She lifts up onto her knees and positions herself above my already-weeping cock. I take her hips and guide her down slowly. Using my strength to keep her from moving tooquickly, taking too much. Any other time I would eat her until she begs me to stop, but tonight I’m in a bit of a hurry. This beach is our private property, but the rest of the lake isn’t. “There you go. You’ve got it.” I move her hips forward with my hands. “Now rock a little.” I slide in an inch. I push her hips back and pull her to me again. Another inch. “Oh fuck.”
In one more move I’m fully seated. “Take what you need,” I command, and she does. Her fingers move deftly toward her clit; she puts the other free hand on my chest using me as leverage to swivel her hips. It’s fucking heaven.
There’s ecstasy on her face as she uses my cock and her fingers to drive herself higher. She rocks again and again.
For a split second her peaceful face is torn through with a grimace and I still her hips. “What is it?”
She pushes through the grip of my hands. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
I pop her right off my cock. She’s tall, but she’s not triple thick like me. I push grown men around for a living, Nash is nothing. She squirms in my hold. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me what hurts.” My voice is steady, even though my cock is weeping at the loss of her tight heat.
She goes limp in my hands, shoulders falling. “My knee. It’s still bruised from my dig last weekend.” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because I’m flipping us over.
“You’re not going to ride me if you’re hurting.” I line myself up between her thighs. From here I can see the purple spot the size of a golf ball marking her knee. If I had known it was there, I never would have flipped us to start with. “But now that you’ve been a good girl and told me what’s hurting you,” I fist myself and slide my slick cock through her welcoming folds, “you can come.”
I punch my hips and slide all the way in with one stroke.She’s so wet for me, the only resistance I’m met with is from my sheer size. I guide her legs up and around me.
“Touch yourself again, Nash.” I know she needs it. I watch as her hand slides back down her taut stomach. Seeing my cock disappear into her at the same time as her fingers circling her own pleasure is almost too much for me. Her free hand reaches from where it was resting next to her head as she takes one of my hands. She slides it up toward her neck and I get dizzy with lust at the idea of choking her. I put my hand around her throat, not enough to hurt or cut off her air, but just enough to let her know I’ll give her whatever she wants. The fingers on her clit move faster. Her hand around mine on her neck clenches harder. “More,” she pants, and I hold tighter.
“You like that? A little fear with your pleasure?” She nods, unable to speak.
I move faster, stoking her higher. As high as I possibly can. I need her to catch up with me because I can feel my orgasm starting in my lower back; it’s moving at a sprinter’s pace through my body.
“Oh my God, Wyatt,” she moans, and I know she’s letting go. I can feel her clenching down on me, the kind of tightness that I can’t beat. I stroke through her orgasm until her face loses the twist of pleasure, and I fall over the edge right after.
My name is still Wyatt. That’s what everyone has called me for my twenty-seven years, but when she says it now, tinged with the pleasure I’m giving her, it’s like she’s renamed me. I’ll renounce Wyatt and obey whatever name she sees fit if that’s what she wants.
The blush on her cheeks, her hair wild from sex, and the wind. She’s so beautiful like this that my heart ceases its hammering and kicks one hard thump in my chest before it goes back to its erratic rhythm. I lean down and kiss heragain. I don’t want to ever move from this spot. I don’t give a fuck that my bare ass is out on the shores of Lake Michigan.
The quickpopof someone shooting off their leftover fireworks startles me out of my reverie, and I realize I need to get us covered again. I guide her shorts back up her thighs before attending to my own.
“I’d love to stay inside you until I get hard again—which trust me, wouldn’t take very long— but we’ve had a long day. We should pack this up and get back.” The sun has been gone for a while now, lost to the horizon.
Nash puts on her best pouty face and gestures to the bag of goodies beside the chairs we occupied not long ago. “But I wanted s’mores.”
I heave a dramatic sigh like I’m horribly inconvenienced, but quickly wink at her. “I’ve worked up an appetite anyway.”
She rolls her lips in response, and I hope she never closes her eyes again without seeing me framed over her, my hand at her throat giving her everything I have and everything she needs. Even if I don’t get a new contract with the Hurricanes, and I have to move to another new city and start over again, I hope this is what she sees at night when she’s trying to fall asleep.
We stay in our blanket nest as I pull over the goody bag and disperse s’mores ingredients.
Comfortable silence stretches over us both as we watch our marshmallows toast in the flame, or watch the waves roll onto the beach.
My marshmallow catches fire, and I let it burn a bit before I pull it out to blow on it. I like mine burnt to shit. “Hold my crackers for me?” I ask, and Nash puts her roasting fork under her arm to help me transfer my marshmallow.
She wrinkles her nose at its charcoal appearance. “That’s disgusting.”
I shrug as I bring the treat to my lips. “Different strokes for different folks.” I almost stop dead in my tracks, graham cracker gooey goodness touching my tongue when I’m hit full force with the sweetest smell in the world. Nash’s wetness still coats my fingers now, just centimeters from my nose. I take a deep inhale, pretending like I just really love s’mores, and not that I’m a perv who can’t get enough of his woman’s sensual perfume. I know she’d be embarrassed if she knew, so I say nothing. I just eat my s’more straight faced even though I’m being tortured by the reminder of what we just did.
When we’re done, I use the bucket stored near the campfire to scoop some water out of the waves of Lake Michigan to put the fire out. When I’m sure it’s completely doused, I turn back to Nash. “Ready to go?”
She rubs her tummy, full of the three s’mores she ate, and says, “I’m so sleepy.”
We load everything back up into the golf cart and climb in. Nash snuggles up against me to ward off the chill of the cool night. On the way here I drove like a bat out of hell. It’s like I got in the golf cart and my teenage self took over the wheel. We used to speed through these woods and over the fields on four-by-fours and golf carts. It was something thrilling to do in a not-so-thrilling town. But now, with Nash completely sated and cuddled up against me, I find myself in no rush to get back to the farmhouse. No rush to say goodnight and go to our separate bedrooms. I respect my parents, but if Nash asked me to break the rules, I’d be there quicker than the Spotted Cow keg gets tapped at a Wisconsin wedding.
“Look,” I point off the side of the path where little balls of golden light flash and disappear. “Lightning bugs.”