The Bikini Diaries (6 page)

time sheathed it with her cunt, sliding down, warm and wet, taking him deep, to the hilt.

Oh Lord.
At first, she feared it was a mistake—he was too big to put her weight on; he filled her too deeply.

But then both his hands closed over her breasts, squeezing, massaging;—and pain

became pleasure.
Deep, invasive
pleasure. His full length was still challenging to take, but she eased her body slightly forward, men back a little, finding the best position.

Beneath her, he breathed deeply. "Okay?"

Her voice came out sounding thready. "So big."

"Too big?"

Clearly, she wasn't the first girl to have slowed down at this point. "No way," she assured him. "You fill me so full. I just have to... ease into this."

'Take your time, honey," he whispered, speaking slowly. "I want to make you feel
so
fucking good. I want to make you come."

Oh my. His dirty talk instantly made her pussy somehow expand and deepen. As she let

out a hot little "Oooh..." in response, her body sank more easily against his, accepting the whole length of his erection.

"Yeah, baby, ride me. Ride that big cock." His voice was still smooth, low, deep, gently prodding—and only then did she realize she'd begun to move on him in small, rhythmic

circles, fucking him. Fucking him like the bad girl she was. Loving his dirty talk all the more because she was dirty, too.

And, oh—it felt
so
damn good! Suddenly, quickly. The deep pleasure radiated all through her, echoing outward in every limb even as her clit connected with his body just above

his penis, her every sensual undulation rubbing it exactly the right way. "Oh
God,"
she moaned, the words seeming to come from someplace deep. "Oh God,
yeah."
This wasn't going to take long.

And apparently he knew it. "Come for me, honey. Come hard."

And that fast, she exploded into ecstasy. "Oh! Oh... God! God!" Then she heard her own orgasmic cries spring forth, loud sobs of ultimate delight echoing across the beach as the sensations pumped through her body—until finally they faded and she came back down

to earth.

And this would have been another key time when it all could have changed, when she

could suffer regret, or emptiness, or even a little doubt—-but nothing like that occurred.

All she felt was replete with pleasure and as if she were a more fully realized woman in this moment than ever before. She'd never felt more strangely... feminine. Although as

she slumped to his now-bared chest in exhaustion, to feel his arms close over her naked

back, she also couldn't help being thankful that the man she'd done this with was such a
nice
lover, someone happy to hold her after her climax, someone patient and skilled and concerned with her pleasure as much as his own.

Raising her head from where she'd nestled against his chest, she lifted one hand to his

stubbled jaw and kissed him.
Soft
at first, but then harder. And at some point as they made out, she realized he was still inside her and how used to it she'd become in such an amazingly short stretch of time.

"I want you," he breathed between short, hot kisses, "on your hands and knees."

Mmm, God—it was
his
turn to be in control again. And that suited her fine since she was more than willing to give it up and see where else he would take her.

Rising off him, she felt that initial emptiness as his cock left her, but wasted no time in

"assuming the position" he'd just demanded. She crawled back onto the padded lounge chair, arched her ass for him, remembered the similar view of herself in the mirror, and said over her shoulder, "Please fuck me hard."

The request earned a deep, lusty sigh from her man, and the next thing she felt were his hands molding to her bare hips, then his stiff cock, seeking entry where she was still wet and ready. She lifted her ass a little higher, trying to accommodate, more eager than she could have imagined to have his length back inside her.

As he began to slide inward, she had to grit her teeth against the incredible pressure, but then, like before, her body seemed to open to him, letting him glide all the way in. A low moan rose from her throat. Oh
God,
he was big. Almost overwhelmingly so. The mere sensation of having him inside her made her feel impaled—in a good way.

"How's that?" he rasped in the darkness.

'Amazing," she nearly purred. This was everything. Everything she'd wanted. A hot guy.

A sea breeze. Great sex. Astounding pleasure.

Then he began to fuck her, delivering short, hot thrusts she felt all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. "Unh! Unh! Unh!" she cried out at each jolting stroke. She could feel nothing else. Think of nothing else. Only the hard sensations that buffeted her body.

She'd never had sex in this exact position before and was poleaxed by how much she felt

it
everywhere.

"Fuck me," she heard herself begging. Even though he already was, and quite well.

"Harder. Faster." She supposed she just wanted more of this, all she could take—she didn't want to miss a single sensation her beach lover could give her.

He responded with increased strokes that she feared might split her apart at her very core but at the same time delivered still more mind-numbing pleasure. Her sobs echoed

through the night air until she felt a vague wonder that they'd not attracted an audience by now, but she was too drunk on sensation to even care. If she'd looked up to see a large

crowd watching them, it wouldn't have doused an ounce of her joy. Behind her, Brandon

grunted with each hard drive of his cock, filling her with still more dirty delight.

"Oh!" she cried out when he brought the flat of his hand down on her ass, hard. It stung—

and shocked her.

But it also moved through her in a pleasing way, since it added yet one more feeling to

everything she was experiencing.

He smacked her ass again—rand once more, even as it delivered a hot, stinging pain, it

heightened her pleasure. The very idea that he was actually
spanking
her excited her for reasons she couldn't understand. She drank it in, every nasty little slap of his hand,

relishing the way it vibrated through her body like the pluck of a harp string. A really
hard
pluck, of course. It was like the perfect little cherry on top of a very naughty sundae, and before she knew it, she could barely discern between the pleasure and pain of it, just wanting more and more sensation—of any kind.

She gasped when his hand touched her face from behind, his fingertips running across her lips. She felt herself part them, felt herself draw his middle finger inside. She sucked on it, using tongue and teeth, everything at her disposal, unduly aroused to have yet another small part of him inside her body. She even turned her head to meet his gaze and soon

realized he was pushing his finger into her mouth, then pulling it back out, same as his cock in her pussy.

What stunned the hell out of her, though, wasn't when he took his finger away, but when

a second later he used it to rub wetly against her anus in a tight little circle that instantly drove her mad! Oh! Oh God, she'd never... she'd had no idea... how that could feel... so very, very good!

When he thrust the tip of his finger into her ass, she sucked in her breath, then let out a mewling cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Just when she'd thought he couldn't make

her feel anything more—oh God, it was overwhelming. And then his finger slid deeper,

deeper, making her whimper as she broke out into a sweat, every pore of her body

reacting to this new, unexpected way of being fucked.

At some point her arms gave out, curling beneath her on the chair, but she kept her

bottom raised high as he continued giving her the most glorious fuck of her life. The

pleasure was so strange and new and intense that she began to fear she would lose her

mind. She wanted to touch herself, in front, but she simply hadn't the strength—he'd

drained it all from her.

"Please," she begged him without considering it, "rub me. Rub my pussy."

"Ah, Jesus," he murmured behind her, and she knew he liked the request. A moment later, the hand that had held steady at her hip all this time snaked around her thigh and between her legs, his fingertips stroking, stroking, where she needed it most.

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" That was all it took, all she needed, that last little bit of sensation in just the right spot. And she was tumbling, screaming, into an orgasm so intense that it

jolted her body almost violently—once, twice, three hard times before the pulses of

pleasure felt more like normal ones. She heard herself sobbing, nearly crying with the

release, not quite able to make sense of what had just happened to her body. She'd never experienced anything like this—she felt drunk, crazed, pleasured, replete, all at once.

Behind her, Brandon's thrusts grew harder, even harder, but she met them

enthusiastically—the very desire to please him as much as he'd pleased her delivered a

burst of energy when she least expected it. "Yes!" she told him through clenched teeth.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" There was no pain now, only a profound and pounding pleasure deep inside her as she took all he had to give.

His hands were back on her ass now, and he lifted one to spank her some more, the

stinging smacks coming precisely as he rammed himself into her deep. He began to

groan, to curse below his breath, 'Ah, damn... fuck... yes..." And then he thrust deeper than he ever had before, nearly pushing her knees out from under her, but she struggled to hold her position, and he rasped, 'Ah, yeah,
now,"
and drove deep, again, again, again, until finally they collapsed together in a heap on the lounge chair.

They lay that way a minute or two, long enough that Wendy began to wonder if he was

falling asleep. Long enough to start feeling regret—if she were going to feel it. She

didn't, though. At all. Elation was more like it.

"Hey," he finally whispered near her ear. "You okay?"

She turned, rolling onto her back and into his arms. "Way more than okay," she assured him.

He grinned down at her, looking amused and maybe a little pleased with himself, until

finally she said, "What?"

"Sorry. I'm just thinking about when we first got here, how concerned you seemed with not getting the bottom of your dress wet. And look at it now." He raised enough for Wendy to spy the tangerine-colored garment in a twisted jumble around ' her waist. Bits

of sand stuck to the fabric, and to their skin, from when she'd pushed him down onto the beach. They were a sexy, sticky, erotic mess.

She couldn't help smiling wickedly up into his eyes. "Some things are worth ruining a dress for."

The glimpse she'd taken between them—her body naked but for the bunched dress, his

cock still impressively erect, his chest as broad and strong as she'd suspected, also dotted with grains of sand—reminded her. "Do you believe I'm a bad girl now?" she asked, peering up at him.

"Mmm, maybe," he said with a shrug.

"You must, since you gave me such a nasty little spanking."

At this, he let out a loud laugh, then brought his gaze back to hers, lowering his voice.

"What can I say? I'm a little kinky sometimes."

She simply smiled, thinking:
Maybe I am, too,

"Working tomorrow?" Brandon heard himself ask as Wendy made the last tug involved in pulling her dress back into place.

"Some meetings in the morning," she said, brushing sand off her arm. Her long coppery hair was totally mussed, like that of a woman who'd just been well fucked—a look he

definitely liked on her.

He took her hand as they began heading back toward the boardwalk. "Will you be by the Shellside pool in the afternoon?" She'd told him which building she was staying in. "Or on the beach?"

She tilted her head, the ocean breeze blowing strands of hair across her face. "Um, I'm not sure."

He'd found himself watching the sand as they walked, not entirely comfortable with his

own pursuit of her, but at this answer, he glanced up with a grin. "Are you being

indecisive or coy?"

"The former. Mostly," she added, then laughed prettily.

"Well..." he said, not quite sure where to go from there. "Maybe I'll see you. At the pool.

Or on the beach." The truth was, he wasn't used to seeking out a woman a second time.

And he sure as hell wasn't used to having a woman leave him uncertain as to whether she

wanted to see him again. This was the exact opposite of how his trysts generally ended

She smiled at him in the moonlight as she grabbed her shoes from where they'd left them.

"At least
these
survived the night unscathed," she said.

Shit—changing the subject. Not a good sign.

And he liked her. He'd liked fucking her, of course, but beyond that, he just
liked
her. He liked everything from her willingness to be so up front about sex to the way she kept

insisting she was a bad girl—which he thought proved she probably really wasn't deep

down inside. He liked that she was both smart and sexy. He'd liked dancing with her.

He'd liked spanking her. He'd liked everything in between.

And damn, the girl had a gorgeous body. It
wasn't
a girl's body, though—but a woman's, rife with grown-up curves.

He wanted more. Both of the body and the brain. Which wasn't his usual way. He liked

one-night stands. They were easy to find in a world filled with tourists—girls' getaways, bachelorette trips, spring break. His work was his life—his work and this beach that had drawn him since his boyhood—and he had no room in it for a woman who would
need

him, for a relationship that would require
effort.
He loved his life as it was and had no desire to change it. And for that reason he purposefully sought out one-night liaisons. He didn't see it as tawdry; he simply saw it as two people having fun, fulfilling physical -