Although I had barely rested from the previous night's exertions, I woke to find her mouth once again on my cock and her fingers gently caressing my balls. As the morning sun streamed in through the half open window her blonde hair appeared to shimmer and dance as she bobbed up and down on my quickly hardening prick. In spite of the suffering my head was experiencing from the amount of alcohol I had consumed the previous night, the dullness was slowly being replaced by the feeling of euphoria she was giving me. It did not seem possible that having met only twenty four hours or so earlier, we could find ourselves in bed, together.
The raw nerves exposed by the break-up of our marriages were put on hold as we found a kind of solace in each other's arms, although I didn't think either of us felt that we were on the rebound of a 'lost love', or what we had was just a fleeting holiday romance. The fact that neither of us were in the first flush of youth, both being in our mid forties, made the feelings we felt almost surreal. We were acting as if we were teenagers again, finding secluded places to make love, first down a quiet alleyway, then on the moonlit beach. It has to be admitted that we had little in common, my love of sport against hers of the arts, yet our very differences seemed to pull us together, like opposites attracting.
She looked up at me, her eyes seeking mine, before raising her hand and playfully wiggling her fingers at me in greeting. I responded by resting my hands on her head, pushing her gently onto me, feeling my cock momentarily touching the back of her throat. She gagged on me; I apologised but she just laughed and continued to fellate me. I could feel my climax approaching and began to pull her up my body so that she could straddle me or maybe just finish me off with her hand, but she resisted, continuing to suck my cock deep into her. I was close. I could feel the pressure building in my balls.
"I'm cumming," I whispered, to give her the chance to remove me, not knowing if she would want me to ejaculate into her mouth, or not. She continued to suck me and I flooded her, the copious amount surprising me after the previous night. Her oral ministrations did not pause even though I was going limp in her mouth. Then, raising her head, she showed me my cum resting on her tongue, before swallowing.
"Mmm . . . breakfast," she laughed, moving up my body to kiss me gently on the lips. I could taste myself on her, something I had never done before with my ex-wife; I found it not unpleasant.
"Good morning," she said, the laughter still ringing in her voice.
"It certainly is," I responded, drawing her close to kiss her again, wrapping my arms around her to feel her warm body and full breasts against me.
She pulled away. "Breakfast, I think. I've had mine but you need to keep your strength up," she joked, as she rolled off the bed and moved to the bathroom. I followed, standing behind her as she washed, allowing my hands to explore her body as I planted butterfly kisses on the nape of her neck.
"Breakfast," she insisted, and slipped past me into the bedroom, beginning to dress.
"Let's eat on the balcony, naked," I suggested, "we can't be seen."
"My, you are getting adventurous! Okay," she laughed. "I'll bring it out."
I went out on to the balcony and positioned my chair so that I could watch her busying herself in the small kitchen area of the Greek 'pension'. I loved the way her breasts bounced as she moved from one kitchen unit to the next, collecting the fruit, the way she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, causing her backside to sway, as she stretched across the work surfaces.
I thought of our meeting on the beach. A little clichéd, I suppose. She wanted some suntan lotion on her back and I was the nearest person. I wondered if it was that simple, or whether I had been selected for some other reason. I knew it wasn't for the large bulge in my shorts; I wasn't that lucky. I didn't want to ask her, probably didn't really want to know. All I did know was that for the first time in years I was happy, and from the way she laughed and giggled at all my inane jokes I think she was too, at least I hoped and prayed she was.
When I invited her to dinner, I half expected a refusal but she accepted. During the meal I discovered a little about her. She'd married young, had one son, now at university, and an ex-husband who liked his girls barely legal. After his third affair, or the third one she knew about, she decided to end the marriage. This was her first holiday since the divorce, the settlement financing it. In return I told her my story, pretty much the same. A wife that strayed, frequently. Luckily, although I didn't believe it in the early years of our sham of a marriage, no children. That was probably all we knew about each other. I told her my name, Robert, and found out that hers was Susan, but I still didn't know her last name, nor she mine. Yet here we were, spending the night together. It didn't seem wrong, in fact, nothing in recent times seemed more right. My thoughts were interrupted by the jangle of glasses as she moved them onto a tray. She walked towards me with it, laden with fruit and juice.
"This is so naughty," she said smiling, looking around just to confirm that we weren't seen.
"If anyone could see us they wouldn't be looking at me, that's for sure," I said, my eyes wandering over her body.
"Don't put yourself down," she answered. "You have a great body."
"For forty three?" I asked, smiling.
"There you go again, self deprecating. You have to learn to stop that or people will think the low opinion you have of yourself is justified, and I know it isn't."
"What happens after the holiday?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Let's see how it goes, we haven't fucked enough to see if I want you or not, yet," she laughed, her eyes twinkling.
I allowed mine to open wide, in mock disdain, at her comment. She laughed again.
"Don't bother with that look," she said, "I know you're not some prude, or was what happened last night and this morning just a figment of my imagination?"
I laughed with her.
"Breakfast," I said, doing a passable imitation of her voice. She giggled... God, I loved that giggle. I couldn't remember when I enjoyed a breakfast more. It may have been only fruit and juice, but she made me wish that it could go on forever.
"Where to today?" she asked, sliding a piece of melon into her mouth seductively.
"I thought a secluded cove somewhere," I replied.
"You are insatiable," she said, "but I love you for it." The silence that followed was almost tangible. Did she really love me, or was it just a phrase picked glibly from the air in response to my suggestion?
"Let's pack," she said, sensing my unease.
We drove along the coastal road almost in silence. Me, slightly apprehensive of the sheer drop beside us into the clear, crystal sea of the Mediterranean, and her, just enjoying the breathtaking views. Her hand rested on my bare thigh as I drove, occasionally running from my knee to the seam of my shorts; a casual action, so simple yet so indicative of the ease we felt in each others company.
As we turned off the tarmac road and onto a dirt track leading down, I hoped, to the beach, I kept glancing at her. After the trauma I had suffered at the hands, and tongue, of my ex-wife I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have met her.
"Do you know where you're going?" she asked.
"No, not really," I replied. "Does it matter?"
"I don't think it does," she replied, resting her head on my shoulder as I drove.
A few minutes driving took us to a small, deserted cove, and after unpacking, we lay naked on our beach towels and basked in the warm sunshine.
She turned onto her side, facing me.
"Do you want me to move in?" she asked, "For the rest of the holiday, I mean."
