Ravish: The Awakening of Sleeping Beauty - By Cathy Yardley
“This is fantastic,” Rory Jacquard heard Oliver say from the balcony. “How did you find out about this place?”
“My father had pictures of it. I think he used to vacation here as a boy,” she said, joining him. The sun was going down, bleeding crimson and orange into the impossible blue of the Caribbean. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Unbelievable,” he said, then turned to her, smiling gently even as his eyes lit with hunger. “I’m glad you’re sharing it with me.”
She suddenly ignored the sunset, focusing on his intense stare and the gentle brush of his fingertips against her waist.
That’s not all I’m sharing with you.
“Did you want to go down to dinner?” He nuzzled her neck, and she felt the tingle all the way down to the pit of her stomach.
“I’m not that hungry,” she answered, her voice catching a little as he nipped at her jaw.
“Neither am I,” he whispered against her ear. “Not for food, anyway.”
Her breathing doubled in speed. It was going to be soon now. Any minute.
He turned her, stroking the sides of her sundress, breezing gently over the sides of her breasts while pulling her closer to him. She kissed him, bumping him a little too hard…clumsy in her eagerness. He laughed, even as she felt her cheeks burn.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Don’t be. I’m not.” He kissed her back, more gently, a promise of things to come. Encouraged, she slowed down, reveling in the sensation of his lips and tongue. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs caressing the nipples beneath the thin material of her dress in slow, lazy circles, and she arched her back, pressing herself against his palms. “You are amazing,” he said, against her mouth.
She smiled against his lips. He made her feel amazing. That was why she’d chosen him.
He held her against his rock-hard expanse of chest, and she nipped a quick kiss at his neck, then laughed. “You’re salty.”
“It’s from Jet Skiing this morning,” he said apologetically. “Why don’t I take a quick shower, before we…”
He let the sentence trail off suggestively. If possible, her heart rate tripled. She nodded, unable to speak.
“I’ll meet you there,” he said, his eyes glowing as he nodded toward the bed. His smile was lazy, inviting, and she bit her lip against the wave of desire that pulsed over her like a tsunami. She watched as he retreated into the bedroom. Once he shut the door, she let out an explosive exhalation, then did a quick twirl, her skirt billowing out like a cloud around her body. She was so hot, she was surprised she didn’t burn her clothes off her body, and it had nothing to do with the sticky, sweltering heat of the island.
She was going to have sex, for the first time in her life. Her body was so ripe for it, she felt ready to explode.
She hastily headed over to her suitcase, pulling out the dusty rose silk lingerie she’d purchased for just this occasion. She’d told her friends the trip was a graduation gift and birthday gift combined, treating herself to a trip to the Caribbean with her four-month boyfriend, Oliver. But she knew the real reason she was there, and she hadn’t revealed it because she felt sure she’d be labeled a freak.
She probably wasn’t the only twenty-one-year-old virgin on the face of the earth, but talking with her friends from college, listening to them gush about their boyfriends’ skills in bed, or even complain about their lack of skills, made Rory feel like she was the only sexually inexperienced woman on the planet.
She tugged off the sundress and her underwear, then slipped on the teddy, loving the feel of the silk slipping against her bare skin. She’d showered as soon as they got back from the beach, anticipating this moment as she put on perfume strategically between her breasts, behind her earlobes. After a quick check in her makeup mirror, she climbed onto the bed, roughly combing her fingers through her hair. She hoped that it made her look sexy and rumpled.
She wanted tonight to be perfect.
She didn’t think sex would hurt. After all, just because she’d never had sex didn’t mean she was completely ignorant. Besides her friends’ play-by-play conversations, she knew what an orgasm was—she’d felt it in the privacy of her own bed, late at night, by her own hand. Nevertheless, all the conversations and “practice” and substitutes in the world weren’t going to be the same as actually