a moment he is on his feet again, roughly rubbing himself dry. He lifts his chin, motioning for her to open the door. She pauses, and he smiles at her.
His smile is brilliant, radiant. As beautiful as the rest of him.
She turns the knob, opens the door and they slip inside. She drops her hat and her book on a small painted table. He moves past her, looks around, then drapes the damp towel over the back of a chair. She shivers a little in the cooler air of the cottage, watching him move, the sleek motion of hard-packed muscle.
She takes a step toward him.
“Wait,” he tells her. “I want to look at you. To watch you for a moment.”
She stops, waits. He runs a hand down his stomach, over that narrow trail of dark hair leading from his navel and into the band of his black and red trunks. Yes, she wants to see him as well, wants to see his naked flesh, his pierced cock. Her nipples are going hard once more, the lips of her sex filling, swelling.
When he presses a hand to the front of his trunks, she can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock beneath the wet fabric.
Oh, yes…
And then he slips his trunks off and stands before her, naked. His body is a marvel, all hard muscle and smooth, tanned skin. His cock is so beautiful, her hands ache to touch it. Her sex aches with the need to feel him inside of her. And the wicked metal ring glinting in the dying sun coming through the shuttered windows.
Her throat goes dry. Her sex goes wet. She squeezes her thighs together.
“Your turn,” he says.
With his dark eyes on her, she brings her hands up to cup her breasts through her bathing suit top; she cannot wait for his touch. Her nipples are so hard they hurt. His eyes are riveted to her hands moving over her breasts, and she moves the triangles of blue fabric aside, squeezes her nipples, tugs on them, pleasure burrowing deep into her system. Everything is amplified by his brown eyes on her, by the lust clear on his face.
He moans softly. Whispers, “Beautiful.”
It has been a long time since she’s felt beautiful. But now, with him, she does. And it is a sort of relief she can’t explain, even to herself, whispering beneath the desire.
But she doesn’t need to think now. She only needs to feel.
Pulling her bikini top off, she keeps her gaze on him. His mouth has gone soft, his eyes glittering. And he is stroking his cock, his fingers moving lightly over that rigid flesh.
She has never seen anything hotter in her life.
She slides her bikini bottoms over her hips, steps out of them, takes one step closer to him. He moves toward her, stops a foot or two away.
“Touch yourself for me,” he demands.
She smiles, feathers her fingers over her nipples once more before moving lower, brushing her mound. When she slips two fingers over her cleft she is soaking wet, slippery, like the sea. She can still hear it, smell that tang of salt in the air. And it is all a part of the moment—the sea moving and surging, the scent in the air. It is the power of the ocean and he is the earth, and between them is fire, building, burning.
“Put your fingers inside yourself,” he tells her, and she does it, spreading her thighs a little and dipping into that wet, waiting hole.
Pleasure moves through her, at her own touch, at his dark gaze on her. At the way he takes a gasping breath and clamps his fingers over his beautiful cock.
He reaches out and takes her hand from between her thighs, raises it. His lips open and he takes her fingers into his mouth, the damp heat enveloping her.
This must be what his cock feels like, sliding into a woman. Sliding into her.
Her sex clenches.
“I need to feel you,” she tells him. “I need your hands on me. Your mouth. Your cock.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice low, full of smoke and need.
Her hand still in his, he leads her to the bed. The sheets are mussed from her nap earlier in the day, the pillows dented. He lays her down on her back and kneels over her. She shivers, waiting.
Lowering his head, he kisses her, lightly, and she can taste her own juices on his lips. Then he is moving lower, his mouth all over her skin, sucking one rigid nipple into his mouth.
“Ah!”
She can hardly believe how close she is to coming already. Her hands go into his damp, thick hair, holding him close to her breast. He is sucking so hard it hurts. But it feels too good for her to care.
Yes, suck harder….
Pleasure, warm and sweet, washes over her body, a trail of heat from her breasts to her sex. Her clit is throbbing.
“Touch me,” she says demandingly.
He moves lower and spreads her thighs wide with his hands. And then his mouth is on her, his wet, clever tongue sliding over her pussy lips, pushing inside. And she is squirming, panting. Pleasure is driving into her body, making her shudder. And when he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks, she comes, bursting, her hips lifting up off the bed.
“Ah, yes, fuck me!”
His fingers drive into her, and pleasure coils anew in her belly, tight and hot, then crashes over her like a pummeling wave. And she shatters, coming and coming, her hips bucking into his mouth, his hand.
She is still shivering when he raises his head. He is smiling. He lifts her and moves her up on the bed, then asks her, “Condoms?”
She nods her head, but it is a moment before she can speak. “In the small silver case, next to my suitcase.”
She watches as he leans over next to the bed where her open luggage sits on the floor, clothes spilling out onto the tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics case, unzips it, and after a moment of digging, pulls out the folded strand of foil packets left over from the last trip she’d taken with her ex before…
She isn’t going to think of that now.
He is opening a packet with his teeth, and this seems purely sexual to her, animalistic. But perhaps that’s simply because her body is still trembling with the aftershock of orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock will be inside her in only moments.
Yes.
He kneels over her on the bed, but before he can sheath himself she reaches up and takes the silver ring between her fingers, tugs on it.
He groans.
“It’s called a Prince Albert piercing?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen one before. Not in person. Did it hurt?”
He laughs. “Yes, it hurt.”
She smiles, doesn’t
