Nothing to Hide

They chatted about the weather, their day, the area’s history, her favorite places in New York, and his in Boston. The door into her life and the emotions had been slammed firmly shut.

After they ate, they brought their plates to the kitchen and sat outside, lingering over the bottle’s last two glasses. Jonas didn’t know when he’d felt such a crazy mix of contentment, anxiety and raging lust.

“I have watermelon. Would you like some?”

“Love some.”

“Brandy?”

“Absolutely.” Her skin was rosy in the evening light. Strands had come loose from her hairstyle and curled around her face in the lake air, making her look sexily mussed.

He got up, reluctant to leave her, even for a few minutes, and went into the kitchen, half-hard just from looking at her and imagining all the things he wanted them to do. At the counter, he cut a few slices of watermelon and put them on plates, then poured two glasses of the brandy he’d brought out from the house, put it all on a tray and carried it back to—

She was leaning against the railing, which she’d covered with beach towels so her body would be invisible from the lake, her back to him, staring out toward the water. He’d seen her in the pose before.

But not like this.

Her hair was covered in strips of black sequin-covered cloth—half wig, half hat—with a distinctly Cleopatra shape. A brass cobra coiled around her upper arm. The gold material he’d glimpsed under her shirt wasn’t a camisole; it was a slender band covering her breasts. Below that, gold chains glittered around her slender waist. More black sequins stretched over her hips in a narrow band, extending into a tiny swatch of a skirt that barely covered her bottom. On her feet she wore black strappy sandals with medium-high heels. An Egyptian seductress.

She turned her head to reveal eyes lined with black, almond-shaped with a stripe extending from the outside corner almost to her hairline. Her profile caught the setting sun, the lake behind her, her body in beautiful silhouette. Exotic. Seductive.

He was no longer only half-hard.

Jonas put down the tray. “I’m not sure I’m still in the mood for watermelon.”

“No.”

“Cleopatra.” He came up behind her, covering the delicate fingers resting on the railing with his hand. His chest pressed against her mostly naked back. His pelvis found black sequins, pushed suggestively against them. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a great asp?”

A groan came out of her that made him work not to chuckle. He kissed her bare shoulders, one then the other, lightly bit her sweet-smelling skin, then soothed the bite with his mouth.

“Your servant is here, my queen,” he murmured. “What do you desire?”

“Here.” She tipped her head, leaving her long, graceful neck open for exploration. He happily complied, moving his hands to the narrow span of her waist, then following the chain around front to slip his fingertips over her stomach and under sequined elastic. Her skin was smooth, soft. He couldn’t get enough with his fingers or his mouth.

“Very nice.” His fingers returned to the small of her back; he stepped out of the way while they journeyed back under the sequins and around her firm bottom. Jonas closed his eyes, savoring her shape until his fingers grew impatient and pushed their way down and forward between her legs, where they encountered warm moisture...and cool air.

He stopped, puzzled. Was there a hole in—

Sweet heaven. Designed for easy access.

His turn to groan, as she had, but not for the same reason. He knelt behind her, lifted the small square of material and took his fill of the sight. Black sequins lined either side of her sex, her lush pink lips protruding from the neat gap in the fabric. Jonas pressed her legs farther apart, then counted slowly to three, letting her wonder what he was going to do, letting the breeze blow over her, making the light brown hair between her legs quiver.

Silently, he moved in. His tongue found her first. She gasped, her knees buckling before she recovered and leaned forward to give him better access. He tasted her greedily, steadying her hips with his hands. She was soft, sweet, her labia yielding and stretching under his tongue. A breeze blew around them, carrying the smell of the charcoal fire mixed with coming rain.

Eagerly he turned her toward him so he could find her clitoris with his lips, wanting her as hot and ready as he was. Wanting her to let go completely, to beg for his cock inside her. He wanted her to acknowledge in some way that she was as far gone as he was, that she could no longer fight the power of what lay between them. That what lay between them might be...important.

“Stop. Queen’s...orders.” She barely got the phrase out. “This isn’t the plan.”