.
And he was teasing lower and lower until finally there was just the triangle of my sex. Then my slick folds, a combination of my own arousal and the froth of cream.
His tongue stroked me, deeply and efficiently, as if it was his obligation to get every last bit of cream. And with each lave of his tongue, I felt the orgasm building inside me, tighter and tighter and tighter, until finally I soared even higher than the skyline and burned at least as bright as the lights in the sky.
“Wow,” I said, when I came back to earth. “I like your dessert.”
I eyed him hungrily, noting his erection beneath his shorts before tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Got any more cream?” I asked, then made a show of licking my lips. “Because if you do, I know exactly what kind of treat I want.”
His laugh reverberated through me. “Sweetheart,” he said as he unbuttoned his shorts. “You can have as much as you want.”
seventeen
I spent the next few nights on the boat with him, popping into the condo only to reassure Peterson I was alive and get fresh clothes. Most nights we spent on the boat, making love under the stars, relaxing on the deck with wine, or snuggling in the stateroom and watching everything from Terminator to The Hangover to The Untouchables. We settled into a comfortable familiarity that I loved, and the only time I felt unhappy or insecure at all was when I remembered that this was all going to end—and that the end was coming soon.
“Evan,” I’d say, and he would know, just from the tone of my voice. He’d pull me into his arms and kiss me and tell me that the only thing that mattered was the moment. And as he made love to me, slowly and sweetly, I tried hard—so hard—to believe him.
Sometimes, I even came close.
Not that we were complete shut-ins. I joined him one night at a reception for all the students in the art class that Cole taught at a community center right on the edge of Wrigleyville. The center’s walls were now studded with everything from still lifes to graffiti-like murals to delicate pencil sketches. And Cole was making the rounds like a proud parent, with Evan looking almost as proud as his friend.