He smiles to himself while making little plans in his head and then disappears with his phone. When I question what he's up to, he looks at me wide eyed, keeping a straight face and shakes his beautiful head, shrugging his shoulders.
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Then he looks down and grins. If I persist, he distracts me.
This usually involves his fingers, his mouth and most often his very, very, wicked tongue.
Physically on me, obviously, but often as a whispered string of poetic words, that sear through my brain at the perfect moment, tipping me over the edge of whatever inner precepice he has me dangling over at the time.
We've been on the boat for 10 days. After a 3 day stop in Italy, where I fell in love with my husband speaking Italian, we're close to our next destination. I've just been in the water and now I'm sunbathing, while he reads his map down below deck. I hear him moving around, making lots of noise. It goes on for a couple of minutes, before I have to say something.
"Can, what are you doing?"
"Nothing, Just tidying up."
I don't open my eyes. This is normal behaviour for him. The man just can't keep still when he's in one of these moods.
He mumbles about going for a swim himself and I raise my hand up in acknowledgement that I've heard him then I put my large straw hat over my face. I hear him dive in with a huge splash and I smile at the thought and the images in my head.
First, the Albatross. Outstretched wings become Can's arms. Then I'm imagining taut back muscles moving under smooth tanned skin. A tight, perfect, naked behind and strong thighs and shapely calves as he jumps off and propels himself into the air.
The sun is hot today. My skin has tanned well. With no one around I feel confident enough to take off my wet bikini. The towel I'm laying on is big enough to wrap around me if I needed to cover up quickly. No white patches for me this honeymoon. The perks of being on a boat. The last thing I remember is stretching out and the screech of the seagulls.
And the next thing is the shock of cold wet hands jerking my knees apart and an icy mouth with an over-active warm tongue invading my body. I arch up with a yelp and pull the hat off my face. Deep brown eyes stare up at me, piercing my inner calm and a long wet forearm and big tanned hand smooth up my torso. The sight of his perfect thumb is fleeting before it gets pushed into my mouth. It's large and cold, wet and salty and my own tongue swirls around it, licking and sucking until it I've got rid of the sea taste from it. We are both moaning now. When I grab his wrist and flatten my tongue, moving on to his other fingers, his tongue does the same on me and I breathe in. My next manoeuvre involves licking his middle finger all the way up and down and when I feel his head move I know he's decided to play some sort of copycat game with me. I smile at the thought and I can feel him smiling too. No words needed. We connect on a psychic level.
