PART FOUR. JUNE 2. SARDINIA. HIS GAIL.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. The tiles were cool under my feet. I walked to the balcony. Fully naked. No one would be awake that early… maybe some fishermen. I smiled at the thought of them seeing me. Fifth day in paradise. Fifth day with him. Two more day before going back.
Back in bed, I trace the lines of his sleeping face. My Rob. So handsome, even in slumber. He stirs, mumbles my name. A soft kiss, a featherlight touch, and his body responds, hard and eager against the sheets. A month together, a month of stolen nights and breathless mornings.
Ever since that day of my confession, our connection kind of transformed. I was sleeping in his bed. We were practically playing house. Me, the girl who couldn’t boil water, was suddenly whipping up culinary masterpieces (or at least trying to). I even watched a football match – talk about a foreign language! I managed to drag him kicking and screaming into a rom-com – though I’m pretty sure he was silently plotting my demise.
Even my game on the court felt transformed. My aggression became more controlled, every shot was delivered with higher accuracy. I could control my hips in a more reflective manner, I could feel my inner parts participating in the game. It was like the intimacy we shared had awakened a deeper connection to my body, a primal understanding of its power and potential. I once even smiled in a game. Me! As the Ice Queen was melting.
One day, coming home just after finishing a hard tennis match, I declared: I wouldn’t leave him. I would stay with him, come hell or high water. I would hide it if he asked me to; I would shout it from the rooftops if he let me. I would play the role of the stepdaughter when he needed me to, and I would be his lover behind closed doors. To be his secret, his solace, his everything.
My friend Mary noticed the glow in my eyes, the spring in my step. I couldn’t hide it, even if I tried. When she pressed for details, I casually mentioned Ethan, a convenient lie to protect our forbidden love. I didn’t feel guilty; every woman with a secret affair has to tell little lies.
But there were these other moments, as well: when his touch grew hesitant, his eyes clouded with doubt, avoiding eye contact. I saw the signs. It mirrored my own past battles, days and months spent wrestling with desire and shame. I knew this beast; Hell no, I wouldn’t let it break us.
“A vacation,” I asserted the next evening. “We will escape, just us.” I pressed on. “We can make love day and night,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire. “We can scream, we can laugh, we can be free. And…I’ll let you do anything” I blushed.
His eyes flickered. A glimmer of hope. Followed by the cast of the shadows of old sins. He hesitated, and a familiar shadow crossed his face.
“So, we are hiding, aren’t we?”
“No, we’re not.” I took his hand, my voice firm. “You’re Rob. I’m Abigail. Alice gone, and I’m an adult. You’re not my stepfather, and I’m not your stepdaughter. As naughty as it is to call you ‘daddy’ and the sexy taboo of you being with your daughter. So, let’s reserve those labels just for our bed. But we’re refusing to let some stupid rules tell us how to feel.” My voice shook a little, but I held his gaze. “I can’t lose you, Rob. I won’t. I’ll fight for you. Fight with me.”
I could count the minutes of silence. “Ok, let’s do it.” I still feel the sound of his voice, so confident and resolute.
So, we made it happen. Vacations to Sardinia.
My thoughts often drifted to Catania, the city where Rob’s roots lay. His grandparents had lived there, in that ancient city nestled at the foot of Mount Etna, before they made their way to America. I felt a pull to see it, to walk the same streets, to connect with that part of him.
But no; we wouldn’t be visiting Catania. It wasn’t just a matter of avoiding the past. The danger was real. Catania was a place where people remembered, where family names and faces carried weight through generations. There was too much at stake, too much risk that someone might recognize me, might put together who really was—not just his lover, but his stepdaughter. ‘Remember?’ I told myself. ‘Bonnie and Clyde. Partners in crime. Runaways. Lovers. Free. We won’t jeopardize anything for the past. We’ll create a future’.
I wanted to try everything. I would whisper my wildest, most forbidden fantasies, unafraid of judgment. It was a primal hunger, a desperate need to bind him to me, to become the only woman in his world. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Was this all just an elaborate attempt to replace Alice? To erase her memory, to make him forget the years they’d shared, the love they’d built? Was I simply filling a gap, a pale imitation of the woman he truly loved?
Sarah, the Freud-enthusiast among the girls, would probably say that my desire to possess Rob completely, to become the sole object of his affection, stemmed from a deep-seated longing for my mother’s love. So, by taking her place, both in his heart and in his bed, I was perhaps trying to reclaim the maternal bond that had been severed by her death. The taboo nature of our relationship, the forbidden fruit we’d tasted, only intensified this desire, fueling a subconscious need to transcend boundaries and merge with the man who represented both love and loss.
That Sarah would say. And I would say I don’t give a shit; Rob’s fucking me, not Sarah. And I can’t explain, not to Sarah nor to anybody, the longing, the pain, the void…that’s the word, the void. The one that I had to overcome until being with Rob. And right there, in this island, I was with him. And I would do anything to keep it that way.
In our first evening on the island, I suggested we go to the beach. It was late, and there were no lights near the shore, no signs to guide us back to the Airbnb. But I insisted.
The dark sea… most would be afraid. Not me. I twirled, a silent dance, laughter bubbling up like a hidden spring. His warmth wrapped around me, a hand on my shoulder, a gentle anchor.
“Cold?” he whispered.
“Burning.” The word was a confession, a revelation. The night was pitch-black, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves. The warmth of his hand anchored me in the darkness. The sea stretched out before us, but it wasn’t the water that had me burning—it was him.
I turned to face him, my heart pounding, a mix of anticipation and raw desire. I needed this, needed him, from the moment we stepped onto the sand. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, but I felt only the heat radiating from him, the silent invitation in his eyes.
Without a word, I sank to my knees, fingers trembling as they moved to his waistband. The fabric was soft under my touch, almost reluctant to give way. But I was determined, driven by a need to show him how far I was willing to go. Slowly, I tugged at his shorts, feeling them slide down his thighs.
The night air was thick with the scent of salt and his musk. My breath hitched as I looked up, seeing nothing but the outline of his form in the darkness, his arousal palpable. I let my hands travel up his legs, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin, until they reached his hardness. My fingers curled around him, feeling his heat, the weight of him in my hand.
I leaned in, letting my lips brush against the tip, tasting the salt of his skin. It was unfamiliar, but exhilarating. I wanted to savor this, but the need inside me was too urgent. I opened my mouth wider, letting my tongue trace the length of him, feeling the velvety smoothness. He was hard, thick, and I could feel him twitch as I took him deeper, inch by inch.
My hands gripped his thighs, pulling him closer as I moved my mouth further down, lips stretching to accommodate him. The muscles in my throat tightened, but I pushed forward, determined to take all of him. His hand found its way into my hair, not forcing, but guiding me. His other hand rested on my shoulder, steadying me.
My breath came in shallow gasps through my nose as I worked to suppress the gag reflex, relaxing my throat as much as I could. I could feel him fill me, every inch pressing against the walls of my mouth, sliding deeper until he hit the back of my throat. I paused, letting him rest, feeling the throb of his pulse against my tongue. It was the first time trying to deepthroat.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, mixing with the salt air, as I swallowed around him, my throat contracting, pulling him in further. I could feel him tense, his grip on my hair tightening, a low groan escaping his lips. He was close, I knew it.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to take a breath, before plunging forward again, taking him deeper than before. It was the first time trying to deepthroat. My nose brushed against his base, the coarse hair there tickling my skin. I could taste the sweat on him, the rawness driving me wild. His hand on my shoulder slipped down to the back of my neck, holding me steady as he started to thrust gently, pushing himself further into my mouth, testing my limits.
I let him. I wanted him to take control, to push me to the edge, to make me feel everything. My tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft, feeling every ridge, every vein as he moved in and out of me. I kept my mouth wide, my throat relaxing with each thrust, allowing him to fill me completely.
He whispered something, low and rough, but I couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. I knew what he wanted. I tightened my grip on his thighs, pulling him even closer, urging him to go deeper, to lose himself in me. His breath hitched, his hips bucked, and I felt him swell in my mouth, a hot rush of liquid spilling down my throat as he came.
I swallowed, feeling the warmth of him slide down into my belly. The taste of salt and sweat lingered on my tongue, raw and intoxicating. As his release filled my mouth, I let a small stream escape, dribbling from the corner of my lips. It trailed down my chin, sliding over my neck, and pooling between my breasts. I watched as the drops made their slow descent, eventually falling to the sand beneath me, absorbed by the earth, marking the spot where we shared this secret, intimate moment.
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