The Lovers Read Online Free PDF

textured head of the vibe, closing my eyes and thinking of her.
    Her face. Her lush red mouth like sex itself. And her saying to me, a wicked smile on her beautiful face, “I can make you come, Bettina.”
    So hot, those words. And I imagine her lowering her face between my legs, her wet tongue lapping at my wet slit, her fingers sinking into me.
    Oh, yes…
    I spread my legs wider, welcoming her. And she pulls my clit between her lips, sucking hard, her fingers pushing into me. My hips arch into the vibrator, and my climax is shattering, like a hard current in my pussy, my belly. My thighs are shaking, I’m moaning. And in my mind is her face, her wicked mouth.
    She’s smiling at me as I come, saying, “I told you so.”
    Â 
    Mornings on the beach are different than they are anywhere else. There is the slow process of coming out of my dreams to the muted roar of the surf, the gray, fog-dimmed light coming through the windows as soft as a whisper.
    I stretch, trying to remember my dreams, as I do each morning, but today they are nothing more than a dimly lit memory of my parents at a dinner table piled with books, a flash of hearing a baby crying as I ride a train. And Audrey.
    I have to stop thinking of her. I tend to be obsessive. I know this about myself. I don’t like it, but I haven’t been able to change it.
    I want to go back to sleep, to lose myself, but it’s too late. I’m wide-awake.
    Throwing back the covers, I get out of the warm bed, slip my feet into my fuzzy blue slippers and pad to the window. The beach is lonely in the morning, but peaceful. I watch as a gull swoops in, low over the waves, nearly skimming them, then is joined by another. The water is a chilly gray this morning to match the early sky. I shiver and reach for my soft, gray knit robe, which I left draped over the chair last night.
    Last night…
    Last night I made myself come over and over, my trusty vibrator held between my aching thighs, sweat pouring off me by the third climax, every muscle in my body tensed and hurting.
    Maybe I should start writing erotica.
    Fuck.
    I push my hair from my face, my fingers tangling in the tight curls, snarls left over from my late night on the beach.
    Stop thinking about her!
    I shake my head as I make my way to the shower. Ridding myself of my robe, I step under the hot spray. The water issoft here, like silk gliding over my skin. And it is everything I can do simply to take a damn shower, wash my hair. Not to slip my hand between my thighs, pinch my clit, plunge my fingers into my pussy, get myself off again.
    I have spent far too much time alone, Terry is right about that.
    This is ridiculous.
    I hurry through the rest of my shower, pull on some clothes and shut the cabin door behind me. The morning air is still gray and cool, though the sun is beginning to cast its golden rays through the cypress trees, and my damp hair grows cold around my shoulders. But I don’t mind. I need to cool off. Literally and figuratively.
    I move around the side of the house and step tentatively through the kitchen door. Immediately I am hit with the lovely, rich scent of coffee. Viviane and Patrice are sitting in the chairs by the fireplace, a low fire burning. The room is warm, the acrid scent of the fire mixing with the coffee. Nothing has ever smelled so inviting.
    â€œGood morning, Tina,” Viviane singsongs, waving me in. “Get yourself a cup and come sit.”
    â€œGood morning,” I answer, following her gesturing hand to where a coffeepot sits on the tiled counter, a row of cobalt blue and red mugs lined up next to it. I pour, find sugar and cream next to the mugs, a spoon to stir. I like my coffee sweet. I like it to be dessert. A bad habit, I know, but it is one of my little indulgences. That, and endless hours of orgasms, apparently, alone in my bed.
    Stop it.
    I take a moment to calm myself, pretending to taste test my coffee, but it’s already