Read Online Eternity by Hollie Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hollie Williams
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believe I just did that!
The moment is broken too soon as the waiter returns and clears our plates. I take the opportunity to down as much of my drink as I can, bubbles permitting, at this rate I think I’m going to need all the courage I can get.
The main course appears shortly, chicken breast, stuffed with a wild mushroom puree and a creamy Dijon mustard sauce. I purposely slow down my eating, taking my time to savour each delicious bite, and hopefully look a little more ladylike, after practically inhaling the Pâté.
Between mouthfuls we make polite small talk, Carlos tells me he lives and works here at the hotel, I tell him about the advertising company I work for. I skim over briefly how I was married, but am now separated, leaving out most of the details. He does not divulge any further information about his past (or present) love life. We move to a more neutral conversation, traveling, we both would love to see the world, but both have had limited chances to, for varying reasons.
By the time the main courses are done I am on my forth flute of champagne and feeling pleasantly tipsy; Carlos tells me there is a local band playing in one of the bars in an hour and suggests we go along.
The sun has now set and I can see they have lit a number of lanterns that stretch the length of the beach, the fire reflects in the sea causing yellow glimmers to jump up and down on the waves, it looks so magical, “can we take a walk along the shore?” I ask dreamily, gazing at the view.
“Of course” he replies, taking my hand and promptly leading me back down stairs and out to the sand.
As we step off the firm path and onto the beach I am quickly unbalanced by my heels, Carlos grasps both of my forearms to steady me, then slowly begins to lower himself down, his hands sliding to my waist, so that he is kneeling in front of me. I watch him slip his hands over my hips, brushing tantalisingly close to my buttocks, then down my thighs, I am hypnotised by his touch. At my knees he puts a little pressure behind the left one, lifting my leg so that my foot rests on his bent knee and carefully removes my shoe, repeating the process with the other foot. Once he has finished he picks up my shoes and stands giving a triumphant “there!” as he takes my hand and strolls on, oblivious to my now quivering legs.
Carlos has an uncanny ability to turn almost anything into a double entendre, consequently in the short walk from the restaurant I find we are inevitably talking about sex. He has asked me if I am the type to initiate sex or not, laughing at his blatancy I reply “Err, I guess not, no. I’m more of an old fashioned kind of girl, I want a man who will open doors for me, carry heavy bags and take control in the bedroom!” we both fall about laughing, still giddy from the alcohol.
“I wasn’t aware ‘taking control in the bedroom’ was crucial to being old fashioned, but I’ll take your word for it” he says still laughing, “so, how is a guy to know when you want him to take control?” he asks, marginally more serious.
I can feel the atmosphere between us change, we are no longer talking hypothetically here. How do I play this? It’s clear to me that I want him, I’m a little tipsy which is far more preferable to being sober for such a monumental event; he has made a real effort to make this happen tonight, pulled out all the stops. But just the thought of him seeing me naked makes me feel sick. I can see the window of opportunity closing, it’s now or never, just make a decision.
I stop walking, as he takes another stride, the tug of my hand in his makes him realise I am no longer in step with him. Turning to face me he slips an arm round my waist and pulls me closer, waiting patiently for me to give this unknown sign for him to continue. I still have no idea what I want to do. Maybe if I insist on having the lights off and we stick to missionary style I could forget about my hang-ups just long enough to enjoy
The moment is broken too soon as the waiter returns and clears our plates. I take the opportunity to down as much of my drink as I can, bubbles permitting, at this rate I think I’m going to need all the courage I can get.
The main course appears shortly, chicken breast, stuffed with a wild mushroom puree and a creamy Dijon mustard sauce. I purposely slow down my eating, taking my time to savour each delicious bite, and hopefully look a little more ladylike, after practically inhaling the Pâté.
Between mouthfuls we make polite small talk, Carlos tells me he lives and works here at the hotel, I tell him about the advertising company I work for. I skim over briefly how I was married, but am now separated, leaving out most of the details. He does not divulge any further information about his past (or present) love life. We move to a more neutral conversation, traveling, we both would love to see the world, but both have had limited chances to, for varying reasons.
By the time the main courses are done I am on my forth flute of champagne and feeling pleasantly tipsy; Carlos tells me there is a local band playing in one of the bars in an hour and suggests we go along.
The sun has now set and I can see they have lit a number of lanterns that stretch the length of the beach, the fire reflects in the sea causing yellow glimmers to jump up and down on the waves, it looks so magical, “can we take a walk along the shore?” I ask dreamily, gazing at the view.
“Of course” he replies, taking my hand and promptly leading me back down stairs and out to the sand.
As we step off the firm path and onto the beach I am quickly unbalanced by my heels, Carlos grasps both of my forearms to steady me, then slowly begins to lower himself down, his hands sliding to my waist, so that he is kneeling in front of me. I watch him slip his hands over my hips, brushing tantalisingly close to my buttocks, then down my thighs, I am hypnotised by his touch. At my knees he puts a little pressure behind the left one, lifting my leg so that my foot rests on his bent knee and carefully removes my shoe, repeating the process with the other foot. Once he has finished he picks up my shoes and stands giving a triumphant “there!” as he takes my hand and strolls on, oblivious to my now quivering legs.
Carlos has an uncanny ability to turn almost anything into a double entendre, consequently in the short walk from the restaurant I find we are inevitably talking about sex. He has asked me if I am the type to initiate sex or not, laughing at his blatancy I reply “Err, I guess not, no. I’m more of an old fashioned kind of girl, I want a man who will open doors for me, carry heavy bags and take control in the bedroom!” we both fall about laughing, still giddy from the alcohol.
“I wasn’t aware ‘taking control in the bedroom’ was crucial to being old fashioned, but I’ll take your word for it” he says still laughing, “so, how is a guy to know when you want him to take control?” he asks, marginally more serious.
I can feel the atmosphere between us change, we are no longer talking hypothetically here. How do I play this? It’s clear to me that I want him, I’m a little tipsy which is far more preferable to being sober for such a monumental event; he has made a real effort to make this happen tonight, pulled out all the stops. But just the thought of him seeing me naked makes me feel sick. I can see the window of opportunity closing, it’s now or never, just make a decision.
I stop walking, as he takes another stride, the tug of my hand in his makes him realise I am no longer in step with him. Turning to face me he slips an arm round my waist and pulls me closer, waiting patiently for me to give this unknown sign for him to continue. I still have no idea what I want to do. Maybe if I insist on having the lights off and we stick to missionary style I could forget about my hang-ups just long enough to enjoy
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