Fan-girling doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was beside myself with excitement when we arrived at Beaux Rêves and were subsequently shown to our suite. Being an interior designer whose favourite design era happens to be art-deco, I spent the first fifteen minutes taking pictures of everything, even the lampshades. Then I practically combusted with overwhelm when Logan unveiled the two nineteen-twenties dresses that he had Mercy buy for me last week, and the matching outfits he had her buy for himself. Taking the shorter of the two dresses, I stripped on the spot, much to Logan’s enjoyment, and revelled in how fucking cool I felt wearing this dress, here. I’ve never been so spoilt in my life!

I’m not sure what then came over me, but a few moments later, while Logan was getting changed for dinner in the bathroom, I manically collected up all of the hotel’s embossed stationary and hid it in my bag. My guilty conscience got the better of me, however, and I tried my best to appear innocent as I questioned Logan (a hotelier himself) about the legality of taking my stash of goodies. Once he stopped laughing at my antics, he gave me the all clear and so I spent our short journey down to the dining room looking for other suitable souvenirs, my brain feeling somewhat stressed by the amount of crazy coursing through me. I’ve never been so excited before in my life, not even when I went to Disney World as a child.

I relaxed during dinner in the Le Rêveur restaurant, partly because of the calming atmosphere and partly because of Logan’s foot nestled snugly between my thighs, hidden to everyone thanks to the floor length table cloths, issuing a very slow, sensual windup. Our dining experience was decadent, delicious and offered a glimpse into the hotel’s charm, the rest of which I am impatiently waiting until morning to uncover. Right now, there’s something else I want uncovered.

Logan kisses me slowly, deeply, before saying, “Anything for you.”

“Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.

My simple question lights a fire in Logan’s eyes. He nods, looking supremely turned on.

“I still want you naked,” I whisper against his lips. I smile as I add, “I’ll bet you double or nothing that I can get naked faster than you.”

His eyes narrow as he considers my offer. He’s got considerably more clothes to rid himself of than I have, but apparently he’s got a speedy trick up his sleeve because he smiles back at me and says, “Get ready to pay out, baby.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff, “I’m so going to win this time.”

He shifts his position, straddling me instead of lying between my legs. He’s got his game-face back on, his eyes are intense, he looks so attractive it’s distracting. “You seem pretty confident, Samuels.”

“I am,” I grin. “Now kindly get off of me, so that I can kick your ass.”

Logan chuckles. “Kick my ass? Really? Well, I wouldn’t be very smart if I let that happen, would I?”

Huh? I stare at him questioningly.

“Are you ready to start?” he asks.

“No, let me up,” I laugh.

“On your marks…” Logan begins.

“Let me up!” I squeal, wiggling, though there’s no use. Logan is sitting firmly on my pelvis.

“Get set…”

“Logan, being premature has never been a problem for you before—”

“Go!” Logan shouts.

I start squirming manically, determined to win. Logan watches me, undoing the buttons on his shirt in slow motion, his body shaking because he’s laughing so much. I can’t wiggle out from between his strong thighs, so instead I reach my hand down underneath his crotch.

“Foul…play!” Logan stammers through his laughter, thinking that I’m trying to grab him where it hurts.

I’m not. I move straight past his genitals, reaching my hand further until, mercifully, I find the hem of my dress. Immediately, I push my other hand down there too, and when I bring them slowly northward my dress comes with them.

Feeling gleeful, if not flushed from exertion, I say to Logan, “You’re losing, baby.”

Looking down he sees the progress I’m making. “Oh, shit!” He hurriedly unclips his suspenders, but instead of throwing them over his shoulders, he stretches them further forward, clipping them onto the bottom on my dress, hindering my progress.

I roll my eyes. I’m a mixture of emotion: competitive and crazy-keen to win, but also highly amused by Logan’s antics, not to mention turned on by our sparring.

While I hastily undo his suspenders from my dress, he’s got his bow tie undone and is quickly rid of his shirt. I continue with my progress and have the dress up and over my head one moment later. Then doing a sit up, I reach behind me to unclasp my bra. Logan tries to undo his trouser buttons and zip with one hand, whilst simultaneously pushing me back down to the bed with the other hand. Now it’s my turn to laugh and call foul play.

“Foul play overruled,” Logan says loudly and officially.

“By who?”

“By me,” he chuckles. “Dammit,” he mutters, failing to get his pants undone. He releases his other hand from my chest and I take my brief opportunity to sit up once more and get my bra off.

“I’m finished!” I yell, throwing it at him.

He looks confused, before kneeling up to look down at my crotch where there are no panties in sight. Despite the reprieve I don’t wiggle out of his reach, I really rather enjoy being under him.

“Where the fuck is your underwear?” he asks, looking like I’ve just performed some sort of magic trick.

“I wasn’t wearing any,” I say slowly, seductively. Between dinner and the bar, I raced up here to take them off, adding another exciting element to our game.

His mouth drops open and I smile, appreciating his awed reaction.

“I thought it would make our evening a little more interesting,” I continue. “My plan was to tell you in the bar, but I, uh, guess I was too shy.”

“You were far from shy, Gemima,” Logan grins, sitting on me once again. “I win the bet by default, you’re disqualified.”

“Why?” I laugh.

“Because you weren’t competition worthy,” he laughs too. “Underwear is mandatory,” he tells me as my hands move to finish opening his pants. I prize them open as wide as I can given his seated position and am greeted by his waiting erection, “though that might be the only time you ever hear me say that.”

“Would you like to repeat that?” I say, biting my lip and indicating his own commando situation.

He looks down. “Oh…damn,” he smiles cheekily.

“Disqualification overruled. Gemima wins everything,” I tell him, nestling into the bed with my arms folded behind my head. My movement makes my chest protrude, a sight which completely distracts Logan.

He places his hands flat on my stomach and glides them over my skin until he has my breasts cupped. “You look heavenly,” he says, looking at me hungrily, making my heart race.

I smile at him as I recall, “You’ve said that to me before.” I can easily remember our first night together when he arrived home early from his business trip: the nerves, the anticipation, the astounding pleasure… Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be here, totally and unconditionally in love with him such a short time later.

“I know,” he says quietly, remembering too. He climbs off of me and the bed, standing tall and gorgeous, before bending down to brush his lips against mine.

I giggle, “I’m owed two hundred euros worth of your best loving.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiles, his dimples pronounced.

He drops his pants, and my eyes are naturally drawn to look at his sizeable erection. I roll onto my side to be closer to him and I reach out my hand to take ahold of his penis. It’s big, hard, and an expert at delivering my pleasure. I stroke him a few times, causing Logan’s body to quiver involuntarily.

“I think he likes you,” he says.

My eyes dart up to meet his, and a split second later we burst into laughter. I don’t know if it’s the wine, or because we’re on holiday, but I’m certain that Logan and I have never laughed together as much as we have done tonight. I love it; I love blending our playfulness with our sexual desire for one another. It’s been such a long evening of play and foreplay and I’m so ready for him, so ready for that deep erotic longing to be satiated at last.