I open my book to distract myself, but I can’t seem to concentrate.
This man is driving me wild. He is all I think about, day and night; his very existence consumes my thoughts.
I’ve read the same sentence four times now. Not only am I having a hard time processing the words, but these words seem to be personal. It’s like the universe and the author have joined forces to taunt me.
I set the book down and let out a frustrated breath. My eyes ping-pong from one end of the pool to the other, watching Ash go back and forth. Up and down. Over and over. Slowly heat pulses between my thighs. It builds and swells until I’m wiggling on the lounger, clenching my muscles together in an attempt to stop it. But I know better than to believe it’s just going to go away. Even if I go inside or run down the beach, it won’t go away.
As Ash dips back into the water, my fingers slide inside my bikini top, finding one of my nipples and teasing it.
“Oh…” I let out. A moment later, he surfaces again, and I stop. Then, once he is underwater, I continue, twisting and tugging at my nipple, biting my lip as my hips grind against the chair.
Again, he surfaces. I stop. He dives. I tease.
For several minutes it goes on like this until finally I close my eyes, needing the touch, needing to edge myself closer to an orgasm. But then, it’s as if I can feel him staring. My eyes flash open and I gasp. Ash is staring right at me, dripping, watching.
“Don’t stop,” he tells me, his voice low and demanding.
I blink, unsure whether to be mad, embarrassed, or turned on.
“Put your fingers inside your bikini bottoms,” he says.
I take in a breath and stare up at him as he stares intensely down at me.
Then I do it.
Slowly, I slide my fingers under the fabric, in between the smooth layers of skin, and I wait.
“Run your fingers down the length of yourself,” he says, and I do it. “Touch the opening. Trace around it. Tempt it.”
I do it.
“Is it wet?” he asks.
I nod.
“Drag that wetness up,” he tells me. “Again. Slowly. Be patient.”
I do everything he tells me to. I almost can’t believe I am actually doing it, but I don’t question it. I don’t want to overthink it. I don’t want to stop.
“Tease your clit,” he says. “Just tease. Only a flutter,” he says, and I do. My back arches and my hips jut upward, as if I’m not in control. As if my body wants more and is leaning in for it. But as I comply with everything Ash is telling me to do, I realize I’m not in control. My hand obeys before my head can tell me differently.
“Fuck…” I say, waiting for his approval to do more.
“No,” he says. “Say my name.”
“Ash…” I whisper.
“Good girl. Now flick. I want you to come for me,” he says. My fingers listen to his command, picking up the pace. My back arches and I moan.
“Yes…” I say as the orgasm nears.
“Yes,” he echoes. “Faster. Come for me. Good girl…”
The wave that crashes over me is consuming. It ripples through my body over and over until eventually my body goes limp, and I take my hand from my bikini.
“Lick your fingers,” he tells me. “Taste yourself.”
Without thinking about it, I do it. I stick both of my fingers in my mouth and suck on them before slowly pulling them back out.
