Taking his Risk (Year of the Billionaire Part 2) (5 page)

"Probably not."

"Besides, you father is going to drive me utterly insane. I am seriously worried about what I'm going to do when it's time for him to retire."

"I hear ya, Mom."

"So, where has he taken you?"

To the moon, to the stars, to heaven
. "We're in France. Private jet, big yacht. The whole nine yards."

"It sounds wonderful. You're a lucky girl." It was odd to hear my mother say something like that. Normally she would have registered at least token disapproval. Most of the time it was easy for Mom to pretend that I was as celibate as a nun. Because most of the time I was. The few times that she had to acknowledge I was screwing some guy, she did so reluctantly. It was as if her motherly duty was to at least pay lip service to the moral code
she had done a half-assed job of instilling in me. But this time, with Tristan, she seemed to approve, if not actually celebrate my misbehavior.

Was it the money? Did the thought of her daughter hooking up with a billionaire miraculously change her standards?  As soon as I had those thoughts I felt ashamed of myself. No man--no boy, really--had ever so much as considered my parents. The few times I'd brought a guy home to meet them it was as if they were doing me a favor to even be there. Frankly, even I found the guys of my generation rude.

Now here comes Tristan, only seven or eight years older than I and he's like a knight in shining armor. No one asked him to step in and take charge. He could have easily ignored my parents' situation and I wouldn't have even noticed. But he didn't and in doing what he did may very well have saved my father's life. No wonder Mom was so infatuated with him. Who could blame her?

Who could blame me?

Four

We left the dock early the next morning. Tristan explained that we'd anchor off
shore and take the little rubber dingy into the beach.

"You really don't want to stand in line for an hour waiting to get into the village," he told me.
"Fortunately, it's September. I've never been here in August, but I'm told it's a real zoo. Most of Europe takes the entire month off."

We zipped close into shore and Kwan stopped the boat Tristan jumped into the water with a waterproof bag and I followed him. He told Kwan that we'd call when we were ready to be picked up. I watched the dingy disappear quickly toward the far end of the sands
.

Paddling toward the sand at a leisurely pace, we used the waterproof bag as a float. I watched Tristan reach under the surface and wiggle himself out of his bathing suit.

"Is there a rule…I mean about being naked?"

"You're asking whether you're required to be in the buff?"

"Yes."

"I don't think there's a rule, per se. You'd just get some dirty looks--and not in a nice way.
Naturists don't appreciate gawkers and that's what is assumed if a clothed person shows up on a nude beach, but mostly that applies to guys. You can certainly keep your bottoms on. Women often do, especially if they have their period."

"I think I'll start with that."
I untied my top and slung it over the floating bag.

"Suit yourself. This isn't a test. We're here to have fun and be liberated. Just swimming naked like this feels great to me. I hate wearing a bathing suit. Especially when there's any hint of sand involved."
He smiled and did a surface dive. I watched his tight ass crest the water and disappear for a moment.

"You'd better
slather on the sunscreen on that butt of yours. It's as white as snow," I said when he came up for air.

"Oh, don't worry, th
ere's plenty in the bag. And I'm looking forward to you making sure I'm well protected
all
over."

Tristan was absolutely right about the beach.
As soon as we stepped out of the water I realized what the whole point was. At first I felt self-consciously beautiful. That was weird. I, who had never thought of myself as particularly stunning, stood in the bright sunshine with the breeze on my breasts and felt utterly gorgeous.

All around me, as Tristan had forewarned, there were human beings in every shape and size imaginable. There were many who were well past their prime. There were plenty who needed to drop ten pounds, or fifty.  There was a smattering of skinny kids not yet in school and
a fair number of young people, like us, slim and shapely. There were lots of smiles and I swear no one even looked at my chest.

Nakedness is a great equalizer. It took all of fifteen minutes for me to accept that no one was the least bit impressed or shocked by my appearance one way or the other. I quickly shed the bottom half of my suit as Tristan went to get an umbrella and a couple of lounge chairs from the rental kiosk. He returned to find me coating myself with lotion oblivious to anything but the best angle for our chairs.

"Feels great, doesn't it?" he asked me when we were settled into our spot. We spent the rest of the afternoon people watching. I guess it was my newness to it all, but I couldn't help but size up the genitals of the people walking by. It's hard to describe how something can be very sexual and utterly not at the same time. I saw more penises and pussies in a few hours than I might ever see again for the rest of my life. Without staring rudely, it was still possible to take in the endless variation in human anatomy. I suppose if our society covered hands as a rule, I'd have been noticing hands.

"I now realize that you are as well endowed as I thought you were."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Tristan looked down at his cock in mock dismay. "I thought you worshipped the mighty King's sword!"

"That goes without saying, of course. It's just that I've
never had the chance to compare . . . so many all at once."

"One thing you'll notice right away is that a man's penis size is inversely related to the size of his gut. The bigger the belly, the smaller the dick."

I had to suppress my giggles from that moment on every time a fat man walked by. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but he was absolutely right about the correlation.

We played "spot the fake tits". Tristan assured me that he had firsthand experience with both kinds and could almost always spot store-bought boobs. There were some nicely done sets of knockers, I have to admit. But he told me to watch what happened when a fake set went vertical versus the real thing. It didn't take me long to become an expert.
Another dead giveaway was an unnaturally pert bosom on a lady who should have been sagging. Not that I blamed the old gals.

It humbled me to see how age takes its toll on the flesh. I watched the older men, some still in very good shape and glanced over at the Adonis beside me.
Tristan had his eyes closed. His body was nicely tanned, except for the pale pair of skin shorts his nakedness wore. I watched the rise and fall of his hard chest, the golden hair glistening with suntan lotion, pectoral muscles untouched by gravity, skin unblemished by the spots of age. His long, lean legs were comfortably parted, his cock flaccid against his thigh, a flat abdomen above it. He was all youth and all prime.

A lump rose in my throat when I realized that I
still wanted to know him when his posture was a little less straight, when his muscles showed a lifetime of use, when his golden snatch of hair was streaked with gray. I knew I could feel about him then just as I did at that moment. Even in my mind, I didn't dare put a name to it. It was too scary to admit, even to myself, that I was falling in love with a man who had told me repeatedly that there could be no expectations. Love is nothing
but
expectations and on a very grand scale.

When Tristan opened his eyes, I think I surprised him by suggesting we take a walk. I wanted to distract myself from too many heavy thoughts. Naked window shopping seemed to be as good a distraction as any.

"Wasn't I right when I told you the whole 'naked in public' thing would fade fast?"

"You were absolutely right. It actually feels more innocent to be this way than if everyone had bathing suits on."

"That's because a bathing suit only reminds you that there's something hidden. With this kind of naturism, you quickly realize that we're all just variations of the same theme."

I couldn't help but suppress some giggles as we strolled down the cobbled streets. We had  nothing on but flip-flops and sun glasses. We carried a couple of towels to sit on and a small bag with our essentials.

We passed a Laundromat where several couples chatted and folded towels and sheets--not many dirty socks or underwear generated in
Cap d'Agde
. We wandered through a wine shop and a market where we picked up some fresh fruit. In the course of a few short hours I had become completely at ease. Tristan was right, it felt free and good and wholesome.

Lunch was
Salad Nicoise
, crusty country bread and a local white wine. It was simple and perfect. The café was right on the edge of the beach, the breeze was gentle and warm and the children's laughter seemed to punctuate the purity of this Eden before the fall.

We dozed next to each other on the lounge chairs after lunch. Before I drifted off, I remembered how I had wished to do exactly this--take a nap by Tristan's side.
I hadn't expected it to happen, and certainly not on a naturist beach on the Mediterranean Sea.

When we woke, we called Kwan. Even with the sunscreen, there were parts of us that were in danger of getting just a wee too much sun for one day.

Back on King's Risk, we slipped into the hot tub up on the upper deck.  The sun was starting to set and the warm water felt wonderful against my slightly sunburned skin. Tristan had planned dinner aboard as he said that we had probably had the best food the Cap had to offer the night before.

"You seem to have enjoyed your day."

I slid closer to him and played with his foot under the swirling water. "I feel very sensuous. Very much in touch with myself and nature."

"I'd like to be very much in touch with you," he said as he ran his hand down across my chest and tickled just once between my legs. I
felt the instant awakening he summoned so easily stir inside me. "I'd love to fuck you right now."

Straddling him, I felt his cock bobbing beneath my folds. I put my hands on his incredibly broad shoulders, massaging the muscles un
der my hands. "I won't stop you . . ." He took one of my hands and wrapped it around his erection. I stroked him between my legs under the warm water.

"Feel how you sti
ffen me so quickly?"

I moved to take him inside of me. I was so wet all it would take was for me to lower myself down onto him. But he raised my hips with his big hands at the sides of my ass and sat me beside him again.

"I think not. A little tension is good for you."

"You're a horrible tease, you know that?"

"I have something special in mind for you tonight. I think after our adventure today, you're ready for more tonight," he smiled at me, but there was a shadow of darkness to his eyes that I hadn't seen in days. Something was going on inside--deep, where I couldn't touch. Where I wasn't allowed to go.

Five

Conversation at dinner was light. Deliberately and uncomfortably light, at least for me. I'd been denied a real emotional connection from the very beginning--ordered in no uncertain terms not to analyze or succumb to expectations. So, my psyche did what came naturally. I filled in all the blanks for myself. I interpreted every silence, every word, every touch and every action trying to get some sense of how Tristan actually
felt
about me. I came up with bits and pieces I couldn't connect. He was like a jigsaw puzzle and I couldn't find any straight edges to start with. I only had unrelated middle bits, none of which fit together.

He was willing to pay almost any amount of attention to my physical well being, whether that took the form of luxury surroundings, fantastic gifts, amazing food  and drink or sex better than I could have even half imagined. He seemed genuinely concerned about my safety and my parent
s' as well. He lavished compliments on me and reacted to my touch in ways that told me he desired me with a primal passion I had never before experienced.

And yet.  Neither one of us had ever expressed anything emotional that wasn't connected to sex. For my part, it was a conscious and difficult effort. I wanted to
talk about . . . us. I wanted to ask all about Elsa and even about the little-boy Tristan and his lost momma. But under 'the rules' that I had agreed to more than once, those kinds of things fell under the 'analysis' and 'expectation' categories and were off limits.

I sipped my
wine in silence, wondering--no,
analyzing
--where the relationship was going to go. Had I been foolish in thinking that I could enter into this kind of unwritten contract? Every time he fucked me I became more attached. I couldn't help it.

He had entwined his life with mine. First, by his rescue of my father and all that came after. How was I supposed to refuse that? More to the point, how was I supposed to put the brakes on it now?
Sorry, Dad, Mom, but I've decided to throw you under the bus because I just can't handle this deal with Tristan. Good luck.