By the glassed over look on his face, I’d say a very good rhythm.
Even though he said he wanted me to make him come, his hands soon found their way from my thigh to my hips, then my ass, helping to guide me. After that, it seemed I wasn’t going fast or hard enough for him and he thrust up into me.
“Stop.”
His eyes cleared for a split second and his face morphed from blissed out to confused to glaring.
“If you do some of the work, I won’t get my beach day,” I said, stating my argument.
He shook his head. “You’re going to get it. Now get my fucking come into your pussy.”
All of my focus was on milking his dick, trying to get him to come, that my own pleasure and breathy moans were a secondary thought. I had no idea how loud we were being. No concept on if the clerks could hear our skin slapping together or the obscene sounds we were making.
With as hardcore dominant and take charge as Six was, he really seemed to be enjoying my efforts.
His head tipped back, fingers dug into my ass, and his thrusts picked up in slamming intensity.
Each time he bottomed out sent a ripple of what felt like an electric spark through me, lighting up my skin.
His hands stopped my movements and his eyes locked with mine. The control was back to him, and I watched his dark eyes empty as he thrust up and slammed my body down. He jerked beneath me and inside me as his cock fired off stream after stream.
There was something primal about going bare, about feeling him fill me. It wasn’t something I’d experienced much in my life and as I stared at his face and his slack jaw, I couldn’t help leaning forward and licking his lips.
He craned his head up, mashing our lips together, tongues languidly touching in slow, steady kisses.
It was the kind of experience that made me forget who I was and who he was and how we got where we were. Made me forget what he’d done. It was a false feeling of sexual comfort, but I’d take it.
Untangling my legs was a bit difficult as they’d gotten stiff, but when I managed to stand, he slipped out, along with a gush of warm, wet pearly white come. I glanced down, staring at the puddle on his abdomen and knowing there was still more deeper in.
He didn’t say a word, just stuffed his soaked cock away and buttoned up his jeans. At least we were only a block or two from the hotel.
My pussy was wet with an aching tingle as I found my panties and pulled them back on. He left me on the edge, and I wanted to jump him.
Looking down at the basket of bikinis, I pursed my lips. “Hmm, I only got to try on one.”
He leaned over and rifled through, holding each one up to me before throwing it down. About halfway through he kept one and sat back.
“This one.”
I shrugged, and picked my bra off the floor along with the rest of my clothes and put them back on.
In the end, the bikini didn’t really matter. Whichever one he picked would be fine. After all, he was paying for it and letting me wear it on the beach.
At least he picked one of the prints I liked the most—a stripe with geometric shapes that resembled a kaleidoscope of colors.
I made Six walk through the curtain first, and I trailed behind. There were a few new customers in the store and some of them turned to stare at us.
We were heard.
I tried not to be embarrassed, but when I caught the nasty glare of the clerk at the register, heat flooded my cheeks.
On our way to the register, I weaved through the racks, picking up a pair of shorts, a tanktop, and flip flops. He said I was going to get my beach day, so I topped it off with a towel, sunscreen, and a beach bag.
I couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time in a month, I was going to do something I wanted to do. Something I enjoyed. I was going to savor the fuck out of whatever beach time he gave me.
It may have just been fulfilling a dying woman’s wish, but I didn’t care. I had a date with the ocean.
Six let me have the next afternoon on the beach. Warm sun and sand, salty waters, the whole shebang. Though I had to admit it wasn’t as much fun by myself, even with the rented chairs and umbrella complete with a waiter that brought me a Six-approved fruity drink.
Six was simply a guardian, making sure I didn’t pursue my swim to Cuba idea or get carried away by one of the meatheads tanning his over-muscled, over-tanned skin. Glued to his phone, he only left the lounger to get his feet wet in the waves. He even brought his gun with us, stuffed in the beach bag and under his chair.
Digby and I had talked multiple times about going to Miami for vacation, but it never happened.
“Your burn faded,” Six said the next morning.
I turned in front of the mirror to get a look at my back and shoulders. Sure enough, the color had evened out. Though, no matter how tan I got, I still looked burned.