Desert Island - Page 20

“And that’s when I left,” he says. “I hadn’t taken a vacation since I was a kid with my parents, but it was time. I rented a yacht and sailed out on my own. The guy at the rental agency recommended that I hire a captain to go with me, but I didn’t listen. I needed some time on my own with no one else around and I had taken a couple of courses a few years earlier, so I was confident that I could do it. I was wrong.”

He laughs as he shakes his head and looks out at the water. I’m staring at the strong line of his jaw wondering how it would feel to run my hand along it.

“Three days in off the coast of Bermuda and all of my gear stopped working.”

“The Bermuda Triangle,” I whisper.

He looks at me, blue eyes alert. “You think?”

“My GPS turned off,” I say. “All of my instruments stopped working too. My compass was spinning like crazy. It was wild.”

“There was a big storm one night and my yacht slammed into a wave. It started taking on water. A lot of water. It looked like a scene from the Titanic.”

He shivers as his eyes get a glassy look, like he’s seeing a horror scene in his mind and can no longer see the beautiful beach or the swaying palm trees.

“I grabbed a lifejacket and clung on as the ship went down,” he continues. “All of a sudden, I was in the open ocean, getting thrown around by twenty-foot waves.”

“How long were you out there?”

“I don’t know,” he says, coming back to life. “I got knocked unconscious. The storm had passed when I woke up. When the sun finally rose a few hours later, I saw this island in the distance and started kicking my feet until I hit land.”

“I can’t believe it was eight years ago,” I say, marveling at him that he’s lasted so long on this island by himself. He learned how to do it all on his own. He’s amazing.

“It was a long eight years,” he says as he looks at me with adoration in his blue eyes. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now. All I need is you.”

My heart starts thumping harder in my chest as he gives me that seductive look. I don’t know what happens, but my body starts moving on its own.

It’s like I’m not moving fast enough for it and it’s taking matters into its own hands. I watch myself like I’m detached from above as my hand puts down my spoon and bowl.

He swallows hard as he watches me approach him. I take the spoon and bowl out of his hands and put them on the sand next to him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking eager to find out.

“Sit back,” I say as I place my palm on his hard chest and gently push him back. Those big strong arms straighten out behind him, his palms on the sand, as he watches me reaching for his loincloth.

“You’re not alone anymore,” I whisper as I grab the clasp on the loincloth, which is even softer than it looks. “Your girl is here and she’s going to make everything all right.”

His big chest starts moving up and down faster as I peel off his loincloth revealing his long firm erection.

“Oh, yes,” I whisper as I wrap my hand around the thick root and stand it straight up. I stare at it with my mouth hanging open, studying every fascinating detail from the soft round head, to the pulsating veins running up the shaft, to the tiny slit at the top that’s beginning to leak out pre-come now that my fingers are clenched around it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It has a strong effect on my body—filling me with an erotic warmth and engulfing me in a heavy craving I feel deep in my bones. I want this beautiful dick inside of me. Every wet hole I have is aching for it.

He groans as I lean down and slide it through my tingling lips, taking him in and feeling my mouth stretch wide. I choke as I push his hard cock in a little too far, a little too quickly.

“Oh fuck, Bridget,” Carson groans as his head drops back, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. “I love your soft little mouth.”

His encouraging words spur me on and I tighten my lips around his throbbing shaft, dragging my tongue along his soft skin as I bob my head up and down.

I’m not quite sure what I’m doing, but he seems to like it with the deep primal sounds grunting out of him. He slides his hands into my hair and begins to guide my head up and down his cock at a quicker pace.

Tags: Olivia T. Turner Erotic
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