“So, tell me. Do you garden back home?” he asks before popping some fruit into his mouth.
“Why would you ask that?” I ask.
“I saw a book in your bedroom when I came to find you,” he answers me and all I can think about is he was in my room. He saw my things, where I spend most of my time. God, I bet he met my mother, I wonder how that went. My brows furrow.
“Is my mother okay?” When I left she was such a mess.
“She’ll be fine,” he clips. “Answer my question.”
Leaning over, I grab a strawberry myself and look down at it in my hand, twirling it as I try to plow through the unease in my chest. I can’t help but worry about my mother. I hope she’s okay. Gardening isn’t something I’ve brought up, or talked about much to anyone. I read about it, but feel like I’d be bad at it. I can’t even keep a vase of flowers alive.
“Okay, yeah, I’m interested in gardening. I wish I had land to have a huge garden but I can’t with living in the city.” He keeps staring at me as if he doesn’t get my fascination. “I mean to grow your own carrots right up out of the ground and eat them.” I’m now talking with my hands and making him smirk. “I just think…” I stop myself from going any further, my excitement in my voice making me feel crazy.
He smiles, taking a sip from his water and looking out into the bottomless sea.
“You’re so different,” he mutters, and I stiffen.
“What does that mean?”
“You wear Versace and Tiffany, but you long to plow your fingers into the dirt and grow vegetables,” he explains further. How does he know the brands I wear. My hobbies. Did he gain all this info by just being in my room? He’s inside my head and there’s nowhere for me to go but right into his arms.
“What about you? Do you have any interests your dad would find forbidding?” I try my luck and pry for some information. He looks down at the last bite of the piece of cheese in his hand, and I can tell he’s thinking.
“I don’t have any interest outside of what I do.” He looks up at me, those blue eyes darkening. “That’s what my father molded me into from a young boy and that’s what I am. I live to serve my father until the day I take his place.”
Sadness suddenly takes over me, darkening my sunny day. A hand against my face has me look up finding Kieran right in front of me. I run my hands down his tattooed chest. Praying hands, words in Italian, bullets. They’re beautiful.
“But,” he continues. “I find myself interested in you, something that isn’t so bleak and ominous. You stand out and make me feel, Leona,” he confesses, his thumb now on my bottom lip. I look away from his chest and find an intense look on his face. His words putting so much pressure on me.
“I’m not such a good girl, Kieran,” I confess. I have a darkness inside of me, I mean I did put a gun to my cousin’s head just days ago. He slips his finger into my mouth, the pad of his thumb sliding back and forth over my bottom lip and my senses heighten.
“You’re exactly what I need and nothing more or less.” His voice takes a dip and I drop my fruit onto the floor of the boat. He crawls over me, laying me back on the seats. He kisses me, his hands on my face and in my hair. I can’t stop myself, I kiss him back. His lips necking me, nipping, and taking every breath that leaves my mouth. I feel his hard length grind into my clit and I can’t help but buck against him for more. He kisses me more, his hand reaching under my top and kneading my tit. God his touch feels so good, I can’t help but rub myself against him. He pulls down the strap of bikini, my right breast falling out and exposing my pink hard nipple. He sucks it into his warm mouth and my head falls backward, my back arches, and my hands in his silky hair. I wrap my legs around him, his gyrating hips causing the tip of his cock to slide back and forth between my legs. It feels so good I can’t help but moan, and scratch at his back for more. My hand runs amongst the scruff of his cheeks and bite as his chin. I want him, I want all of him right now.
Dipping his head, he kisses the valley between my tits, my stomach, belly button, until reaching my yellow bikini bottom. Fingers on each side of the elastic, he shimmies them down and the little sprout of pubic hair that has grown since my last visit to the salon visible. I feel embarrassed. I bet he’s used to women who wax on the daily. He twirls a finger in it before kissing my clit, and I feel comfortable in my own skin again. Hand on my stomach, he begins to lower his head further in-between my legs and I panic.