Megan Hart - Naughty Bits

She moves closer, letting the waves bring her right up against him. His body is every bit as hard and strong as it looks. And his solid erection presses into the soft flesh of her belly.

In her mind is one word: Yes .

His hand grasps her shoulder, slides down her arm, and the next wave crushes them together, her breasts pressing against his hard chest. She looks up, sees his mouth, wants to kiss him still. And as though reading her mind, he lowers his head and his mouth comes down on hers.

His lips are lovely, soft, salty with the ocean. When he parts her lips and slides his tongue inside, she melts all over. Her sex grows molten with need, and she kisses him back, hungry for whatever he offers. He fills her mouth; his tongue is hot, wet. She needs more.

Pulling away, she presses her lips to his neck, slides her tongue down his throat and hears a small moan from him. Her body pulses in response. Moving her mouth, she licks the tattooed skin of his shoulder, swirls her tongue over the design there. Salt—the salt of sweat and of the sea. And something else, something almost sweet, vanilla-like, beneath the salt. Something which is simply a part of him . His hands go into her hair, his fingers curling, but he lets her move freely.

She pulls back to see the landscape of his body, the angles and curves of him. Reaching out to touch him, she finds his nipples hard beneath her fingers. She wants to pull them, one at a time, into her mouth, and she does, while the strength of the ocean moves them around.

His hands slide down her sides and slip beneath her bathing suit top. Finding her nipples with his fingertips, he caresses, pulls, teases, until her sex is throbbing with heat. She moves back to his mouth, licks his lower lip, takes it into her mouth, sucks on it. He pinches her nipples, hard, and she breathes out,“Touch me.”

His arm comes around her waist, pulling her into his body. His hand snakes down between them, beneath the water, pushes aside the edge of her bikini bottom. And delves inside, finding her swollen folds. She can hardly stand it, his touch, the warm rush of the water, the heady scent of him in her nostrils. He moves his fingertips over her clitoris, which is hard and alive and needy. He begins to rub.

She is aching, nearly hurting. Reaching beneath the water, she pulls his engorged cock from his trunks and is thrilled with the size and the weight of it. And even more with the feel of the heavy steel ring embedded just below the head. Immediately fascinated, she runs her fingertips over the cool metal, playing with the ring, tugging on it a little.

She strokes him in cadence with his hand between her thighs. He is guiding her legs with his free hand now, wrapping them around his waist, so that he is holding her, weightless, in the water.

Sensation builds. Blood pounds through her veins, her pulse beating into his mouth where it is sucking on the flesh of her throat. Her sex beats in time, a low, thrumming rhythm, matched by his pulsing cock in her hand. She loves the way he fills her palm, that she can barely wrap her fingers around him. But she doesn’t want him inside her yet. She wants them to come into each other’s hands first.

When he pushes a thumb inside her she almost loses it. She grasps his cock tighter, strokes harder, hangs on until she hears him moan again, feels his body tensing all over. She moves her hips into his hand, trembles as he presses onto her clit, taking her up and over the edge. Pressure is building inside her, like a vessel filled to overflowing. He moves his hand faster. Pleasure swims through her veins, through her head, overtaking her. And as her orgasm washes over her, she pumps his cock, feeling the hot rush as he comes into her palm. She shakes with the force of it, thrusts her hips, presses harder into his fingers. And he doesn’t stop, stays with her, while her sex clenches, while pleasure arcs through her sex, through her body.

Her hand is sticky with his come, but soon the cleansing ocean water washes it away, leaving her feeling a little sad. She clings to him, her sex still pulsing and warm, her breath a ragged panting in her own ears.

And all around them, the ocean moves to its own eternal rhythm.

With his fingers, he wipes her wet hair from her face. Such a tender move from a stranger, but with his softening cock still in her hand, he is hardly a stranger, is he?

They stay together in the water, letting the ocean rock them, her head against his chest, until the sky begins to streak with pink and amber. Neither seems to want to let go, to end the experience.

Finally he asks her, “Are you tired?”

“No, not tired at all.” And for the first time in days, she realizes this is true. She feels the energy in her body like a banked fire he has sparked to life.

He is quiet a moment, then he whispers, so softly she can barely hear him above the pounding of the surf, the call of ocean birds, “Take me to your room.”

She looks up at him, nods her head. Slowly, she unwraps her body from his, uncoiling like a long strand of seaweed, the tension gone from her body. She feels a sense of release. And yet, a new and exquisite tension is building simply from the soft tone of his voice in her ear. At the implication of what might lie ahead tonight.

He takes her hand and follows her out of the sea. On the beach, she grabs her towel from the sand, her straw hat, the book she brought along to read, but which she wasn’t able to concentrate on.

Together they move across the sand. At the door to her room she turns to look at him. His skin is beaded with water, the tips of his short, light brown hair still dripping. She offers her towel to him. He takes it, but rather than drying himself he smoothes the towel over her skin: her shoulders, down her arms, across her stomach. When he kneels to dry her calves, moving up her thighs, her sex gives a hard squeeze.

Yes…

In a moment he is on his feet again, roughly rubbing himself dry. He lifts his chin, motioning for her to open the door. She pauses, and he smiles at her.

His smile is brilliant, radiant. As beautiful as the rest of him.

She turns the knob, opens the door and they slip inside. She drops her hat and her book on a small painted table. He moves past her, looks around, then drapes the damp towel over the back of a chair. She shivers a little in the cooler air of the cottage, watching him move, the sleek motion of hard-packed muscle.

She takes a step toward him.

“Wait,” he tells her. “I want to look at you. To watch you for a moment.”

She stops, waits. He runs a hand down his stomach, over that narrow trail of dark hair leading from his navel and into the band of his black and red trunks. Yes, she wants to see him as well, wants to see his naked flesh, his pierced cock. Her nipples are going hard once more, the lips of her sex filling, swelling.

When he presses a hand to the front of his trunks, she can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock beneath the wet fabric.

Oh, yes…

And then he slips his trunks off and stands before her, naked. His body is a marvel, all hard muscle and smooth, tanned skin. His cock is so beautiful, her hands ache to touch it. Her sex aches with the need to feel him inside of her. And the wicked metal ring glinting in the dying sun coming through the shuttered windows.

Her throat goes dry. Her sex goes wet. She squeezes her thighs together.

“Your turn,” he says.

With his dark eyes on her, she brings her hands up to cup her breasts through her bathing suit top; she cannot wait for his touch. Her nipples are so hard they hurt. His eyes are riveted to her hands moving over her breasts, and she moves the triangles of blue fabric aside, squeezes her nipples, tugs on them, pleasure burrowing deep into her system. Everything is amplified by his brown eyes on her, by the lust clear on his face.