I lean in and kiss him. “We still have tonight.”
“And the rest of today. Which reminds me, I don’t want to sit out here, sharing you with all these other people. Let’s go back to the room. I want you all to myself.”
I don’t protest when he takes me by the hand and pulls me to my feet. The bed and breakfast is only a short walk back from the beach, but in our formal wear, we’re both hot and sticky by the time we reach the room.
In the room there’s a small, under counter fridge with a compartment for ice. We’d purchased some soft drinks when we’d arrived, and there’s an ice tray in the freezer compartment.
“Is it bad that I’m English and I’m complaining about the heat?” I say, peeling off my dress. I’m less conscious of the elasticised bandage around my fistula now with him, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let him see the fistula in all its lumpy glory. I know the sight will shock him, and he’ll ask more questions than he normally does. I’m not quite ready to tell him the severity of my illness yet. “I’m normally cold all the time.”
He glances over at me from where he’s bent over the fridge, and one side of his mouth curls in a lop-sided grin. “I’m not going to complain if it means you’re going to start taking your clothes off.”
“I was just going to change for a t-shirt and shorts,” I protest.
“No, you’re not. I like you in just your underwear.” He straightens from the fridge holding two iced glasses of water. “Now lie on the bed. I know a way of cooling you down.”
I arch my eyebrows. “Do you? So why does it look more like you’re thinking of heating things up.”
He gives a wicked grin. “Maybe I can do both.”
Holding back a grin of my own, I lay back on the bed, wearing only my matching white lace bra and panties. Rocco scoops one of the ice cubes out of the glass.
“Ready?” he teases me.
I squirm in anticipation. “No.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty. “Tough.”
He places the ice cube on my stomach, just beneath my breasts, and runs it down to my navel. I wriggle, the cold ice setting my nerve endings on fire in the best possible way. He reaches my belly button and circles the ice cube around, the water pooling into the little dip, and then he lowers his mouth and laps up the water.
“You’re so bad,” I say as heat condenses between my thighs and little sparks of arousal shoot through my core.
His hungry gaze rakes down my body. “I think we need to get rid of some more of these clothes.”
“You first,” I insist.
Rocco is still wearing his suit from the funeral. He stands and pulls off his tie and then undoes the buttons of his shirt, revealing his tattooed, hard body. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing him naked, of running my hands over his skin, and marvelling how the skinny boy I’d once run around the beach with has developed into this incredible specimen of a man. His hands go to his suit trousers, and he slips them from his hips so only his boxer shorts are left, his erection tenting the material.
“Now you,” he says.
“But I already only have my underwear on,” I protest.
“Not for much longer.”
He covers my body with his and slides his hand beneath my back. With surprising dexterity, he pops the clasp and whips my bra away.
I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t know if I should be annoyed or impressed.”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to be impressed in a minute. Now lie back and shut up.”
Repressing a smile, I do as I’m told. My naked breasts jut up to meet him as he takes another ice cube from the glass and places it on my left nipple. I gasp, my nipple crinkling at the contact and arousal shooting straight down between my thighs. From the long, thick line in his shorts, I can see Rocco’s enjoying this, too. If he grows just a little harder, the head of his cock will appear over the waistband.
He circles the ice around my nipple, ensuring it’s a tight little bud, and then moves onto my right breast. He repeats the process, ducking his head to suck my wet nipple into his mouth.I groan and place my hand on the back of his head, pressing him against me. My back arches. I want more, need more.
Rocco fishes out another ice cube and places it on my belly again. He slides the cube down, but this time, instead of stopping at my navel, he goes lower. I gasp when I realise what he has planned. He pauses at my hips, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of my panties, before pulling them down my thighs and throwing them to one side. The ice cube is still melting on my stomach, but he takes it between his fingers again and slides it down, through the small patch of golden-red hair at the juncture of my thighs.
“Open your legs for me,” he growls.
I won’t dare disobey. I spread my thighs for him, and he moves the ice lower. My hips buck as it runs over the top of my clit, and I let out a groan and squirm as the coolness goes lower still, between my heated folds to melt and dribble down over my arsehole.
