Haunted Honeymoon by Marta Acosta Page B

he had a tribal tattoo of a snake on his pec. The scent of his sunscreen aroused me, and when he peeled down his jeans and snug boxers, I was pleased to see how pleased he was.
    “Strip for me,” he said, and leaned back against the pillows.He turned on his sound system, and Jimmy Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” blasted out, which seemed really funny.
    I gyrated around the bed, slowly taking my clothes off. When I was in only a purple leopard-print bra, panties, and my heels, Wil’s expression changed and he groaned and rubbed himself as I teased him by dancing just out of reach.
    When the song was over and I stood naked in my heels, he said, “Come here, you,” and took my hand.
    I tried not to compare Wil to anyone else, because he was wonderful. He was young and single and enthusiastic and fun.
    I wanted to be the girl I was before … before the vampires, and I was glad I could control my reactions so that I didn’t automatically fling Wil across the room when he picked up a small knife.
    I took his wrist carefully so I wouldn’t crush the bones and pushed his arm back.
    “Why not?” he said.
    “Too soon.”
    Wil lay back on the bed, breathing heavily, and I thought I might have hurt his feelings. But he dropped the knife on the floor and said, “Do you want to tie me up?”
    We improvised with bungee cords and surf leashes, and I took him at my own pace, for my own pleasure, which was also his. When I was finished, I slid atop his sinewy, sweaty body and said, “Cowabunga, dude.”
    “Damn, Mil, that was crazy good. I’m totally noodled.”
    After I untied him, we sat on the bed, ate currant yogurt, and watched videos of Wil night surfing in Cornwall.
    He massaged my lower back. “It’s a rush knowing that I was snaking the Dark Lord’s chick.”
    “One, I’m not his chick, and we’ve never made any promises to each other. Two, ‘snaking his chick’ is not a felicitous turn of phrase …”
    Wil opened his mouth in an O and made a pumping gesture with his hand. “You said felicitous.”
    “Why do guys always do that? Three, I wouldn’t recommend gloating over Ian. Not that he’s jealous.” I remembered how he’d acted as if my love for Oswald was a temporary annoyance. “And, four, this is just a travel fling. Nothing counts when you’re on a trip,” I said, even though this hadn’t exactly worked for me in the past.
    “It counts to me, cutie,” Wil said, and I was touched by his tenderness.
    “Do you play Hendrix for all your dates?”
    “Advance planning. I’d hoped you’d come back with me,” he said. “You’re a natural top.”
    “Thank you.” I arched my back to display my ample assets. “They’re genuine.”
    He laughed. “No, I mean sexually. You’re a top.”
    “I don’t think so. I believe that relationships should be between equals.” I was going to say other things, too, thoughtful things, but then Wil’s hand went between my thighs and literary references didn’t seem so important.
    I awoke in the early morning when I heard the bedroom door open. I pulled up the sheet to cover myself and shook Wil, who put a pillow over his head.
    A middle-aged man in a dark suit stood in the doorway. His stern expression and conservative haircut and clothes made him seem as if he was from a different era. “Good morning, Mr. Spiggott. Will you take tea in bed, or the breakfast room?”
    Wil took the pillow away from his head and twisted around toward the doorway. “I can get my own tea, Matthews. I told you, just Wil.”
    “As you please, sir. Would your lady friend like anything?”
    “Milagro, this is Matthews. Matthews, this is my friend, Milagro.”Wil sat up and asked me, “Do you want toast or eggs or anything?”
    The man had entered the room and picked up the plastic snack debris on the table. I didn’t want him to see anything else, including the ropes we’d used.
    I said, “No, thank you very much, Mr. Matthews. If we could have privacy,