28. Morgan #2
For a moment she just stares at me with challenging eyes. But after a moment of neither of us blinking, she gets the memo that I am very much not kidding right now.
She snorts and shakes her head. “Seriously. You seriously think that there’s anything you can do in the next five minutes that will re-wire twenty years of concrete feelings about my less than perfect body. And in that swimsuit? Good luck, Chuck. It’s not going to happen.”
And that sounds like a challenge to me. A challenge I am very willing to attempt. Five-minute timeframe. As Scarlett strips down to her panties and bra, reaching for the dress, I take it from her and hold up the swimsuit.
“No,” she says.
“Yes,” I demand.
She stares at me, and I stare back. Then she rolls her eyes and yanks it from my hand. “Fine. You want to see what all of this looks like crammed into this itty-bitty thing? Fine. But I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me that suits like this are not made for bodies like mine.”
Scarlett tugs the red bottoms over her hips, and they glide with ease.
I guessed the size, but it’s obvious I guessed right.
They are high-waisted, dipping slightly at her navel, high-cut on the thighs so they don’t constrict any of her hip shape but instead showcase her curves for what they are.
Not to mention, the ass is cheeky as fuck, which is just a bonus for me and makes my slacks tighter by the second.
Of course, being blind like every other woman on the planet, Scarlett doesn’t see it.
She just mutters and shakes her head and lets out a persecuted sigh as she takes off her bra and replaces it with the top.
It’s triangle cut but also made to fit her curves, covering them enough not to look forced but leaving enough skin to be sexy as hell.
“There,” she says, lifting her arms then slapping her sides. “I tried it on. Happy?”
I grab her by the hips and pull her back against my body, holding her in front of the mirror.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells.
I ignore her. Because I’m done. The only thing that makes me more furious than the comments I’ve deleted on the beach post is the same comments coming from her own mouth.
“Look at yourself,” I tell her, my lips brushing against her ear as I hold her against me. “I want you to look at every inch of your body.”
“Morgan,” she whispers with urgency as my hands run over every curve of her. “Morgan, we can’t do this in here.”
I ignore her.
“This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen on you,” I tell her as I run my hands over the fabric of the top. I grip her breasts in my hands, showing off the fullness of her cleavage.
“I just…I’m not–” she stutters because while she is still dead set on her thinking, she also can’t control herself when I touch her like this, a fact that makes me even harder in my pants.
“Not what?” I ask.
“Things like this aren’t made for bodies like mine,” she says.
“Bodies like yours?” I echo. “I’m sorry, but what part of your body?
” I ask. “Your breasts? Because they look phenomenal, don’t you think?
” As I ask the question, I run my thumbs over her nipples, making them hard through the material.
It makes her squirm, her ass dancing against my hips, accentuating her hips even more. And speaking of that…
After teasing her nipples enough to make her bite down on her bottom lip and bring color to her cheeks, I glide my hands down her torso, running them over her hips and down between her thighs, then back up again.
Scarlett arches her back, her head falling against my chest, and my hands come closer and closer to her pussy with each pass.
“Morgan…” she whispers. “We can’t…you can’t…”
“Look at yourself,” I cut her off, sliding one hand over her pussy and cupping it through the fabric. My other arm is still holding her against me, my hand on her breast, thumb caressing her nipple. “I want you to see what I see. Feel what I feel.”
I rub my palm over her firmly, and she gasps, then covers her mouth with her hand.
“You want me to stop?” I ask, slipping my middle finger inside the swimsuit bottoms and finding her opening.
Scarlett shakes her head, her hand still on her mouth.
“If you don’t want me to stop, then I want you to stop,” I tell her, grinding my hand against her pussy while my finger swirls inside of her.
“Stop putting yourself down. Stop being afraid to look in the mirror. Stop seeing your curves as a bad thing.”
I rub my palm against her hard and fast, all while driving my finger deeper and harder inside her.
As Scarlett moans into her hand, her body shakes against mine, every curve of her moving with the pleasure of desire.
As she dances in place against me, I groan at the sight.
At the feeling of her watching me pleasure her.
At the feeling of her body grinding involuntarily against mine.
Her moans become higher, louder despite her attempt to stifle them, and I can feel her losing control in my arms. Then I feel the orgasm tearing through her, wave after wave. Scarlett whimpers and her hips convulse against me, nearly getting me off as well as her body goes soft in my arms.
I steady her and let go. Then, as she removes her hand, panting and bracing her hand on the wall, I snag the tag off the swimsuit and open the door.
“We will be buying this, thank you,” I say before leaving her to collect herself.
I pay for the suit and wait for her to get dressed again, knowing it’s going to take a moment. In the meantime, I think back to the bucket list and make a mental note to cross off a few.
Become a full-time, financially stable travel journalist/blogger
Visit ALL the beaches. Beaches are officially my love language.
Forget tourist trap 5-star dining. Cook with the locals. Eat what they eat. Make friends!
Go swimming in the wild! No crowded beaches or fancy pools.
Help baby sea turtles into the ocean.
Wear a bikini. Not hate it.
Have sex under the stars.
Go to the House of Blues
Fall in love in New York City.
Become a mom.
Show my family the world.
I can’t help but smirk at the thought of it all.
As much as I have an aversion to bucket lists (my parents have made the idea of it a bit of a sore spot for me), I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun with it.
I can’t give it back to her, not just yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t cross things off.