“You know…”
“My testicles?” I tug my hard dick to one side and observe the round sacs from above, the ocean water making them shiny in the light of the moon. “They are much better on the inside, no?”
“Oh, uh. Sure?”
“Trust me.” Letting my shaft drop with a bounce, I reach down for her hand. “Come. We can talk in the water, so my cock and balls don’t make you tongue tied.”
“Thanks?” Darla mutters, allowing me to pull her up out of the sand. And then she does something that I find strange and amusing. She hurriedly swipes at her bottom.
“What are you doing, little human?”
“Just getting the sand off my butt,” she says, as if my question is mental.
“But we are about to go into the ocean.”
“It’s reflex.”
I have the sudden and undeniable need to see her bottom caked in sand, so I let her walk ahead of me toward the serene ocean…and my momentum grinds to a halt. She is just out of reaching distance when she strips off her sweatshirt, leaving it on the shore. All she wears now is a black bikini, and at first, I don’t know where to look. The strands of her strawberry blonde hair where they tickle the dimples at the base of her spine? The delicate slopes of her shoulders. Her hips. All her parts arespectacular.
But it’s her sandy little ass cheeks that cause me to spurt come into the sand.
One long rope of milky white pumps out of me, my gaze devouring those supple buns during her strut into the water. That naughty little jiggle of her flesh. The secretive crevice that separates one juicy cheek from the other. I almost drop into a crawl behind her, just so I can see her butt up close, it is so mouthwatering.
Is that where my cock goes?
Is this why I’m so drawn to her backside?
I have to bite my wrist to muffle a groan at the thought of rubbing my dick and balls around between those buns and watching them spread, watching my milk fill that crack and form a white river, my little human squirming and gasping beneath me.
“What should we talk about?” Darla asks, gliding into the water. Not splashing or complaining about the cold. Just…a graceful glide.
“I would like to know more about your leg injury,” I say, following her into the ocean, lamenting the loss of her ass when the water swallows up the sight of it.
Darla turns to face me, her expression guarded. “You noticed my injured leg?”
“I’ve noticed all of you,” I say, moving close to her out of necessity, bridging the gap between us until her head is tilted all the way back, the tiny thing. My intention is to keep her close, in case her fragile body gets caught in an undertow or a shark gets too close. I’m surprised when she seems a bit…mesmerized by my nearness.
“Have we met?” she whispers.
This could be my opening. I don’t take it. Too soon. “I don’t know. Have we?”
“There’s something so familiar about your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes. They’re gray and…” She chews her bottom lip. “Beautiful.”
The pleasure that flushes into my chest is unexpected. “Beautiful is a word meant for women.”
“Not always.”
I grunt, annoyed at myself for enjoying her calling my eyes beautiful. “Well? Have you met me, or not?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“This meeting must not have been very memorable,” I gripe.
A dimple appears in her cheek, as if she finds my irritation amusing. Imagine that. “Do you still want to know about my leg?”
