Deep Diving (12 page)

He picks up a raspberry and with his face a picture of concentration, he aligns my nipple with the hole at the top of the raspberry. Gripping my breast, he fits my nipple to the raspberry and then does the same to the other side. My breasts throb from his touch and the tiny pressure of the berry cap.

My senses flood. The sweet smell of fruit is heady. The slightly sour, yeasty smell of yoghurt as it heats against my flesh reminds me of more carnal scents like me awash with arousal. I squirm, trying to squeeze my thighs together as if that would rid the room of my scent, but Cooper’s hand slips around my right thigh and gently spreads my legs. His left hand drops a slice of mango onto my waxed mons and then he settles it between the lips of my wet, open pussy. He follows with a slice of paw paw. The soft, cool slickness and the musty smell overwhelms me. I moan, low and decadent.

The paw paw scent and the slick juiciness of mango are doing my head in. What other fruit could go down there? Nothing is more fitting. And then the laugh catches in my throat. Cooper has a banana in his fist. Catching my gaze, he slowly peels it. He is hot decadence, lusty mischief, and barely-reined-in anticipation.

My breath lodges when he slips the banana between my thighs. Insertion is my first thought and I’m squirming imagining that. How would a banana go inside me? How would he eat it out of me? My heart races and blood pounds, but it’s mostly pounding around my clenched vagina. A throbbing pulse. Cooper’s fingers press me wider. I hope he knows what this is doing to me.

One glance at his wicked, sexy grin and those dark, dark eyes and he knows.

He slides the banana longways along my slit so the tip pokes up above the mango and paw paw. Lord, it’s like his cock pressing against me. My skin flares and the banana scent washes across. Cooper dollops yoghurt on my mons and tops it with a mix of berries.

‘I think my breakfast is ready.’ He licks his lips slowly. His stare captures and holds mine before slipping down my body. ‘I’m not sure where to start. A meal has never looked so delicious.’

I think he should start on my lips, but then my nipples clench and maybe he should start there. The scent of banana drifts up and maybe that’s where he should start. Oh, hell, he could start anywhere. ‘Just start.’ My voice is guttural, cracking on the last word, like a growl.

He chuckles and starts at my lips, probably to stop any further complaints. As if there would be any. Cooper’s always starving and eats like a man who enjoys his food. There won’t be another word of complaint from me.

His mouth is unrelenting as he kisses and laps the yoghurt from my face. It’s almost a mutual eating as he licks and my tongue swipes. One hand cups his cheek and jaw, so I can guide his face nearer to mine, holding him so I can partake in the feast. My palm is scratched by the holiday stubble, rich and thick on his cheek. I can’t help but rub my hand over his jaw. My fingertips explore the hardness of cheekbone, the strength of jawbone, the tension in the masseter muscles.

I groan when he pulls away from my face, yoghurt eaten. He turns his lips to my fingers and nips against them before his tongue sweeps across. Moaning again, my head is thrown back against the pillows while I fight the urge to squirm and wiggle. He drops my hand and I clench them into fists, holding still so the fruit doesn’t fall.

His lips slide between my breasts. Hot, hungry lips on soft, tender flesh. He licks a big long stroke towards my chin and I gurgle with barely-restrained pleasure. He captures my hand with his, opening my fist and threading our fingers together.

Blueberries and yoghurt. The scent is subtle as he licks, laps and eats. My raspberry-covered nipples throb. Clenched tight they impatiently await his attention but he moves downward after cleaning the blueberries, nudging the half-eaten strawberry down my midline.

He eats the strawberry from my navel. I don’t see but juice runs over the edge of my bellybutton and pools inside. He laps it, taking care to ensure every dip is followed by a swirl of his tongue that makes my back rise from the bed and my breath catch.

The pear is gone next time I look and he’s licked away the yoghurt that held it. He moves further down and my thighs tense, my toes curl in anticipation.

Quickly, he bites the top off the banana and grins as if he’s done something naughty and gotten away with it. In other circumstances I may have laughed but I’m too caught up anticipating the rest of the feast to manage it.

With a ravenous mouth he cleans the berries and yoghurt from my mons. He eats hungrily, his teeth rasping across my waxed flesh as he cleans up mouthfuls at a time, as if eager to get further. I’m a shuddering mess. My skin alternately tingles, throbs, and pulses. And when he’s not touching it, it aches and burns for him. All the liquid heat of his mouth, his touch, makes me wriggle. Lapping the last bit clean takes no time. I almost wish there was another dollop of yoghurt. He stands and pauses.

Eyes dark with pleasure, he looks at the half-eaten banana and then at my raspberry-topped breasts. I dare not move. I don’t want him to stop.

Finally, he prowls to the end of the bed and climbs between my thighs. Air whooshes from my mouth. He glances up from between my thighs and grins. God, he’s pure sex when he looks like that.

His head burrows between my thighs and I’m lost.

I’m overwhelmed by scents and sounds. Banana awash with yoghurt, awash with me, awash with mango and paw paw. Traces of berries. The fresh morning air. The sounds of the sea whispering against the sand in the distance. The mashing of banana as Cooper feeds. The lap of his tongue as he scoops up yoghurt. The smack of his lips. The murmuring moans of a woman well-pleasured. A woman so far gone in ecstasy she’s outside herself. The press of fingers into flesh. The slurp of mango juice. The suck of paw paw slipping through lips. The lap of juice and yoghurt. The scream of a woman’s orgasm as male lips clamp her clit. The squelch of fingers slipping into a soaking cunt begging for filling. A rhythmic slurp of fingers fucking a wet cunt. And the low murmuring, swearing, panting, screaming of a woman’s peak as she’s pleasured beyond her wildest dreams.

Silence.

Stillness.

A suck as fingers slip out. The creak of the bed as a body moves. The soft growl as a man prowls.
Pop
. A raspberry is tugged free. The bright burst of raspberry juice. The tingling of a nipple until wet fingertips capture it. The slow suckle of a hot mouth on the other raspberry. The low murmur of a woman who can’t possibly want more. The pop of a tight mouth pulled from a tighter nipple. A sigh, ragged and exhausted. The chuckle of a proud man.

I’ve experienced it all but I can’t tell you any more. My mind is a wasteland of mush. Sensory overload has killed brain cells. My body is alive and screaming with pleasure but each body part is indistinguishable from another. I can feel my heart pounding, harder than after a race, yet I’ve barely moved. Muscles have wasted to jelly beneath my skin. I have no control over jelly.

I concentrate on the air moving into my lungs. My nostrils flare, cool air rushes in. I feel it slide down my throat and fill my lungs. I relax and the air parts my lips and escapes, warmer. I lie focussed on breathing until it again becomes natural.

‘You’re going to kill me, Cooper.’ My words are tiny and quiet. Not like my voice at all. I could almost believe I’m defeated with a voice that soft.

‘You set the challenge.’

I open my eyes to meet his amused gaze. ‘I didn’t know you were so competitive then.’

He grins. ‘Bad luck.’

My mouth twists into a smart smile. ‘Actually, I don’t think it’s anywhere close to bad.’

He laughs and wraps me in a hug, his lips meeting mine. The delicious remnants of breakfast are sweet on his mouth, before I recognise the taste of myself mixed in the blend. I stall as my flavour hits me. But his kiss demands my sole attention. He’s devoured me as if I’m the sweetest fruit of all, and this kiss is no different.

***

I wish I could say I was sated but I can’t. The more sex we have, the more I want. I hate to think how Cooper’s feeling since he didn’t get any direct relief but I’m not asking him or we’ll never make the dive. Today the sea is like glass, so we’re heading out to dive at the Admiralty Islands and I’m not going to miss it.

I’m glad of my determination. The dive is brilliant with calm seas, great visibility and loads of fish and corals to see and photograph. Back on deck afterwards, while assisting each other out of wetsuits, I chatter hoping to distract myself from lustful thoughts.

‘Did you see that flutemouth at the end? Those tiny fins quivering a thousand miles an hour even though he was hardly moving. Wow. I’ve never seen one before. And my photo is awesome.’

‘The long pipe fish thing?’

‘Yeah, amazing wasn’t he?’

Cooper murmurs an agreement but since I’m wrestling the wetsuit down his thighs I can’t pay attention to his words, taken as I am by the play of muscles in his legs.

When he steps out of his wetsuit and starts on mine, all I can concentrate on is the puff of his breath across my nape and shoulders and the way shivers scurry through me. And then I realise he’s talking to me.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’

Cooper smirks. ‘Are you off in Lustland again?’

I can’t help it. I laugh even as a blush sneaks up my face. ‘I’m trying not to go there but it sneaks up on me.’

‘What was the bright blue fish with the yellow dash across the top?’

‘A southern fusilier. Amazing colour, isn’t it?’

‘And those weird ones that were black with a yellow tail and a blue and yellow face?’

‘Yellowtail angelfish. Related to the black ones with that blob of white halfway down their body that dart in and out of the weeds.’

‘Oh, the skitty ones. They were funny. Racing around like they owned the place, then darting away to hide. I got awesome photos of all of them.’

I punch him in the arm before I remember how much it hurts. ‘You won’t beat my flutemouth.’

‘What were the red-tailed tiny things that looked like they belonged in a tropical fish aquarium?’

‘Firefish. I have a great pic of them too.’ I strip my wetsuit from my feet and take it to the tub. When I return, Cooper is in deep discussion with one of the older chaps on the dive trip, receiving a lesson on firefish, scorpionfish, angelfish, scalybacks and Moorish Idols. I bite my lips to remove the grin and sit quietly beside him. Then I relent and hand him a water bottle hoping to break him away from his lecture but it’s not to be. The man has a captive audience and Cooper is too polite to ignore him.

I stretch my back and lean my arms along the edge of the boat as we head back in. My fingers slide against Cooper’s back, tracing the dips and troughs of muscle and vertebrae. I tip my face up towards the sunshine, close my eyes and let my fingers wander. Warm. Silken. Strong. Alive. Velvet-like. A hard nub. A slide. Flex, stretch, vanish.

A shadow falls across me and my lips tighten and lift before his heated mouth drops on top of them. It’s a quick kiss. A brief brush. Claiming me before he sits back and soaks up the sunshine.

I hope I have some great photos of him too. Although you may not see much under all the gear, I love to watch his studied concentration as he lines up a shot, the intensity of his gaze while he examines. I love the outline of those hard muscles wrapped in neoprene.

And I hope like heck he doesn’t think too much about the photos. I tried to make them arty or get a strange light angle. You don’t take lots of photos of a holiday fling.

We unload, wash gear, do all the usual and then download the photos. There are bubbles in my stomach, a couple of wobbles in my knees, and a great big sense of satisfaction.

‘You go first.’ I wave Cooper towards the computer but he defers to my femaleness. Who am I to argue? I’m dying to see my photos.

Brian downloads them quickly and we begin the slideshow. The man who lectured Cooper about fish appears and stays to vote on the photos. We can’t kick him out, although I’d like to. With my shoulders thrust back, a gleam in my eye and a heartbeat just a little too fast, I watch my photos flick up.

‘Oh, that’s good.’ A nice Moorish Idol in a beam of light.

There’s a few more of Cooper than I remember taking. My arms fold across my chest and I bite my lips. They are arty. And good, even if I have to say that myself. Cooper says nothing.

‘Oooohhhh…’ My flutemouth is stunning. In the dark background, with sunlight picking up his fins, it stands out even better than it did in the water.

Cooper lifts an eyebrow. ‘You’ve set a high standard, Sam.’ He’s relaxed, head tilted back, eyes dancing, a lazy smile permanently attached.

A breathlessness takes over while I wait for his photos to download. The flutemouth is beyond my expectations. Surely he can’t better it.

His early photos are all wrasse, scalybacks and angelfish. Hardly surprising as he loves these fish that dart around him. There are photos of me, not unlike those I took of him. No wonder he said nothing. My back muscles relax even as my heart gives a flutter.

None of his photos are better than my flutemouth. My back straightens, my chest puffs and a smile bursts across my face. And then his firefish appears.

‘Shit.’ The expletive pops from my mouth before I can think. His photo is incredible. Perfect composition, stunning lighting, and the firefish fills the shot as the dramatic hero. ‘Coop, it’s fantastic.’ My hand closes over his forearm.

His expression is frozen. His mouth agape, eyes round and staring at the screen.

‘Cooper.’ I throw my arms around him and squeeze. ‘You need to enter that into some contest. It’s amazing.’ I should be upset to lose again but the photo is incredible. Usually when you come back the magical quality of the underwater world is left behind, but with this photo he’s brought it to the surface with him.

His body ripples before he turns into my arms. He hugs me. ‘Sorry to whup your arse again.’ His grin does what it always does and my insides go all gooey, my knees weaken.

I laugh, keeping it light because of the company. ‘I don’t like it but with you, I have to get used to it.’ I’ve never enjoyed losing but competing means you have to learn to lose. I’ve had those lessons and now I’m being taught them again. It is a little easier this time, easier on the eye.