Chapter 1 #2
The kiss is deep and unapologetic, not rushed but hungry, his tongue stroking slowly and thoroughly, like he’s setting the tone instead of asking permission. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, my body lighting up in a way that’s immediate and unmistakable.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to breathe, his forehead resting against mine, his lips still brushing mine like he’s not done.
There’s no smile. No joke.
Just heat, fully awake, and the clear understanding that something has shifted.
I don’t want to spend the night with him. I just want the heat.
“There’s a hotel across the street,” he murmurs.
“I was thinking down the beach,” I reply. “Toward the marina.”
He smiles. “I like the way you think.”
People tend to drift the other way, toward the bridge, toward the noise.
The marina stays quieter, the trees thick enough to swallow sound.
I lace my fingers through his and lead him off the sand, into the shadow of the pines.
I barely have time to turn before his mouth is on mine again, deliberate and hungry.
His kiss isn’t wild. It’s controlled, tongue sliding with intent instead of urgency. My pulse kicks up like it’s been waiting for permission.
I break the kiss. “I want to see you.”
A slow smile curves his mouth. “You will.”
He turns me toward the tree, pressing me forward, his hands settling at my hips like he’s mapping me.
The bark is rough under my palms as he pushes my skirt up, exposing skin inch by inch, taking his time, as if he knows exactly what it does to me.
He kneels and his mouth traces the inside of my thigh, unhurried, reverent, and I groan before I can stop myself.
He pulls my panties aside, and his tongue dances across my clit as I hold my breath.
“You’re already wet,” he murmurs.
I am. Fully. Openly. There’s no pretending otherwise.
He slides my panties down and spreads my legs, his fingers easing inside me. I drop my head back, breath breaking as he sets a rhythm that isn’t rushed or sloppy. It’s purposeful. Like he’s learning me.
“You like being touched this way,” he says, more observation than a question.
“Yes,” I say, because there’s no point in lying now.
His thumb circles my clit, the pressure building until my legs start to shake. He grips my ass, smacking one cheek hard enough to sting, and the sharp contrast snaps something open inside me. I press back into his hand, wanting more, asking without words.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Stay right there.”
He keeps his mouth where it is, his tongue slow and deliberate, circling and retreating just enough that my hips start to chase him.
Each time I get close, he eases back, changes the pressure, drags it out until my thighs are shaking and my breath is coming in uneven pulls.
My hands brace against the bark, fingers digging in as the tension coils tighter and tighter, until I can’t hold myself still anymore.
When he finally gives me exactly what I need, it breaks through me all at once, stealing the air from my lungs as my body opens completely around the sensation.
And he doesn’t stop.
He stays close, grounding me as the aftershocks roll through, his mouth following the slick trail between my thighs like he intends to remember the taste. When he lifts his head, his eyes are dark. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says.
That’s when I drop to my knees.
I undo his shorts, watching his reaction instead of pretending I’m overwhelmed by it. There is no sock. No illusion. He’s just big, hard and flushed, the weight of him solid in my hand.
“So,” he says, voice low, “now what are you going to do with me?”
I answer by licking the tip, enjoying the way his breath catches as I take him deeper, inch by inch, letting my mouth learn the weight and shape of him without hurry.
My tongue slides along the underside, lingering where he’s most sensitive, and the low sound he makes tells me I’ve found exactly what I was looking for.
I hollow my cheeks slightly, letting the pressure build, easing back just enough to make him tense before taking him in again.
His hand comes to my hair, not pushing, just there, warm and steady as he steps closer, crowding my space until my shoulders brush the bark behind me.
My hands brace at his thighs, my mouth working him with slow intention, letting the pace stay mine.
The sounds of the beach are swallowed by the trees as he groans my fake name under his breath, and I feel his control start to slip.
He pulls me up before it tips too far, hands firm as he turns me, guiding me forward until my palms find the tree again.
He pushes my skirt out of the way. I hear him behind me, the quiet shift of movement, and when I glance back, he’s tearing the condom open.
He rolls it on, his grip tight, controlled, like he’s making a point of not rushing what comes next.
By the time he steps back in close, my anticipation is sharp and coiled, my body already bracing for the moment he finally presses into me.
When he pushes inside, it stretches me in a way that makes my vision blur. I moan, bracing myself as he fills me completely. The sensation is overwhelming and perfect.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, hands firm at my hips. “I’ve got you.”
He begins slowly, allowing me to adjust to his size.
Once he’s fully seated, he sets a pace that’s relentless but controlled, each thrust hitting exactly where I need it.
Pleasure builds again, faster this time, hotter, until my body betrays me completely.
I come hard, shaking, the sensation rolling through me in waves I can’t stop.
He follows, breath rough, body tight against mine, holding me steady as his release crests and breaks.
Later, when my legs finally remember how to work, I make my way back to the beach alone, skin humming, body loose and satisfied in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
No numbers exchanged. No names repeated. Just heat, clean and contained.
I text Emma.
Me: No sock.
Emma: Did you get his number?
Me: Nope. He’s temporary.
And that’s exactly what I want.