She’d never been his, not really. They’d just been fooling around. Having fun.
And now her lips were on his, and he was kissing her until all the madness in his head stopped, until all he could think about was the way she tasted and the feel of her wet skin on his. Her hands were on his back, her fingernails skimming over his skin, driving him mad. He dropped his left hand to the red poppy on her hip, as soft now as the rest of her.
“I packed something else in my backpack,” she whispered.
“What?” He hardly dared hope.
“Condoms.”
“Is that so?” His cock surged against the confines of his trunks.
“You haven’t properly scandalized me until you’ve had me outside in broad daylight,” she said with a wicked grin.
“And you want to be scandalized, do you?”
“I do.” Her hands slid inside his trunks, squeezing his ass.
“Well then, I’d better give the lady what she wants.” He glanced around, spotting an area behind the rock that was sheltered from view of the path in the unlikely event anyone else came along. He bent and spread out the oversized yellow towel Emma had packed for him.
She came up behind him, a foil packet clutched in her palm. She tossed it onto the towel and gripped him through his trunks. He hissed out a breath as she slid her palm up and down his length, working him into a frenzy.
“Strip,” she whispered.
Too turned on—and captivated—to object, he kicked off his soggy sneakers and shucked his trunks. He spun to face her. Emma was staring at him like he was a lollipop and she needed a sugar fix.
“You really have no business being so sexy,” she said. “It’s just not fair to the female species. How could I resist doing this?” She gripped him in her fist. “Or this?” She sank the fingernails of her other hand into his ass.
He quivered beneath her touch, his dick painfully hard.
She stroked him, hard and fast, then released him and gave him a shove toward the towel. He dropped to it and sheathed himself in the condom, then looked up at her. She looked like a goddess in that hot pink bikini, the red tattoo peeking out on her hip. Just looking at her was almost more than he could bear right now; he was so hard for her, so desperate to lose himself inside her.
She shimmied out of her bikini bottom and climbed into his lap, rocking against him with a needy little whimper. He captured her mouth with his, reaching between them to tease her with his fingers, to drive her as mad as she’d driven him.
She lifted her hips so that his cock pressed against her entrance, and he clutched at the towel beneath him.
“So good,” he ground out. “More.”
“Like this?” She sank onto him, taking him all the way in.
“God, yes.”
“I can’t get enough, Ryan,” she whispered, then she kissed him, her hips pressed to his, his dick fully nestled in her tight, hot body. Their tongues tangled, thrusting desperately against each other while she held herself still in his lap.
He was on fire, burning for her, and it was the most exquisite form of torture.
She pushed him down flat on his back, looking so fucking beautiful astride him, and then she began to move. She leaned forward so that her hair fell in a blond waterfall over his chest, tickling and teasing him. He thrust up into her as she finally let herself go, riding him with wild abandon. Her eyes were closed, but he kept his open, not wanting to miss a moment.
Her head was thrown back now, her face bathed in the look of arousal he’d come to know as she grew closer and closer to her release. He pushed back his own need so that he could watch her move, watch as she bucked her hips harder and faster against his, panting until, with a cry, she convulsed around him.
He’d been so caught up in watching her that the next thing he knew, his own orgasm slammed into him, drawing a feral cry from his throat as he came. It was a good damn thing he was already lying flat on his back because he wasn’t sure he could move, let alone stand, right now. He drew her against his chest and held her tight until he’d caught his breath.
“I think bad has been good for me,” she said, her breath tickling his chest.
He managed a hoarse laugh. “Yeah.”
“Really is a shame that our clothes are on top of that rock, though.”
“It really is.” Even more of a shame that he’d have to put on his cold, wet trunks to climb up and get them.
