My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,102

could not capture them for you, so instead, I offer you something less, but hopefully, it will be enough.”

I untie the knot of the napkin, letting it fall away from her eyes. I watch as she blinks before looking around. The light is dim in the room, though there is one full wall of tinted glass. In the middle of the small space sit two white sheet-covered tables.

“You got us massages?” she asks on a gasp.

“I did. You worked so hard yesterday. We both did. We need this.”

We need many things, but this will have to be enough for now. I’m too uncertain to begin the dangerous conversation burning in my throat. Unsure of myself and even more of Abigail.

But I won’t let that mar this one last pristine, beautiful day in paradise.

“The massage therapists will be in momentarily. They said to strip and lie under the sheet.”

Abigail nods but looks carefully at the window. It’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling gray glass. “The beach looks awesome out there, but I’m not sure naked beach time massages are on my bucket list,” she says shyly.

I laugh, feeling the same way. I’m a risk taker, but that might be a bit much. “It’s one-way glass. We get all the beauty of the sand, sea, and sky, but no one can see in. I confirmed it with Esmar, and if anyone would know, it’s him.”

Abigail takes Esmar’s word, though she doesn’t even know him, and starts to undress.

I’m supposed to be disrobing as well, but all I can do is watch her, enjoying every inch of flesh as she bares it to my eyes. Her tits pearl up under my scrutiny and goosebumps break out along her skin.

“What?” she whispers.

“You, mia rosa. You’re beautiful. A vision I want to study, memorize.”

Her soft smile seems sad, but she recovers quickly. I wonder if she’s feeling the loss of Aruba’s magic too. “Your turn.”

I have to cup my thickness, which is growing under her hungry gaze. Laughing lightly, I spin her, pushing her toward one of the beds. “I can’t get a massage with an erection, and it’s never going down if you keep looking at me like that. Lie down and cover up.”

She goes slowly, and I reach out to smack her ass, enjoying the way the flesh jiggles. I groan, getting no relief, and she giggles. But she does lie face down on the table under the sheet.

I close my eyes, thinking of my family’s recipe for lasagna, repeating the layers until I get to a thirty-layer dish. That’s deep dish, I think with a chuckle, noting that ricotta is a definite turn-off.

I climb under my own sheet just in time as a knock sounds out on the door. “Come in,” I call out.

The massage therapists take their place beside each bed and slowly start to rub oil all over our bodies. I should be relaxing into the firm touch, my muscles turning to jelly, but all I can do is watch Abigail turn to liquid from her own massage.

Her skin gleams, supple and slick, and I want it to be my hands slipping along her curves, drawing the soft moans and groans from her throat.

Tucking the sheet around her hip, the massage therapist bares one cheek of Abigail’s firm ass and my hips shift of their own volition, looking for some friction on my rock-hard cock. The table isn’t nearly enough.

“Turn over,” I hear above me.

“Uhm, that’s not a good idea,” I say sheepishly. All three women look to me, two with poker straight faces and one, my Abigail, with a big grin.

“What’s wrong, Lorenzo? You got a half-chub from having her hands all over you?” Abigail teases. She thinks she’s playing a game, throwing me under the bus to embarrass me. Little minx having her fun, but she doesn’t know who she’s tormenting.

“No. I’m painfully hard . . . for you, mia rosa. You look so sexy and soft, I want to lick that oil from your skin, feast on your flesh, and drink you down.”

“Oh.” Her voice hitches, unexpectedly high.

Not exaggerating in the slightest, I boldly turn over beneath the sheet. My cock bobs against my belly from the movement and then I pitch an obscene tent in the white sheet.

“Oh!” Abigail repeats, this time sounding more aroused herself. A circle of wetness appears on the sheet where it absorbs my precum.

The massage therapists, probably used to seeing and hearing much worse, maintain absolute and utter professionalism, simply moving to do their