Too Hot to Sleep Volume 3: Too Hot to Sleep

By Cornelia Quick

Three more stories of erotic adventures on steamy hot nights:

 

Vairaumati: a French painter in Tahiti creates a masterwork of passion in the waves with the help of the resort staff.

Flying Lessons: defying gravity and soaring to climax in the big top with the help of the Flying Lombardos.

Night Train to Malaga: just because the snack car is closed doesn't mean you can't find refreshment on the sleeper train to Malaga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cornelia Quick
• Release date: Sep 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223331506

Cornelia Quick

I'm just a gal who knows what she likes, and that's what I write about. Sign up for new free weekly newsletter of downloads and deals at my website link.

Book preview

Vairaumati

It's too hot to sleep.

I lie in the damp sheets, naked and shining with sweat, listening to the gentle sound of the surf lapping at the beach outside my window. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I touch myself, listening to the surf and imaging Rai, my boyfriend from university, licking my pussy with his long, flexible tongue. Usually I drift right off to sleep after I come. Out of habit, I reach between my legs; I'm wet, but more from sweat than from arousal. I sigh, too hot even to stroke myself into oblivion.

From my pillow, I can see the palm fronds swaying in the breeze — perhaps it's cooler outside than it is in my little room. The staff quarters at the resort lack air conditioning, lack even fans, and it seems like the wind never moves the curtains on the windows even when it blows briskly from the sea. I stand and throw on a long t-shirt — there are almost certainly no guests on the beach tonight, their cabanas are properly air-conditioned, so there's no reason to bother with more covering than is absolutely necessary — and go outside.

The faint breeze is warm on my skin, but nicer than the still air in my room. At home in the mountains further inland, we almost always have a cool breeze at night; the stillness and sometimes stifling heat is hard to get used to. The guests — most of them from France, Belgium, the Netherlands — crave the heat and the sun; I would prefer to find shade at mid-day, and a temperate wind in the evening.

The clock on my nightstand said that it's after two in the morning, but with the full moon reflecting on the white sands and clear water, there's a twilight quality to the light. I walk along the beach where the surf rolls on the sand, letting the water tickle my feet, looking out over the waves toward Mo'orea-Mai'ao looming like a squatting giant in the distance. The only sounds are the quiet rush of the breakers and the gentle whisper of the breeze. I'm so lost in my own fuzzy thoughts that I don't see Tino standing in the surf up to his ankles until I'm only a few meters from him.

Tino — beautiful, beautiful Tino ... He's one of the groundskeepers, from a village near the sea, skin the color of a coconut husk but as smooth as sharkskin, broad shouldered and narrow hipped, always with an easy smile and sparkling eyes, looking like he's just about to crack a joke or launch into a ribald song. While Rai has been working this summer at his uncle's accounting office in the city, I've let my thoughts drift toward Tino more than a few times.

I duck behind a Chinese fan palm before he sees me, and look at him through the leaves. And the sight sucks the breath from my lungs.

Tino is naked, head to toe, his nut-brown body shining in the moonlight. His head is turned away from me, looking up the beach, but his hips are turned so I have a view of his muscular ass and, from the side, his magnificent cock. And I have never seen such a specimen! It's at rest — not limp like a banner hanging from a pole, but like a panther coiled in sleep but with smooth muscles and sinews ready to pounce. It must be as thick around as my wrist, and as long as my hand, the thick, wrinkled foreskin extending past the head. His testicles hang pendulous behind his cock, heavy and thick, and a dense matt of curly black hair sits above his cock, with an arrow of curls pointing up toward his belly button.

He stands with his hands on his hips, feet apart, shoulders back, perfectly still. There's a faint smile on his lips, and his eyes glisten in the moonlight. I follow his gaze up the beach and see that he's not alone —