I don’t freaking care where we are–I need her lips again.
“Lucy,” I groan, “I need–”
“Yes,” she breathes, and her mouth finds mine, sucking on my bottom lip and nipping it with her teeth.
I could do this forever.
She gasps for breath when I finally break the kiss, panting into the quiet night. I sweep her silky curls to the side and tilt her head to allow me access to the soft curve of her neck. Leaning in hungrily, I suck the scent of her deep into my lungs. It’s intoxicating–she’sintoxicating. Sexy. Pure woman. I kiss across her jaw, sucking the tender skin beneath her ear, eager to mark her as mine.
Mine?
Where did that come from? She’s not mine. She can never be mine.
She’s supposed to be hands off … isn’t she?
I think– but I don’t–
“Noah,” she gasps against my shoulder. “Why did you stop?”
“I–”
“Noah, I want you to fuck me.”
Well, that’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it? That’s what I love about Lucy–she’s direct and she doesn’t mess around. Her face is flushed and she’s panting, her body heaving with pent-up desire. My heart beats rapidly under her palm and my lust matches her own. My body is alive and my nerve endings tingle as though lightning courses through my veins. When she reaches a hand down to rub it roughly against the bulge in my pants, I forget all about why I’m supposed to stop. I forget everything.
I let out a guttural groan, the last of my resolve–what resolve?–fading away into the night.
“Your wish is my command,” I growl and she giggles lustily.
Grabbing for her hand I interlock our fingers and pull her along behind me. We stumble quickly down the uneven path, bursting out of the trees and onto the small private resident’s beach that I remembered being nearby to Henry’s. I spin around to face her in the moonlight, but my head keeps spinning–or at least it feels that way. I teeter backward, pulling Lucy along. She grins up at me, pure fire in her eyes–and then lunges. Her arms and legs wrap around me and we fall to the sand, a mess of groping limbs, messy kissing, and need.
We kiss for long moments. Eventually she pushes off my chest so that she’s straddling me and her hands find the buttons of my shirt. My tie is long gone and I couldn’t care less if I ever see it again. I curve my arms around to palm her sweet behind, squeezing and kneading it while she swears under her breath. She’s making very slow progress with my shirt–struggling with the buttons–but I can’t be bothered to help her when I have these perfectly plump globes in my grasp. I work her dress slowly up her legs, still gliding back again and again to the perfect curve of her bottom, until finally, I’ve got it high enough that my hands find the soft smooth flesh beneath. She’s wearing a thong. Of course she is. I grunt when I slide a finger below the thin string, tracing down between the crease of her buttocks until I reach the wetness there at her core that I’ve been dying to find.
And is she ever wet.
Soaked.
She wriggles and grinds above me as I run my fingers through her arousal from behind. My other hand leaves her hip to aid in my ministrations from the front. Pulling her panties to the side I smear her slickness up and around the little swollen bud at the apex of her sex. When I press on her clit with my thumb she jumps and I back off to circle it again lightly, before sliding back to rub between her folds some more. She’s finally got my shirt open now and she squeals in success before leaning over to lick a stripe up my bare chest.
“Ooohh fuck you have abs,” she breathes, eyeing me in female appreciation. “Like real washboard ones, Noah, shit!”
I can only grunt in response. She licks me again, her tongue sliding wetly between the dips and grooves on my stomach and I shudder beneath her. The action causes her body to shift above me so that she’s positioned perfectly to grind against my rigid cock. I move my hands back to her hips, directing her to slide and rub against me, but it’s too much.
Or … not enough.
I have to be inside her.
I grab at the skirt of her dress, which is already shoved high and bunched around her waist, and pull it up.
“Arms up,” I command in a firm voice, and she obeys, eyes round and sparkling with surprise. I whip it up and over her head flinging it violently across the sand. Don’t see where it lands. Don’t care.
“Good girl,” I murmur and once again her eyes flash with something …
It’s curiosity.
And excitement.
She likes it when I play the dominant. Well good, because that’s just the way I am. Bossy and demanding.
