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..god, oh god, we can't, not now, not anytime," she said just as harshly.I wiggled my fingers faster inside her body, not wanting to stop. I was enjoying bringing her up and down. Her head bowed forward again as she shook with the beginnings of an orgasm. I smiled as she started to gush onto my hand. Her head flew back as her body tensed. Her arms pulled on the restraints, her legs jerked against the ropes holding them spread wide."My god why are you doing this to me," her voice quavered with her orgasm."Why? You ask me why?" Yes, why?" You prance around here in those skimpy outfits. Take showers with the bathroom door open. Go out and sunbath in the skimpiest of bikinis and you want to know why?" Oh god," she cried out again as another orgasm caused her body to shake and jerk with the pleasure she was feeling.I started to slide my fingers out of her. Then slammed them back in as hard as I could. She bit her lip to keep from screaming in pleasure. Her head was shaking back. It was too good to turn down. Cam and I compared notes, and there was no way I'd be able to join her abroad; we'd be apart for more than five weeks. But one of my offers was from New York City Opera. It wasn't great—Rance in Girl of the Golden West, one of Puccini's more forgettable ventures with one of his more forgettable baritone roles, and, interestingly, Enrico in Lucia, the role I'd started with so many years ago in college. Not plums, but I'd be doing bona fide leads in one of the biggest venues in the world; and, better yet, the dates largely overlapped with Camilla's Met commitment.So we took our four days in my cabin and made the most of them. We had to fend off reporters in droves; with Sam and Marilyn driving, and with Camilla's famous photo as fuel, our incarceration had stayed well up in the news, and when the media learned we'd been released the phone calls started coming. A carload of enterprising reporters actually found their way to my cabin one afternoon. We were.
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