Page 11 of Etched In Stone
The promise in her words, the trust she consistently placed in me, was overwhelming. I captured her lips again, this kiss deeper, more consuming. My hands slid down to her thighs, and in one smooth motion, I lifted her, pinning her between my body and the wall.
Krystina wrapped her legs around my waist, looping her arms around my neck. I trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, reveling in every soft sigh and moan she made.
“I need to touch you. Everywhere.”
“Let me shower first, I’m?—”
Covering her mouth with mine, I didn’t allow her to say anything else. With one arm banded around her waist, I used my free hand to greedily push aside the tiny triangles of her bikini top, allowing her breasts to spill free. Lowering my head, I captured a nipple between my teeth. She gripped my shoulders with both hands and arched, encouraging me to take my fill. When I began to circle my tongue over her supple areola, she moaned, and I nearly came on the spot. There was no doubt that Krystina and I would be explosive once we finally made it to a bed.
“Say my name. I want to hear my name on your lips,” I told her, speaking the words into her cleavage as I moved my mouth between each tit, refusing to let one get more attention than the other.
“Alex.”
“Your body is mine.”
“Yes!” She gasped out the word, her desperation evident. “My body is yours.”
Her hands snaked around the base of my neck as she arched her back, searching for more, and I was determined to give her exactly that. Sliding my hand from her breast, I pulled the tied strings at her hips, allowing her bikini bottom to fall free. When my fingers connected with her wet slit, we both gasped.
“God, you’re so fucking wet,” I murmured. I circled her hard clit for a moment, then drove a finger inside her heated well. Her breath hitched, and her hips pushed upward, taking what I offered with fevered urgency. I increased my tempo, building momentum until she was whimpering with need. She was driving me fucking wild.
“Come for me, angel. I want you to come on my hand.”
She kissed me frantically, and my fingers thrust deeper to massage and stroke her walls, only pulling out to trace wet circles around her throbbing nub. I felt her body tense, and her shallow breathing began to come faster.
She was close.
I quickened the pace, flexing my fingers with more urgency until I could feel the slight tremors of her building orgasm. I wanted to give her this—to make her think about my touch while she was in the shower. To make her desperate to feel my cock buried inside her.
When I knew she was almost there, I tore my mouth from hers to see her face. I wanted to watch her as she fell apart. Her eyes grew wide, then snapped closed, and I was rewarded with her cry of pleasure as she shattered against my palm. Her ecstasy faded to enfolding aftershocks, and her eyes slowly fluttered open.
Once her breathing began to regulate, she clasped my face between her hands and pulled my head down to hers for a low, languid kiss. When she pulled away, there was no mistaking the glowing embers in her gaze.
“That was just a taste, angel. Before the night is over, you’ll be begging for me to stop.”
Chapter Seven
Alexander
I took Krystina’s hand and stepped out of our private villa into the warm sunshine. The morning air was already thick with humidity and the promise of another perfect day in paradise. I interlaced my fingers with hers, savoring the softness of her skin and the feel of her wedding ring—a symbol to everyone that this incredible woman was now mine.
It was day five of our honeymoon, and I had planned something different for today. Instead of lounging on our private beach or the villa’s terrace, the vibrant culture of Jamaican local life pulsed just beyond our luxurious bubble, and I wanted to show some of it to Krystina.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as our driver navigated the winding coastal road toward Montego Bay.
“A local market,” I replied, enjoying the way her face lit up with excitement. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the real Jamaica, not just the private resort version.”
“Really?” Her surprise was evident. “That sounds very domestic…and crowded. And unlike you.”
I laughed, understanding her confusion. There was a time when I would have preferred controlled environments that could be managed and predicted. But something about being married to Krystina was changing me in ways I was still discovering.
“Maybe that’s the point,” I said, bringing her hand to my lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You make me want to try new things, to see the world through your eyes.”
As we walked hand-in-hand through the colorful, bustling streets of Montego Bay’s central market, I found myself captivated not just by the sights and sounds around us, but by Krystina’s reactions. She turned to me frequently with that playful smile I adored, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Everything is so lively here,” she marveled, gesturing around us. The market was a sensory feast unlike anything in our usual world. Stalls lined narrow cobblestone streets in a maze of commerce and culture that had probably existed in some form for generations. Rainbow-colored sarongs fluttered in the warm breeze, while vendors called out in lilting jargon that turned even the most mundane sales pitch into music. Tables groaned under the weight of handwoven baskets, intricate wood carvings, and paintings that seemed to capture the very essence of the island’s spirit.
“It is,” I agreed, pulling her a little closer to my side as a group of boisterous tourists pushed past us. The protective gesture was automatic, but I found myself studying the effortless way she navigated the chaos. I lifted our joined hands to press a tender kiss to her knuckles. Her brown eyes met mine, radiating pure happiness and affection.
