Part 5 (1/2)

He kisses me, pulls his fingers from me. I squirm, super sensitive, and see my pleasure all over him. He lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks me off him, and then he growls into my ear, ”I could taste you every day.”

And that's when it comes cras.h.i.+ng back, barging through my heated thoughts, knocking my desires out of its way, the cold force of brutal reality.

A little voice inside my head is screaming at me: You idiot!

Chapter Six.

She's coming hard.

I feel her shaking in my arms, feel her clenching around my fingers. Her moaning is drawn out, long, and her body is frozen rigid, a snapshot of her pleasure.

G.o.d, I'm hard as f.u.c.king steel, h.o.r.n.y as a dog. I could f.u.c.k her right now on this beach, in public. I wouldn't care.

But she might.

I know she'll be sensitive and so I gingerly pull my fingers from her, stop rubbing her swollen c.l.i.t, and bring my hands out from beneath her underwear. Her eyes are still closed a she's lolling back against me now, panting, holding my head against her.

We're so close to each other, connected along every possible bit of body. I'm wrapping her up from behind, swallowing her, possessing her.

I smell her on my fingers, suck her pleasure off them. She smells so f.u.c.king good, and she tastes so f.u.c.king good. I would eat this girl out every single day, make her come every single day all over my face if I could, and I tell her that.

What can I say? She just does it for me. She's just right in every way.

And the crazy thing? She thinks I'm wrong in every way.

And somehow, that's right in every way.

But her body language changes, as if she's just realized that she's done something she didn't mean to.

She doesn't squirm out from my arms, she doesn't immediately try to get away, but something has definitely changed.

Ca.s.sie's grown stiff... but I've been stiff all along. My c.o.c.k aches, is so hard it almost hurts.

I hold her in my arms, watch as her breathing slows, watch as the glisten of sweat on the side and back of her neck, dries.

I can smell her, I mean, really her, not her perfume which has faded. She smells good. I could wake up next to this every day, I could smell this girl every day, I could...

I freeze.

What the h.e.l.l am I thinking about?

It's like I'm watching myself. It's like I'm not me and I'm disembodied. I see myself brush her hair from her cheek, tuck it behind her ear. I see myself kiss her cheek.

I kiss her f.u.c.king cheek.

And then I see that moment of realization cross her face. That thing that changed... well, now the thought has crystallized, become something she can pa.r.s.e into anger, disgust, indignation, whatever.

She instantly sits forward, eyes-wide, panicked.

She's thinking: What have I done?

Her head is on a swivel, scanning the beach for anybody who might have seen. The reins she let go of, the control she gave me, the release she allowed herself, it's all gone now.

It's all back to normal, and she has to regain control.

But I'm sitting there, surprised at myself, wondering just what the f.u.c.k I'm doing. Kissing her cheek? Playing with her hair? Telling her I would be with her every single day?

For real?

That's not me.

What is this girl doing to me?

”Oh G.o.d,” she whispers, getting up and smoothing her dress. I notice for the first time the dress has pockets.

I get up, too, and I pull out my pack and lighter. My c.o.c.k is hard as a rock, straining against my jeans. I watch as she looks at it, notices its huge outline in my jeans, and then pretends that she didn't. She points at my cigarette instead.

”Smoking is disgusting,” she says.

I grin. Even though her voice does not have the same judging conviction it might have before I made her come, we're still basically back to our old ways.

We're pretending this never happened.

”I don't-”

”Give a f.u.c.k,” she says. There's almost a glimmer of a smile. Some barrier between us has weakened, cracked. Not quite our old ways, I guess.

”Right.”

I watch as her eyes travel down my body again, to my crotch. She's looking at my tented jeans, the outline of my d.i.c.k.

We meet eyes, and there's some kind of conversation there.

I'm telling her, Yup, that's a b.o.n.e.r. You gave me that.

She's telling me, No f.u.c.king chance, Chance.

I grin again. ”I didn't expect you to, anyway.”

She gets cross, puts her hands on her hips. ”I don't even know what you're talking about.”