Chapter 6

Wednesday May 25

I hate to admit it, but Chloe got in my head. When everyone was going to bed last night I joined Paris in his bedroom. I wasn’t sure he would want to fool around, or even spend a few minutes alone with me.

“Last night I wasn’t at my best,” Paris told me. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” I said soothingly. “I enjoyed it. They can’t all be life-changing experiences.”

“Maybe not. But tonight, I intend to give you the attention you deserve, if you’ll let me,” he said. My heart thumped extra hard for a few beats.

We got naked right away, but then we just sat on the bed, not even kissing, just touching each other. I spent minutes studying his arms. Paris was enchanted by my neck and shoulders until he moved behind me and stroked my back. It felt like an entirely unknown doorway to intimacy for me. I cooed with satisfaction.

Then the things Chloe had said started to get to me. I wondered, really, how vanilla Paris really was. “Hey baby?” I asked. “I get that you don’t like fingers up your butt, but does that go both ways? If you wanted to do me anally, that would be ... I’d kinda like it.”

“No,” Paris said. He didn’t sound upset. “Anything anal is just gross. To me.”

“That’s fine,” I said as I lay face down on the bed. “We’ve still got lots of other options.”

Paris sat next to me and reached between my legs. His fingers probed me, drawing out my wetness and spreading it around. He put one finger inside me - I imagine it was a thumb - and the rest gliding on top of and between my lips. His other hand touched my back, mostly between my shoulder blades. It was like I could feel some sort of energy passing through my body between his hands.

He had me bucking my hips against my will while he stroked my pussy. I was moaning rhythmically, an instinctive communication, telling him what he was doing for me, how much I needed him.

“Roll over,” Paris told me, removing his hand. I rolled onto my back and spread my legs, feeling strangely vulnerable, but somehow glad that I was. Paris moved over me and then piloted his cock into my pussy. He thrust into me with slow deliberate movements while looking into my eyes and smiling.

“Oh fuck. You’re amazing,” I whimpered. I touched his arms again, taut from keeping him just above me. Before long my fingers were digging into his muscles as I came. “Yes! God yes. Fuck, Paris, yes!” I muttered.

Paris didn’t look like he was planning to stop any time soon. He kept driving into me, occasionally touching my cheek or kissing my neck.

“God, I love this so much, I love your body. I love...” I said, my voice rising in pitch as my excitement mounted.

Abruptly, Paris moved off of me. He barely lost a moment, though, as he dragged me to the side of the bed and shoved pillows under my butt. Before I knew what was happening he was standing next to the bed with my legs wrapped around him, hammering my pussy with his cock and running his fingers over my belly.

Then his fingers were brushed past the hair on my mound and found my clit. My hands searched around for something to grasp while he made me come again: harder and louder this time.

And still he kept going, with his cock and with his hands.

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

“You inspire me,” he said. Even though I had just come and my body wasn’t reset yet, I could feel some stirring, like my nervous system had tried to come again just then, just because he said that.

The effort of holding back was getting to him. I was sure Paris was about to explode into my cunt. But instead of letting himself come, he pulled out and dropped to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in my snatch. He had me coming again in short order, and yet again a few minutes later.

He would have kept going, but I told him to stop. My throat was dry from all the moaning, and my clit was starting to feel irritated. I was all fucked out. Paris joined me on the bed as I panted and rested.

“You didn’t get a chance to finish,” I said apologetically.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you had a good time.”

“I did!” I told him. “But, would it be all right if I did you now? Please? I want to fuck you with my mouth.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

Paris was still completely hard, and his dick twitched a few times while we repositioned ourselves. Pretty soon he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I was on my knees licking his pole and tugging his balls. It didn’t take long before he was groaning, almost in anguish.

“Do you want to come on my face?” I whispered tenderly. Another test, I had to admit, whose seed had been planted by his sister.

Paris shook his head.

“My tits? My hair?” I asked. “You can come on me anywhere you want.”

“Just your mouth, please,” he answered.

I summoned up my last reserve of saliva and tongued him with with everything I had. He made a pained sound and his dick jumped in my mouth. I met each surge of come with an eager swallow until his body relaxed and his dick stopped jumping.

I convinced Paris to let me try to spend the night with him, but he was right. It was weird and impersonal, somehow, being in bed with someone who has tubes coming out of their face. And the sound of him breathing through the machine kept me up. Eventually I gave up and went back to my bedroom.

I made breakfast this morning: just omelets and toast, but the Bishops seemed to appreciate it.

I asked if there was a store nearby where I could buy some aloe lotion. Despite my precautions I had managed to get some sunburn. Somehow my simple lotion request turned into shopping with Chloe in Road Town.

Chloe didn’t to want to buy anything for herself - she sort of seemed above it all. But she kept offering to buy things for me, which I politely refused. I did buy a skirt for myself and a belt for Juliet.

When Liz came up in conversation, Chloe excitedly told me about some of the tricks she had played on her sister-in-law, like secretly feeding her a pot brownie before the dinner where both sets of parents first me.

“Chloe, why do they put up with your shit?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“They have to,” she said with a shrug. “Family.”

“Huh,” I reflected. “My dad cut me off for telling him Mom wasn’t a virgin when they got married.”

“Oh, Dad could never cut me off,” Chloe said smugly.

“Why is that?”

“Oh...,” she teased, “I’ve done as much for this family’s well-being as anyone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. She just smiled some more and changed the topic.

We met Paris and Marshall after lunch at one of the most touristy beaches. When I wasn’t taking windsurfing lessons or swimming, I mostly just kissed Paris, held his hand, and indulged in other silly public displays of affection. He seemed comfortable with it.

Marshall spent most of his beach time on the phone. Some of it sounded like business, but I know some of it was Kimmie.

If I had tried to predict what Chloe would wear to the beach, I would have said a dental floss G-string and maybe stickers on her nipples, but to my surprise, she went the opposite direction: a vintage high-waisted two piece, like something out of the movie South Pacific.