Change: Part 3

As we finished our dinner, drinking coconuts and Havana Club and reminiscing about the last few days, the waiter handed me a note and nodded toward the doorway. I saw her curls before she turned the corner and disappeared from view. I flushed with desire just knowing that she’d been there, that Red had seen us, and I gripped the note tightly in my fist.
We drank in silence, glancing at the note that now lay folded on the table. Curiosity had the better of us, and over a sip of rum I opened the message.
You are beautiful. I want to experience you. I will wait for you until 11. Yours, Siena.
The note was written on the stationery of the luxurious resort where we’d had our massage a few days before. The massage that changed everything when I woke with my hand nestled in hers. I passed it to him and waited. With a sparkle in his eye he nodded.
The path across the beach to the hotel was dimly lit, but there she was, sitting in the glow of a lantern. The light flickered over her mass of hair, dancing through it with golden streaks. She stood and took my hand—that hand—and the heated throb between my legs returned. Then she took his, and led us toward her casita.
With a hand to her heart she said, “Siena.” Her hand rested over my pounding heart. “Chiara,” I said, nerves strangling my voice. Finally she placed her hand on his chest. “Hers,” he said, and pulled out of the circle, leaving us together.
With a practiced hand she untied the knot of my sarong and pulled the makeshift dress from my body, finding me nude under the diaphanous silk. Goosebumps rose over my flesh as I stood under her gaze, my skin hot despite the chill in the evening air. “Your turn,” she said, pulling me in and kissing me, her hands pushing through my hair.
With trembling hands I unlaced the front of her dress and pushed the slender straps over her pale shoulders. With a soft smile playing on her lips she reached between my thighs and cupped a hand against my pussy, massaging the edge of her palm against my clit and teasing my wet lips with her fingertips. Her dress slipped away, revealing the lithe form that had haunted my dreams, and I sought her breasts with my mouth, tasting her flesh for the first time as her fingers pushed into my liquid hot core.
I fumbled, unpracticed, but eager to explore the softness of her freckled skin. For hours we touched and tasted each other, her skilled touch bringing me to overflowing orgasms that drenched our bodies. When the golden pink blush of dawn peeked through the windows we said our goodbyes.
I found him outside, sleeping on the veranda. Gently I woke him and led him back to our bungalow. With him inside me, I told him everything that had happened. “Yours,” I said when he came.

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