My jaw is sore from the snorkel, but I still open eagerly for his tongue. He fists my hair and grinds me down against his hard cock, pushing against my skimpy bikini and making me moan into his mouth.
“You’ll come back to mine,” he growls, setting me down roughly in the sand and sweeping everything into the dry bag hastily.
My sex drunk brain can hardly process what he’s said, but he had at me “You’ll come.”
I follow him blindly, blissfully, back to a small, fenced-off house without a single bunkbed in sight.
Chapter 17
Steven
I’m being selfish. I don’t want to rut around in the sand, trying to keep ourselves hidden and quiet. I want to undress her slowly. To take her where she can make as much noise as she wants.
I meant what I said—I want to take things slow. But after snorkeling with the reef sharks, Junie looked at me with eyes that begged for anything but.
It takes everything in me not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to my hut like a caveman. I fight to keep my hands steady as I unlock the door and lead her to the shower.
I want to taste her. Want to stretch her over my sheets and truly savor her. But we’re salty and sandy and I’ve lived on the island long enough to know to keep the beach out of the bed.
“I can wait for you,” I grunt, turning the water on to a pleasant room temperature and gesturing toward my soap and hair products.
“Don’t you dare,” she grins, and tugs me in after her. The cool water rains over us, washing the sun and the ocean away. It nearly clears my head from her sweet intoxication—but then her hands are on my waist, walking up my chest, pulling me toward her.
Her lips are pure fire when we kiss. I lift her off the ground, and press her against the wall, holding her in place with my thigh.
“Take this off,” I rasp, capturing her bikini top between my teeth. Her eyes flash and widen, then she follows my instructions, pulling the material over her head and dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.
The pale triangles on her breasts nearly send me over the edge. Her nipples pucker, hard against my tongue as I taste her. She cries out, arching beneath my hands. I shift her in my arms and free one hand, loving the way she squirms when I pinch and twist.
Slowly, I lower her back to the ground, making sure she’s steady. I squirt some soap into my hands and rub it into a lather before pulling her back to my front and rubbing the suds all over her curves. I want to memorize the shape of her body. My hands trace her breasts and her hips, dipping under the strings of her bikini bottoms, teasing. My cock strains against my boardies, pushing into her ass, and I make no effort to conceal it from her. She grinds against it instinctively. She seems blissfully unaware that once I bury myself inside her, I will never want to stop.
When she’s dripping with bubbles, I give her back and shoulders the same treatment. Her face only reaches my chest, but she kisses me anyway, rocking her hips so that she continually brushes up against my erection. It twitches and aches for her.
Touching her is heaven. She’s so warm and responsive. I’m hardly going to last a second. I wash the soap from my hands and kiss her forehead before she steps back into the spray.
“Can I wash your hair?” I ask, holding up the bottle of shampoo. I don’t know what compels me to do it—maybe the desire to slow things down. To savor her. I don’t want this flame to burn outtoo quickly. Her eyes flash with surprise then darken back into lust.
“Mhmm,” she replies, the sound high-pitched and squeaky.
“Has no one ever done this for you before?” I ask, rubbing my hands together before massaging them into her scalp. I’ve never done it for a woman before either, but half the battle of life is just faking it til you make it.
“No,” she sighs and the breathy moan makes my cock throb. I must be doing something right.
I take my time with her, feeling her melt beneath my touch. She relaxes into me, eyes closed, warm skin brushing mine, until I tilt her head back and wash the suds from her hair.
“Conditioner?” I ask, grabbing the next bottle.
“You have conditioner?” She narrows her eyes.
“Have you seen my mane?” I try to flip it dramatically, but the wet strands stick to my skin. “Did you think I roll out of bed this gorgeous?”
She giggles and it makes my heart race. Did she think I had another woman’s hair products? Is she feeling the tiniest bit possessive over me? The caveman inside beats his chest in approval.
“True,” she turns around obediently and softens her body language as I squeeze the thick cream to the ends of her long, golden hair. “You do have really nice hair.” She sighs.
“The secret is to let it sit for five minutes. What could we do with that time?” I tease.
I spin her around and gently back her against the wall. I drop to my knees, press a kiss to her belly button, then travel down hernavel and tug at her tiny blue bottoms. I look up, silently asking for permission to unwrap my prize.
