My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

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 jobs on the front sides of our bodies, massaging our arms, legs, and across our chests. The shadows of Abigail’s nipples are visible beneath the thin sheet, tantalizingly hard, and I wonder if she’s getting wet too, if her lush lips are coated with slickness, her own juices mixing with the oil on her thighs.

At the prescribed time, the massage therapists end on a synchronized note. “Thank you for visiting the spa during your stay. There is complimentary lemon water on the table for your refreshment, and you may wear the robes on the hooks back to your suite when you are ready. This beach view room is yours for one hour of additional relaxation.”

She points to the clock on the wall above the door as they exit, leaving Abigail and me alone, nude, slick, and aroused.

Abigail sits up, holding the sheet to her chest as if I couldn’t pluck countless images of her bare tits from my mind. As if I can’t pull that sheet right out of her hands. As if she doesn’t want me to do just that.

“Now what?” she asks quietly, biting her lip.

Isn’t that the big question? Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer.

Yes, you do! my heart thumps out, but my brain overrides it with fear and indecision.

“You want more?” I get up, leaving the sheet on the table to cross the scant feet between us naked as the day I was born. Abigail’s eyes try to lock on mine, I can see her trying, but they dip down to my cock almost instantly as she loses the battle. I give myself a few strokes, looking for some relief for this hunger I feel for her.

Her eyes twinkle, and she flips over to lie back down on her stomach, adjusting herself until she turns her head and looks me in the eye. “Show me what you’ve got. I’m ready.”