The pressure of our mouths together sends shivers through my entire body. I put my arms around his neck, to steady myself. Between the drink, and the pressure of his lips, I feel like I could float off into space. His hands move down, skimming over my exposed shoulders, pulling me closer, and then with little transition, we melt together, collapsing against the wall of the villa. He’s pressed into me, kissing me, hard and deep. His knee parts my legs, pressing into my most intimate parts. I feel like I’m on fire, and I press back into him. He moves rhythmically, and the pressure, makes me throb, even fully clothed, I feel open and exposed, and completely suffused with desire.
“What are we doing?” I whisper. Because we can’t seem to stop kissing, the words move from my mouth to his.
“We're doing what feels right.” His answer is breathless, between kisses. We’re so close I feel his mouth moving, feel the heat of his breath. I taste the bourbon he’s been drinking. It does feel right.
He strips off his shirt and then he’s pulling at my dress, which unlaces at the side, his fingers dexterous but not fast enough for me. I want the dress off. I don’t care about the laces. I don’t care, as long as my skin can be in contact with his skin.
My hair slides down around my shoulders, and he pushes it back, ever so gently. I didn’t imagine he could be so gentle. My dress falls to the floor.
He leans forward, unhooking my bra. It follows the dress, onto the hardwood.
And then I’m lying on the bed, naked except for my panties, and he’s standing in front of me, wearing just his shorts. I reach, full of sudden audacity, to remove his last bits of clothing, so we can be pressed together, his skin against mine.
He laughs, and pushes me back onto the bed, sliding out of the shorts, and standing in front of me, fully exposed. At least now I know he’s as excited as I am, his cock hard and thick in front of me.
He smells like ocean water, mixed with soap. His blonde hair curls behind his ears, wet from a shower, but he probably swam three or four times today, and the salt from the ocean has soaked into his skin. The single light in the room exposes the glow of his tan.
I put my hands on his hips, marveling at his gorgeous skin, and pull him closer to me. Inadvertently, because I’m not quite ready to be so brave, my hand makes contact with his cock. His intake of breath spurs me to be more daring than usual. After several tentative caresses, I wrap my hand around it, find myself following his clues, caressing him, stroking up and down.
“Fuck,” he groans as my hand keeps working. I love making him moan like that, love that I can give him pleasure.
I stroke him for a few more moments and then he’s lying down next to me. I’m lying across the bed, with my hair across the pillows, and he’s beside me, propped on one elbow.
“I don’t think you know how beautiful you are,” he murmurs.
What is he doing calling me beautiful? He’s the one who is beautiful, with his hair falling in front of his eyes. He belongs on the cover of some romance novel. His tanned body against the white of the sheets—I get lost, trying to decide what to admire. The mermaid tattoo is hidden, because that’s the arm he’s using to hold himself up, but on the other side is a fascinating interlocking pattern. I want to trace it, to touch it, to explore it, but there are so many other parts of him to explore. My hands keep going back to his cock, and I run my fingers over it again, marveling at the difference from this angle, and feeling his response, as his hips move against me.
His mouth meets mine again, in another glorious kiss.
His hands are on my breasts, teasing my nipples, and then one hand slides down, over my stomach. He slides my panties off and then his hand is back between my legs.
I freeze for a moment, shocked at his touch, but his hand is warm, and he’s very sure of himself. He moves it leisurely, caressing me, and then as I relax, more forcefully.
“You wanted to know why I invited you down here tonight?” His voice is rough. “Since we kissed earlier today, I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking you.”
“It’s all I’ve thought about, too.” I admit.
“Good.” He grins that infections grin.
Somehow I’m all wrapped up in the down comforter. Cruise rips it off the bed and throws the blanket to the floor, leaving me completely exposed. I reach for him.
His hand is back, between my legs, sliding inside me. My hips move under him. His other hand is squeezing my breast, and he leans in to suck and tease my nipple. My back arches, and I cry out, my entire body on fire.
“I need to fuck you,” he groans. He reaches for my hand and puts it on his cock, showing me how badly he wants me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please, fuck me.” I can hear the desperation in my own voice, and I wonder for a second if I should tell him I’m a virgin.
But then he’s sliding inside of me. I gasp at the pressure, at the tightness, because it feels like he won’t fit, like he’s too big to possibly fit inside of me, but by his third thrust, my hips are meeting his. I can feel myself starting to relax around him, the tight sensation giving way to unbelievable waves of pleasure. We sink together into the softness of the mattress, he pulls away, just enough for the separation to become agonizing, and then thrusts back in making me cry out again.