Colour of the Sun, part 1

"It's not much," she warns, unlocking the deadbolt and the knob. Holding open the rusting screen door, she turns on the lights and gestures for me to go in.

I drop our bags onto a convenient chair and pause to take in the details of the room, which clearly serves as the little cottage's living and dining area. Cosima watches me out of the corner of her eye as she moves around opening windows to let the salt-tasting breeze and rumble‐hiss of waves sweep away the damp and slightly musty air.

Gladly following her example, I kick off my sandals by the entrance and scuff barefoot over the wide-planked hardwood floor — which appears to have been a recent improvement — toward a big vinyl-covered sofa whose floral print has faded to amorphous blobs. The cushions scrunch loudly beneath me as I bend to brush sand from my legs. Beckoning for her to join me, I sling an arm around her shoulders and brush my lips over the wispy hairs curling at the top of her forehead as she snuggles into my side.

I look around. The furniture looks as though it had been acquired at a sidewalk jumble sale. A faintly mildewed and rather hairy greenish-brown lounge chair lurks near melamine shelves triple‐stacked with tattered paperbacks. The coffee table is a brutish, clumsy thing consisting of scrap materials nailed and screwed together; the gouges, scratches and coffee‐ring stains it's acquired over the years have given it a patina of interest it probably never deserved when it was newly built. A rabbit‐eared TV on a rolling stand holding an enormous early model VCR and a stack of videos, a few molded‐plastic chairs, a small round plastic dining table and flying wedges of shadows carved by the wobbling ceiling fan's dim light fixture complete the picture.

House Beautiful will not be calling any time soon.

But it has a cheerful, unapologetically homely appeal, especially since I can perfectly imagine Cosima-as-a-teenager running through it with glee. "I like it," I say at last, meaning it.

I feel her relax in my arms. "Not exactly the Ritz, I know. But my parents and I loved this place. We spent a few summers here while my mom was finishing up the research for her diss." She had been thrilled to find it listed on Airbnb after I had complained one too many times about being so cold and wanting to go someplace warm. I admit that I had been a little dubious about coming here, especially after hearing her description, but seeing how happy she is now makes any slight discomfort worthwhile.

Leaning back into the corner of the sofa cushions, I snug her close, breathing in the scents of the ocean and beach mingling with the scents of her skin and hair. Her arms wrap around my waist. Soft lips nibble-kiss their way along my throat, making me hum when she lingers at an especially sensitive spot. I slide a hand up her back to knead the nape of her neck, eliciting little contented puppylike sounds. It has been a very long day, what with the flight from Toronto, the drive down the coast from Tampa, then the ferry trip to the island. Just being able to stretch out and hold her like this feels so damned good.

"Hey, babe, d'you want a drink?" she says after a while. "They're supposed to have stocked the pantry for us."

"Yes, please. Just water, though — I'm feeling a little dehydrated."

Scrambling to her feet, she bends to give me a kiss, then patters the few steps over to the tiny kitchen. Harsh buzzing greenish fluorescent light flickers on long enough for her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and find a couple of glasses in a cabinet. Returning to the sofa, she pours for both of us and settles back into my embrace.

A small smile crooks up one side of my mouth. "Ronald McDonald?" I say, amused, inspecting the much-scratched leering face on my glass.

She holds up her own tumbler to show me a barely recognizable Mayor McCheese. "Nothing but the finest crystal for us, m'lady."

Draining her glass, she sets it on the coffee table next to mine. I slide lower so that she winds up draped over me, her body melding with mine in a familiar tangle of limbs. Tipping up her chin, I claim her mouth, brushing the heavy curtain of her dreads away from her cheek as I lose myself in the sweet depths of our kiss. I slip my hands beneath the edge of her tanktop to stroke little circles over the silky skin at the small of her back.

A shuddering sigh hitches its way through her chest. "Fuck, babe, I want you so much."

"Oh, I certainly hope so, chérie. It's been almost twelve whole hours since we last made love," I tease. Hungrily we devour one another until we are breathless, our lips swollen and bruisingly tender.

Her hand bunches in my blouse to yank its tails out from the waistband of my shorts, tearing the thin material and sending buttons flying in her haste. She glides her palms upward, deliberately lingering at the slight swells of my breasts and pinching my nipples between her fingers, not gently. I gasp at the twin jagged bolts that seem to be hard‐wired to my already flooded cunt.

Impatiently I sit up and strip off what's left of my blouse and camisole, tossing them somewhere on the floor. Rolling us over with my hip, I wrap my hands around her wrists so that she is happily trapped beneath me. I raise up on my arms to tilt my weight away from her chest and emphasize the slow grind of my pelvis against hers.

She regards me intently. A white‐flashing smile steals across her face. "What?" I ask, curious.

"I was just thinking that it would be a shame to, like, spoil your skin with tan lines."

I laugh. "That's why we brought the SPF 100 sunblock. And you did say that most of the people who come here are weekenders and the rest of the time this place is almost deserted. Surely we can find someplace where we can swim naked."

Her eyes are huge, luminous behind her glasses. "Do anything else you want while naked, too. Matter of fact," her voice drops half an octave, "there's dozens of spots around the island where you could fuck me senseless with no one to hear me scream other than a handful of seagulls and some horseshoe crabs."

I arch an eyebrow at her. "Dozens, hmm?"

"Dozens," she nods, reaching up for a kiss. "Now, Dr. Cormier," she wraps her legs around me to pull me even more tightly against her, "take me to bed."

As if she can hear the hard insistent chant inside my head, her hips grind harder, making me swallow a groan. I trail my fingers down the center of her chest, playing lightly in the valley between her breasts. "Is there anything wrong with the sofa?"

"Not a thing," she gasps, writhing beneath me. "Except that something is making me stick to the vinyl. Pretty sure I don't wanna know what's on there."

Laughing, I roll to a stand and help her up. Taking me by the hand, she leads me down a narrow hallway to the main bedroom.

Far more charming than the living room, the room contains a white-painted wrought iron bed, white wicker furniture and a set of French doors that Cosima flings open to reveal a wide deck that overlooks the beach; in the darkness, only foam-capped rollers with their faint phosphorescent trails are visible, along with a lone red signal light from a softly clanging buoy a few hundred meters offshore. Through the open doors and Bermuda shutters, the rhythmic crash of the waves is hypnotic, soothing. Sea grass rugs lend their pleasant, sweet smell to the ocean breezes skirling through the small space.

Turning down the bed, I am delighted to find Irish linen sheets, an incongruous luxury in the otherwise nondescript surroundings. Though in a way, they're more practical than they would seem: linen is an exceptionally durable fabric, and its fine crisp weave is kind to sun-chafed skin as well as breathable in the hot muggy climate.

But the unexpected pleasure of that discovery pales in comparison to the breathtaking appeal of my beautiful girl, now stalking naked toward me with unmistakable intent. Draping her arms around my neck, she pulls me into a deep kiss. The press of her breasts is delicious, her hardened nipples jutting just below mine. Quickly I divest myself of my shorts and underwear, needing to feel all of her against me. Nestling my thigh between hers, I encounter the pulsing heat of her sex, making her moan into my mouth. With my right hand I lift and brace the wrap of her left leg around my hip; my other hand travels over the flat of her belly, her fingers resting loosely on my wrist and not so subtly urging me downward. The noise that tears from her throat isn't quite human as my fingers tease a slow meandering path through her soaking, turgidly swollen lips. She leans heavily against me and whimpers with every slightest swirl and rub.

"Inside, babe," she breathes.

Easily I slip two fingers into her slick heat, stroking and curling until she is arching into the invasion. My thumb finds her clit already near to bursting and begins rubbing in firm tight circles; a cataract of obscenities pours from her mouth even as wetness pours from her clasping sex.

The thunderous pulse at her throat begs to be bitten. I gather the fragile flesh in my teeth, bearing down to mark her lightly to blood and to remind her just how vulnerable she is at this moment. Her hips undulate in pleasure as I slide a third finger inside her cunt; at the same time, I rim her ass with the tip of my pinky, sometimes flicking at the spasming ring to send an electric jolt through her body. Curling my fingers upward with every thrust, working her clit relentlessly, it is not long before she tumbles over the edge of that first peak, shuddering and clinging to me all the while.

I let her leg drop so she can steady herself with both feet. We stand together panting, her head resting on my shoulder, my fingers still buried inside her palpitating cunt. Both of us are already veneered in sweat, the small ceiling fan doing little to stir the heavy salt-dampness whenever the air currents eddy to a halt.

Avidly drinking in every expression and emotion that fleets across her face, I stroke the flushed satin of her cheek. I bend to kiss her softly, not demanding now, just wanting the silent reassuring communion of our mouths, lips and tongues. Smiling, I rest my forehead against hers. "By the way, I like the bedroom."

Cosima snorts, laughing into my neck. Carefully I free my hand and wrap my arms more securely around her waist, marveling as always at the way we instinctively fit against each other. She is not even close to being satiated, I know, but the knife-edge of want has been blunted slightly and we are both loath to break the spell of our connection. "Come to bed," she murmurs, kissing me again. "I'll give you the full nickel tour of the place in the morning."

The bed is a double, much more cozy than the absurdly vast expanse of the California king in my flat. Its frame creaks with every movement, the bedsprings adding their musical complaints to the din. Shifting so that I am lying braced on my elbows atop her, I give her my best wicked smile. "You don't imagine for one moment that I am through with you, do you?"

She spreads her legs, both of us groaning as my dripping sex settles and glides against hers. Hands stroke the length of my back, blunt nails scratching delightfully. "You'd damned well better not be."

I lean in to kiss her fiercely. Breaking away with a slight gasp, I dust tiny kisses over her fluttering eyelids, down her nose, along the angles of her jawline. Letting my hair trail over her skin, I kiss my way down her neck to her breasts with their painfully turgid nipples, marring the pale-olive perfection of her flesh with scarlet half-moons from my teeth. My lips absorb every warm supple curve and line of her torso until I am nuzzling the damp-darkened curls that cover her mound. Inhaling the rich scent of her arousal, my hands run up the backs of her thighs, smoothing over the curves of her awesomely straining buttocks. Wedging with my shoulders and elbows, I open her wider for my delectation, bending to slowly swipe the flat of my tongue through the length of her folds.

Hips rolling into the touch of my mouth, her hands wind painfully into my hair, urging my lips and tongue to increase their pressure. The thick hot flood from her cunt is intoxicating. My tongue wriggles and plunges and swirls in her churning depths. As her movements grow increasingly frantic, the bed frame squeaking and thumping in protest, I drag my tongue up and down either side of her pulsing clit and lash at it from side to side until she writhes and jerks and leaps beneath me, howling in wordless agonized ecstasy.

Lungs rasping harshly, she weakly pushes away my mouth from her hypersensitized clit. I rest my head on her trembling thigh so that she can feel my lightest breath playing over the soaked tangle covering her sex. She finds a shred of voice and gasps, "Goddamn, Dr. Cormier. Get up here."

I chuckle, ghost a kiss at the very top of her mound, and comply, carefully crawling up to lie beside her. She is still shaking as I gather her into my embrace. Her head finds its place on the round of my shoulder, her dreads fanning out on the pillow behind her. Draping her arm possessively over me, her hand nestles beneath the curve of my breast.

The lower half of my face is drenched in her come. Absently she kisses along my jawline, tasting herself. The fragrant scent of her mingles with the sharp tang of clean sweat and the brine of the ocean.

I press my lips to her temple. "Are you all right, chérie?"

"Oh, yeah." She lets her mouth drift lower, lingering over the pounding pulse at the side of my neck until the heavy limpness of her slight frame and the deep even tide of her breath tell me that she has fallen briefly asleep. Surveying the tangle of our bodies, feeling the liquid pulsing heat between my legs, I am content to drift in a ferment of simmering arousal while I wait for her to awaken.