Page 88 of Troy Story
He quickened his pace, thrusting into her with more force. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her: the feel of his body pressed against hers, his scent, his lips on her skin. All of it so much better than she’d ever imagined. She clutched his shoulders as the orgasm rolled over her, the rapture so intense that she cried out his name in abandon. No sooner had she reached her peak than he let out a loud, utterly shameless groan. Hearing him lose control filled her with a sense of pride.She’ddone this. Taken straightlaced Stuart and brought him to the heights of ecstasy.
As his movements stilled, she held him tight, wanting to prolong the moment. She never wanted to forget how it felt to be loved so thoroughly.
He eased off her gently, as though reluctant to break their connection. After grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he disposed of the condom and then took her in his arms. She nuzzled her face into his neck, feeling warm and cozy and blissfully happy.
“Stuart?” she asked.
“Mmm?” His voice was thick with sleepy contentment.
“The olives can wait. Right now, I just want to stay in bed with you.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
Dusty sat with Stuart on the rooftop patio of their rental apartment, taking in the view. Below them, the Sea of Marmara glistened under a clear blue sky. Seagulls swooped overhead, catching air currents as they glided on the breeze. Huge cargo ships plied the waters, slowly headed for the port at Istanbul.
She sipped her coffee and let out a satisfied sigh. Clad in Stuart’s T-shirt and a pair of worn sleep shorts, she was grateful for the privacy of their apartment. Since she’d been too lazy to opt for real clothes after her shower, Stuart had volunteered to get dressed and fetch them breakfast at a local café. He’d come back with cappuccinos, chocolate croissants, and simit—a Turkish version of a sesame seed bagel.
Truly, he was the perfect boyfriend.
All day yesterday, the two of them had barely left the apartment, other than a few forays into the neighborhood to grab food. Dusty couldn’t remember spending this much time in bed with anyone. Though she’d known Stuart for years, she was discovering a whole new side of him. A wicked, sexy side that delighted in physical pleasure as much as she did.
When he grinned at her, she flushed under his scrutiny. “We should probably leave the apartment today. Like, for real.”
“Come on, Dusty. How many times have you been to Istanbul?”
“Three times. Maybe four?”
“I’ve been here twice. So we’ve both seen all the highlights—the Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi, the Blue Mosque, the ferry to the Princes’ Islands. We can skip all that touristy stuff.”
“True. But we could still explore the city.” She laughed. “Stop looking at me like you want to sweep me off to bed again.”
He grinned. “Well, now that you mention it…”
She loved how insatiable he was. No one had ever wanted her this much, had ever craved her body and worshiped it the way he did. But their connection wasn’t just about sex. They’d also spent hours lying in bed and talking—sharing memories, dreams, and plans for the future. She’d opened up to him in a way she never had with anyone else.
As eager as she was to go back to bed with him, she loved teasing him too much to concede right away. “Let’s go to the Grand Bazaar and do some shopping.”
He groaned. “That’s the biggest tourist trap of them all. If you’re not careful, some crafty salesman will whisk you off to his shop. He’ll compliment you and offer you apple tea, and then his associates will swoop in and give you the full-on kilim hard sell.”
“The full-on kilim hard sell? Are you speaking from experience?” She bounced in her seat, brimming with giddy enthusiasm. “Come on, let’s do it.”
“You want to bring home a rug?”
“We can play off each other. You can be the nerdy tourist who wants a souvenir, and I’ll be your grumpy girlfriend who’s trying to talk you out of it.”
“For you, I’ll go to the Grand Bazaar, but I’m not buying anything that doesn’t fit in my suitcase.” He waggled a finger at her. “Don’t even think about it.”
She finished her coffee and set the cup down. Giving a lengthy stretch, she tried to decide whether she wanted to lure Stuart back into bed or get ready for an expedition to the bazaar. At the sound of the doorbell, she turned to him. “You didn’t order any food, did you?”
“Nope. I’ll go check it out.” He stood and raked a hand through his sandy-blond hair, still mussed from where she’d tangled her fingers in it.
A panicked thought came to her as he went inside the apartment to answer the door. She’d been extra loud when they’d made love this morning. Like, multidecibel loud, moaning in ecstasy, calling out his name, begging for him to give it to her harder. Was it possible the next-door neighbors had heard her? Were they coming to complain about her lack of decency?
Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.
At the sound of a raised female voice, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Their visitor wasn’t an angry neighbor. It was her mother.
Dr. Louisa Danforth strode onto the balcony, impeccably dressed in a navy linen pantsuit and matching heels. Trailing behind her, Stuart shot Dusty a desperate look as if to say, “I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
