19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
Brady spins me around, then, with the exact right amount of force, pushes on my upper back so that I bend over and touch the floor.
He pushes himself into me from behind, and – wow – I can already feel his rigid erection.
I keep my palms in the sand while he slides his hips forward and back a few times, imagining how it might feel without all this clothing in the way.
Slowly, I flip my head back up so my hair cascades down my back and I raise my upper half back up to a standing position.
His lips find my neck, his breathing fills my ear, and his groin continues to press against me as we rock together.
I twist my fingers around his and encourage him to explore my upper half, all the while continuing to match his hip action with my backside.
When his hands reach my breasts, I exhale, arching my spine to lean further into his touch.
I scan the beach again quickly. Still empty.
“I want to look at you,” Brady implores me. “Turn around.”
I do.
His hands slide my straps down over my shoulders, and he tugs the elastic top of my sundress down to reveal my bra.
He plants a kiss on my collarbone, then another, and another, working his way down my body until he arrives at the upper edge of my bra cups.
His hands squeeze my breasts from the bottom up, giving him the opportunity to catch a glimpse of what's under the fabric in the space that appears. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, and slides his fingers beneath the lace, working the undergarment down around my rib cage, revealing my top half to the humid night air. His lips surround one nipple while his fingers tweak the other, and before I can even process how wet this makes me, Brady’s tongue sends waves of pleasure between my legs by alternately sucking and licking the hardened peaks of my flesh.
By the time we reach the bridge of the song, I need to feel him.
I glide his face back up towards mine so he’s standing upright, and I snake my hand between us, wrapping my fingers in a semicircle around his straining bulge.
I stroke up and down, appreciating his length and imagining him filling me.
He kisses me, hums of pleasure choking in the back of his throat.
I can’t help myself. With my top half still exposed, I tug at his belt.
Brady opens his eyes and sweeps the area. “You sure?” he whispers.
“I want to see it,” I reply.
He helps me then, unbuttoning his pants and lowering his zipper so I have full access.
He’s wearing boxers, a stark contrast to his usual getup of a stripper thong, and this revelation strikes me as extremely sexy because it’s so real .
There’s no alter-ego here, no showy persona.
Just a beautiful man who’s hard as a rock because of me.
The realization nearly sends me over the edge as his tongue resumes its residency inside my mouth.
I reach back down and tighten my grip around him.
Skin against skin, I feel his heat and the anticipation pulsing through his shaft.
The song ends, and a new one begins but I can’t even register it because his hand slides up under my dress and traces up my thigh.
When his fingertips reach the edge of my panties, my hips grind forward, letting him know that yes, this is good, and no, please don’t stop.
He pulls his neck back for a second, long enough for me to hear him say, “I need you to lie down,” and then I do.
We do, together. He lowers me onto the blanket and begins to work my panties off under my ass with one hand while cupping my face with the other.
“Can you keep watch?” he asks feverishly.
“Uh huh,” I manage to mumble.
And then I lose him beneath the skirt of my sundress.
I can’t keep my eyes open; Brady’s tongue cracks me open like an oyster and I clutch the blanket and involuntarily push myself into his eager mouth.
He licks me, tasting my sweetness and reminding me of his tongue on the spoon the first night we had ice cream together.
My mind briefly registers that fact that I’m indecently exposed in the middle of a beach, being feasted upon in the most arousing situation my brain could ever conjure up.
I surprise myself once again when, instead of being embarrassed or shutting down at the thought, I spread my legs wider, welcoming Brady’s fingers to explore me.
He finds my g-spot right away and focuses his attention there while working his mouth against my starved sex.
I don’t take long to come. Bucking my hips, Brady strokes his finger back and forth to build me towards release, alternating his mouth between sucking gently and licking me with the tip of his tongue.
His free hand reaches up to my chest and pinches my right nipple.
I paw at my left breast and match his movements, while my other hand holds his head in place through my skirt.
When I finally let go, a swell of ecstasy breaks in choppy spasms. I feel a surge between my legs as my brain floods with dopamine, endorphins, and ox ytocin.
When I’m done, all that’s left are lingering kisses on my inner thighs and the gentle breeze off the Atlantic Ocean.
I exhale deeply, shrouded in satisfaction and relief.
Brady works his way back up beside me. “Good?” he asks.
I kiss his earlobe. “Amazing,” I reply. I close my eyes and smile.
“Good,” he says. I can hear the smirk in his voice. He’s pleased with himself.
Now it’s my turn.
“Take these off,” I say, tugging at his pants.
He laughs. “Seriously?”
I nod. “It’s a big blanket. We can wrap up in it. Take them off,” I repeat.
I inhale the briny breeze off the water and summon up a second wind as Brady follows directions and removes his pants.
“Shirt too,” I say. He dutifully works the buttons open and slides the dress shirt off his arms. I gaze upon him in his t-shirt and boxers. “You are the most intoxicating sight I have ever laid eyes on, do you know that?” I ask.
“Like this?” he asks. “In an undershirt and boxer shorts?”
“Absolutely. Can I just tell you? You’re insatiably hot when you’re doing your stripper thing, but natural Brady is fucking fire.”
He scrunches up his nose as if he’s going to question me, so I cut him off. “Take the compliment, babe. Just say thank you.” I grin, using his words against him .
“Thank you,” he says. I think he might be blushing, which strikes me as funny given the fact that he just spent the last several songs working my body into a frenzy.
“Now lie down.”
He does, and I sit up beside him. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Never,” I retort.
“Bummer,” he says, pulling me down over him. “I kind of like it.”
“Noted,” I say, pushing up his T-shirt and kissing his chest. “Cover me with the blanket please?”
“You cold?” he asks.
I kiss down his stomach. My tongue is a paintbrush, swirling color down the canvas of his torso. “No. I just don’t need all of P-Town to watch what I’m about to do to you.”
“Jesus,” Brady says, but he can’t speak after that, because the words get stuck in his throat.
I feel the blanket land on my back and his hand rests on the top of my head as I work his length in and out of my willing mouth.
He’s longer and thicker than anyone I’ve ever been with, and he smells like a masculine blend of Tide laundry detergent and Irish Spring soap.
Inhaling him is exhilarating up close like this, and I savor it, not caring about who might see.
I am protected by this blanket cocoon, swaddled by the darkness of nightfall around me.
I use my hands to stroke him while I tease his head with my tongue, then take in his full magnitude until he hits my tonsils.
In and out, back and forth I devour him until I feel him constrict into his body.
I slow down then, give him one final kiss, and emerge from the blanket like a butterfly .
Without a word, I straddle him and pull my dress up over my head, depositing it on the sand next to us.
Brady still has on his T-shirt and I’m in a bra, so even if someone was to approach us, we’re not exactly indecent – at least not from afar.
I’m about to slide him inside my body when he asks, “Do you have a condom?”
I shake my head. “I’m on birth control. Do I need a condom?” I ask in return.
“No, I’m clean.”
“Same,” I say. Then, I angle his manhood at my entrance and push him inside.
He fills me, stretching me open in the most pleasurable way.
He moans as he enters me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.
We begin to move together, waves cresting, crashing, and retreating on the shore, our fingers interlocked by the sides of his head, hips bucking up and down.
It’s untamed and animalistic, wild and raw – pure lust mixed with an emotional connection so deep it defies measure.
I pound my body into his, building his orgasm with intention, not even focusing on the enjoyment my own body is receiving from the unfiltered, natural experience.
I can feel my own climax developing, which surprises me.
I’m not the type to come twice in a night – but then again, I’m also not the type to ride someone in public.
Only, maybe with Brady, I am.
I move faster, and his hands unclasp mine so he can help me along with his fingers as we move towards an inevitable grand finale.
The thought strikes me that Brady wants to make me come again, so I don’t hold back.
I let him bring me to the brink and just as I gasp and shudder, his face contorts.
With a g runt, I feel him explode inside me – once, twice, three times, followed by a long series of smaller aftershocks.
I collapse on top of him and we lay like that for a minute, fully spent atop his beach blanket.
“God damn,” he whispers into my hair. His heart pounds through his T-shirt.
I lift my face off his chest to look at him. We lock eyes and both start to laugh. “That was really good,” I say.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I can’t believe nobody caught us.”
“Me too. I didn’t plan this, you know,” he says. “I mean, I hoped for it, but not outside. I thought maybe later, like, at home…”
“I know. I didn’t plan it either.”
“But, my God. That was –”
“Yeah,” I interject. “I know.” Brady takes off his shirt and uses it to clean us both up.
I put my panties and my dress back on, and he pulls back on his pants but keeps his T-shirt in a pile for the time being.
We lie there, his arm around me and my head on his chest. Because of You by Ne-Yo starts up on the Bluetooth speaker.
This is like the greatest hits of 2007, I think.
“Can I ask you something totally random?” he says.
“Of course.”
“What’s your affinity with the Christina Milian song?”
“I don’t really know,” I reply. “I just like it. You want to know something funny?”
“Sure.”
“I broke three toes to that song once. I should hate it.”
Brady stills. “Wait. H ow?”
“In a dance class, back when I was a little girl.”
“Did someone –” he starts.
“I got stomped.”
“Oh, my God.” His eyes grow wide. “That was me.”
“What?”
“I was the cowboy.”
“Shut up.”
“Miss Wanda was the teacher.”
“That’s right! I could never remember her name.”
“I could never remember yours. Just that you were a unicorn.”
“I didn’t know yours either. They always just called you ‘Big Boy’ or something like that.”
“Big Guy,” he corrects me. “Because I was tall.”
“Holy shit. So we go all the way back to –”
“Six years old,” he says.
“That explains so much.”
“About what?”
“About our connection. I guess it’s deeper than even we realized.”
“That fucking song,” he says.
“What about it?”
“I knew there was something. It always made my pulse speed up a little.”
“Maybe it made you nervous,” I suggest.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not that.” He pauses for a moment, and I see a lightning bug flash nearby. “I think my heart remembered you,” he says. “My brain might not have, but my heart did. ”
A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it, just as the first fireworks go off against the black backdrop of the clear July night.
It’s about the only thing that can make this moment any more perfect than it already is.