Mykonos Stars Pulse and Explode
Moon over Berlin, Sun over Santorini — B3C9
Juliette cut through the swells, rotating from her hips to shoot forward, a sword of blue toledo steel whisking out of its sheath. She dug in hard, muscles burning, breaths sharp and energizing. She shot up onto a smooth rock and perched, scanning the bay.
There! Two heads bobbed along like softballs, a good fifty yards away. By the time Ian and Dima panted their way up and collapsed, her own breathing was calm and steady. The hundred-some yards they’d raced was nothing.
“Look at you two all out of breath,” she teased. “Big strong men beat by a girl!”
Ian’s eye’s widened and he sat up straight. “Get her!” he laughed.
Then she was struggling with slippery skin and too many arms pushing and pulling. Just as she managed to pry one sun-browning elbow from around her neck, three hands were pushing on her back.
Laughter cut off abruptly as she plunged into bubbly waves and cold filled her ears with underwater echoes. She kept her eyes open against a salt sting and scanned, quickly spotting a foot dangling just out of reach. One dolphin kick and a sharp tug later, and the water exploded with the sonic boom of a body crashing through the surface.
She shot up for a quick breath, just in time to see Dima dive off the rock. She ducked him as soon as he surfaced, then shot off toward the other rock, the one where they’d started the race. She taunted them over her shoulder. “You can’t catch me!”
“How can you swim so fast?” asked Ian 15 minutes later as the three of them baked in the sun. “You don’t even get out of breath.”
She thought about teasing him about how unfit he was, then decided to get serious. “Anybody could do it. It’s just technique.” She slipped off the rock and held on with one hand. “You guys are plowing over the top of the water like barges. Not even Mark could go fast like that, no matter how huge his muscles are.”
“Let me show you.” She motioned, and they splashed into the swells beside her. She led them to waist-deep water and demonstrated swimming technique for the next thirty minutes.
“Rotate! Drive from the core! All the way on your side, shoulder pointed straight at the bottom. That’s it!” She grabbed Ian by the slick fabric of his swimsuit and held him firmly. She cupped his lower abs and squeezed. “Feel that? You want that to be hard as steel as you reach and stroke.”
Dima giggled.
She smirked but ignored him. “Grab the water, Ian. Cup your palm and pull with your core as you rotate. Your abs should be working harder than your arms.”
“And you!” She glared at Dima, who was still laughing, with mock severity. “Get over here and help me.” She guided his hands. “That’s it. Hold his hips so he can’t move forward.”
She placed a hand on Ian’s thigh. “Rotate!” She ran both hands down his legs, grabbing his calves and suppressing the size of his kick. “Flex your ankles like flippers. That’s it! Not too big, you’ll just tire yourself out. Flex! Rotate! Kick!”
Much better, she thought. His form was looking pretty good. She ran her hands along his body one last time, enjoying the feel of taught muscles playing under slick skin.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “OK, done! Your turn, funny boy,” she teased, grabbing Dima.
She watched them practice all afternoon as she sunbathed on the beach beside Mark.
Ian stared back at the poodle as it gazed silently through the vine-covered fence slats. Mark refilled his glass, and he sipped thoughtfully as the dog rose up off its haunches and evaporated into the night.
Ian’s muscles pushed themselves into his attention, tingling from hard swimming. Since Juliette had taught them better form two days before, he and Dima had been racing from rock to rock for hours each afternoon. Twice, they’d even managed to almost stay even with her.
Even before he slipped his hand under his tee shirt, he could sense the outline of each individual ridge complaining beneath his skin.
They’d already eaten and gone dancing. Now the four of them were back among the grape trellises, sharing a long table with a group of loud university students from Lyon.
He looked over and spotted Dima still wrapped around a couple girls his own age. Mark’s voice boomed over the chatter. “Two more carafes, please. Or, actually, better make it three.”
Before long, everyone’s glasses were slopped full again.
“Oh, merci, Marc,” cooed one of the girls snuggled up into Dima. “T’es aussi généreux que fort et joli.” Ian grimaced as she untangled herself from his … boyfriend .. and kissed Mark on the cheek.
As generous as you are strong and cute, he mumbled under his breath. Give me a break! He knew Mark couldn’t understand her words, but Dima could, perfectly well. The way they were all pawing at him was driving him nuts.
He glanced over at Juliette to see if she was equally annoyed, but she only looked tipsy, smiling indulgently as Mark flexed his biceps for an admiring female audience.
So, Ian sat and drank. Bored. Telling himself he wasn’t sulking.
Mark stood up and picked up the cheap acoustic guitar he’d bought the day before. “Hey, come on, guys. There’s supposed to be some people jamming down by the port. I wanna go play for a while.”
Dima and the French kids jumped up right away, pushing out of the wine garden. Ian trailed behind, scuffing his sandals on rough stone as they filed into a whitewashed alley. A tug on his arm stopped him.
Juliette whispered into his ear. “Hey, it’s late and I’m getting cold.” She pushed her body into his, shivers running up and down her torso infecting him with chills. “I’m going back. Wanna come?”
“Why not?” He wasn’t having fun, anyway.
Juliette called out their plans to Mark, who waved and strode quickly down the hill. Juliette threw an arm over Ian’s shoulder as they peeled away from the group.
Dima didn’t even look back.
The night’s cold had turned suddenly hard, and Ian and Juliette were both more than a little drunk. They clung to each other for stability and warmth as they climbed up through the village.
Ian had held Juliette close many times, more times than he could could remember, but tonight felt different. Something vibrated from deep inside her, finding a path to him, finding a way inside. He remembered the time she held his body teaching him to swim. Now, like then, her fingers etched electric trails as they grazed his skin.
“Look how beautiful,” she whispered, pushing him to turn around. The town spread out below them, flickering lights reaching up for blazing stars while yellow blurs bobbed up and down further out, the fishing fleet preparing for a night’s work.
“We’re here,” he said, nodding at the hotel just up the road.
“Let’s not go in just yet,” she murmured. “Not to our rooms.”
His voice tightened as he tried to answer. “It’s late. I’m really cold.”
“It’s too beautiful to let it end just yet. Drink wine with me?”
They walked into the lobby and up to the desk. “A cold bottle of Domestica and two glasses?” Juliette asked the clerk.
Then she was leaning in, letting Ian take her weight as they navigated the stairs and emerged onto the roof. At well past 2:00, the scattering of chaises longues were long deserted. He felt Juliette slip away as he gazed up at the pulsing Milky Way.
“Over here,” she called out. He could barely make out her shadow melting into a dark corner the stars could only pretend to penetrate.
“Sit with me,” she said, patting the chaise as he approached. Sinking down, he relaxed into her, lusting after her body heat as they fumbled with glasses and bottle. They sipped, clinking glasses as she pointed out stars with one hand and traced light circles on his chest with the other.
“Mmmm,” she sighed after finishing off the first glass, setting it down, lowering her star-pointing finger to his shoulder and leaning in closer. “Finally feeling warmer.” She rested her head on his shoulder, close-cropped hair tickling his cheek, smelling of musk and spice.
Her other hand ceased its circling and started to knead and stroke through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“Juliette… what? I don’t …”
“Shh. Don’t talk.” She placed a finger gently on his lips, then reached for his glass and set it down with hers. Her fingers ran up inside his sleeve, tracing patterns on bare skin.
His heart started to pound as she nestled up against him. His swim-weary muscles tensed, and he started to open his mouth to tell her he was going down to bed.
Her long fingers found the nape of his neck and squeezed, gently at first, then with increasing pressure. He melted, letting his head droop, sighing just loudly enough to be heard.
Her fingers circled around to his throat and he closed his eyes, intent on simply feeling and being. Her soft, fragrant body pushed into his. Her slender fingers mined shivers from his skin and sent them dancing over his body.
“Mmm, so beautiful,” he heard her whisper.
He reached for her as she cupped his chin in both hands then caressed his cheeks. His own hands roamed, tracing the defined muscles of her back through her polo shirt.
He shivered, but from nervous tension rather than cold.
She leaned forward slightly and their lips melted together. So sweet, the tip of her tongue cinnamon and fire. They intertwined, limbs curling and joining — seeking.
Her hands were everywhere at once; gliding, gently stroking, exploring. She was under his shirt, teasing his nipples, moaning in his ear, caressing under the hem of his shorts, tickling his bare inner thigh.
His anxiety melted in moments, his body responding with an electric jolt. He moaned in fierce arousal as he felt himself stiffen into iron pleasure, thrusting his hips to strengthen the pleasure and draw it out.
Her breath came in short pants as he reached for her again, running his hands under her shirt, finding and tracing the tiny muscles at the very small of her back; supple, firm, slippery silk. He worked his way up and remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She arched her back and pulled her shirt off in one fluid motion. He stopped and stared, intimidated by her beauty, put off by breasts, which looked soft and firm at the same time, out of place, not what he’d expected. He closed his eyes as she placed his hands on them. He squeezed softly and felt her moans vibrate into his palms, tingling.
He felt a tug and heard a snap, looked down to see her hand inside his waistband. A jolt of pleasure shook him as she squeezed, then lifted his shirt over his head. She pushed him into a lying position on the chaise, and he felt the wind tickling his bare skin as she slid his shorts down past his hips.
His fingers caressed and explored, teasing gasps out of her as she bent over him, lips roaming slick and hot over his body. Up and down, head to toe. She paused for a moment, then he sucked in his breath, head pounding, hips thrusting as she took him in her mouth, hot and tight.
She moved on and tickled his nipples with her tongue as he caught his breath. Soon, he was reaching for her again, and her own shorts went sliding to the floor.
She pushed him down hard again as he squeezed his eyes closed. She straddled him, mounted him, enveloped him in pulsing heat.
As the pleasure mounted, he receded, thoughts fading together, merging with memory, playing dreamlike across the back of his eyelids. Green Week, Das Blub, the balcony with Dima, the beach. He felt the heat of the summer, the laughter, the love of his friends.
Juliette, Mark, Dima … Juliette, Dima … Dima. It all came together, they all came together, melting into a dense, fiery ball that burnt him, then exploded, leaving him breathless and drained.
He opened his eyes some time later, vaguely surprised to see Juliette rocking on top of him, elongating his pleasure. She touched a finger to his lips, shaking her head a little sadly, whispering so low he could barely make out her words. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me where you went just now.”
She stood, slipped on her clothes, covered him with his shirt, brushed his cheek with paper dry lips, then evaporated into the darkness.
