Megan Hart - Naughty Bits

He moans softly. Whispers, “Beautiful.”

It has been a long time since she’s felt beautiful. But now, with him, she does. And it is a sort of relief she can’t explain, even to herself, whispering beneath the desire.

But she doesn’t need to think now. She only needs to feel.

Pulling her bikini top off, she keeps her gaze on him. His mouth has gone soft, his eyes glittering. And he is stroking his cock, his fingers moving lightly over that rigid flesh.

She has never seen anything hotter in her life.

She slides her bikini bottoms over her hips, steps out of them, takes one step closer to him. He moves toward her, stops a foot or two away.

“Touch yourself for me,” he demands.

She smiles, feathers her fingers over her nipples once more before moving lower, brushing her mound. When she slips two fingers over her cleft she is soaking wet, slippery, like the sea. She can still hear it, smell that tang of salt in the air. And it is all a part of the moment—the sea moving and surging, the scent in the air. It is the power of the ocean and he is the earth, and between them is fire, building, burning.

“Put your fingers inside yourself,” he tells her, and she does it, spreading her thighs a little and dipping into that wet, waiting hole.

Pleasure moves through her, at her own touch, at his dark gaze on her. At the way he takes a gasping breath and clamps his fingers over his beautiful cock.

He reaches out and takes her hand from between her thighs, raises it. His lips open and he takes her fingers into his mouth, the damp heat enveloping her.

This must be what his cock feels like, sliding into a woman. Sliding into her.

Her sex clenches.

“I need to feel you,” she tells him. “I need your hands on me. Your mouth. Your cock.”

“Yes,” he says, his voice low, full of smoke and need.

Her hand still in his, he leads her to the bed. The sheets are mussed from her nap earlier in the day, the pillows dented. He lays her down on her back and kneels over her. She shivers, waiting.

Lowering his head, he kisses her, lightly, and she can taste her own juices on his lips. Then he is moving lower, his mouth all over her skin, sucking one rigid nipple into his mouth.

“Ah!”

She can hardly believe how close she is to coming already. Her hands go into his damp, thick hair, holding him close to her breast. He is sucking so hard it hurts. But it feels too good for her to care.

Yes, suck harder….

Pleasure, warm and sweet, washes over her body, a trail of heat from her breasts to her sex. Her clit is throbbing.

“Touch me,” she says demandingly.

He moves lower and spreads her thighs wide with his hands. And then his mouth is on her, his wet, clever tongue sliding over her pussy lips, pushing inside. And she is squirming, panting. Pleasure is driving into her body, making her shudder. And when he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks, she comes, bursting, her hips lifting up off the bed.

“Ah, yes, fuck me!”

His fingers drive into her, and pleasure coils anew in her belly, tight and hot, then crashes over her like a pummeling wave. And she shatters, coming and coming, her hips bucking into his mouth, his hand.

She is still shivering when he raises his head. He is smiling. He lifts her and moves her up on the bed, then asks her, “Condoms?”

She nods her head, but it is a moment before she can speak. “In the small silver case, next to my suitcase.”

She watches as he leans over next to the bed where her open luggage sits on the floor, clothes spilling out onto the tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics case, unzips it, and after a moment of digging, pulls out the folded strand of foil packets left over from the last trip she’d taken with her ex before…

She isn’t going to think of that now.

He is opening a packet with his teeth, and this seems purely sexual to her, animalistic. But perhaps that’s simply because her body is still trembling with the aftershock of orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock will be inside her in only moments.

Yes.

He kneels over her on the bed, but before he can sheath himself she reaches up and takes the silver ring between her fingers, tugs on it.

He groans.

“It’s called a Prince Albert piercing?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never seen one before. Not in person. Did it hurt?”

He laughs. “Yes, it hurt.”

She smiles, doesn’t tell him she likes knowing that for some reason.

“Will it feel different?”

“You’re about to find out.”

He slips the condom onto his cock, and she spreads her thighs for him.

“Yes, that’s it. Wider.” His voice is low, strained.

He is kneeling between her legs, and she loops them over his strong thighs. He slips one hand under her ass and pulls her up, onto his shaft, entering her.

He pauses, the head of his cock inside her, and she swears she can feel the curve of the metal ring, a lovely added texture. Her sex is pulsing with pleasure, her whole body is pulsing; a steady beat of lust centered at that point where the thick metal ring, the head of his cock, pierces her body.

She shifts, trying to take him deeper. His hand comes to her cheek, caresses her jaw, then he is holding her face a little too roughly. And he slams into her, one deep, hurting thrust.

“Oh!”

She goes loose all over, her body turning to pure liquid fire. Pleasure, pain, it’s all the same as he pulls back, rams into her again. Then he is fucking her, his cock sliding in and out, hard and hurting and so damn good she is ready to come again in moments.

The first wave makes the walls of her sex clench around his swollen cock.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs.

And then he is driving harder into her, and she is coming apart, her climax pounding into her, overwhelming her. She is lost, drowning in pleasure, shaking with the force of it.

And he is still fucking her, fucking her, driving her orgasm on. Moments later he tenses, shivers, cries out as he comes, one hand gripping her ass, his nails biting deep. The other hand still holds her face, so that she is forced to look at him. And she loves the way he just comes apart, his mouth so full and soft as he groans, his eyes closed, his head falling back.

And still his hips are moving, his cock still hard somehow. And she is coming again, her body tensing, clenching. He senses what is happening, reaches down and takes her clit between his fingers, pinching, tugging. Pleasure, intense, freeing, surges through her, driving deep. And she is left panting and weak. And as sated as she has ever been in her life.

He pulls out of her and she expects him to move away. But after tugging the condom off, he rolls onto his side, pulling her close. Her head against his chest, she can hear his heart hammering beneath her ear. His body is warm. He smells more like the ocean than ever.

They sleep. When she wakes it is fully dark. She has no idea what time it is. It doesn’t matter.

She slips from the bed and brings a bottle of wine—a fruity red from Chile—back to the bed, along with a plate of fruit and some pastries she bought that morning from a vendor on the beach.

Moonlight washes through the half-open shutters, blue and silver in the dark room. And she can see that he is awake, watching her.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay here with me. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He sits up in the bed, takes the wine from her, uncorks it and drinks from the bottle before passing it back to her.

She has set the plate on the bed, and he takes the knife she laid on the edge of the plate and peels an apple, then cuts it into pieces and offers her one. She bites into the apple, the cool sweetness filling her mouth. She follows it with a long sip of the wine. Everything seems utterly sensual to her: the fruit, the wine, the scent of sex in the air, the heat of his body next to hers. And outside the windows, the pulsing beat of the ocean crashing on the shore.