But she understands and nods slowly. With a single smooth, sinuous motion of her hips, she rolls herself over and down, engulfing me all the way to the hilt. She groans, obviously stretched more than she anticipated. “Fuck.”
“You can take it,” I growl into her ear, holding her still again. “That tight, silky pussy of yours can take every inch of me.”
“It’s . . . big,” she grunts back, clenching around me without moving. She grins, looking down at me with the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen. “And I’m going to ride this big cock until you explode inside me, flood me with your cream, and call me your goddess.”
She’s a dirty talker too? I nearly come instantly because I think I’ve found perfection.
She bucks harder, both of us shuddering at the feeling of her ass slamming down on my thighs. I run my hands up inside Jayme’s blouse to cup her breasts, and finding the stiff nubs of her nipples, I pinch them between my fingers until she cries out.
“Later, these are mine,” I vow as her hips lose rhythm in favor of arching her back, lifting her breasts for more of my touch. “I’m going to suck, fuck, and pound you into full submission to me.”
She smiles suggestively, her hands going to my shoulders for leverage. Then she tenses her thighs and bounces up and down on my cock quickly. “Or else I’m going to get you hooked on this pussy.”
Our eyes lock, and even though we’re not saying it, I can read her thoughts.
We’re both fine with either situation.
I want to roll Jayme over, press her into the sand, and pound her hard and fast with deep, savage strokes. But I won’t hurt her and instead keep myself still, letting Jayme ride me and take her pleasure from me. My hands leave her breasts to stroke and feel her body, my fingertips memorizing every perfect curve that I’ve only been able to see until this point.
Jayme pauses her riding to undo her blouse and cast it aside, shrugging her bra off and leaving my brain overloaded as the supple handfuls of her breasts bounce as she goes faster and faster.
“Fuck, Carson . . .” she whimpers, bending forward. I reach down, grabbing the cheeks of her ass and squeezing them as I buck up into her, thrusting to meet her hips. She pitches forward just enough that I can kiss her silken lips.
I wish I could make this last forever. But the newness of our desire and passion combined with the weeks of flirting and intimacy leaves us both on the edge.
“Jayme—”
“Yes!” she answers, grinding her clit down onto the base of my cock. I growl, and with a powerful thrust, drive every bit of myself inside her. Her cries match mine, and I can feel her spasming, clenching and shaking on top of me as I fill her with a deep explosion that comes not from my balls but from deep in my gut. Or maybe from within my soul.
My arms tighten around her back, pulling her close as I empty myself into her, my cock aching as I spurt again and again. Jayme kisses me, our lips bruising each other with out of control hunger, both of us totally in the throes of our release.
The rhythm of the crashing waves is the first sound I hear afterward, Jayme still on top of me and my arms still wrapped around her. I look up, worried that I’ll see concern or upset.
But instead, she smiles down at me, a dreamy, satisfied, happy look in her eyes as she kisses me softly, the urgency of our passion sated. I’m still inside her, and I can feel the aftershocks of our bodies, but as she quivers around my cock, I’m slowly becoming aware of something else.
“Jayme?”
She moans luxuriously. “Yes, I did, and yes, you were more than satisfying.”
“Uh, thank you,” I murmur, not immune to an ego stroke. “But I think I have sand burn on my ass.”
Carefully, I try to shift but end up hissing in discomfort. Yup, I definitely moved my ass up and off my shirt during our beachfront activities, and now I’ve got sand so far up my ass I might end up making a pearl in a few weeks if I don’t do something about it.
Jayme looks down at her own legs, her knees dug down into the sand for leverage. “We definitely have sand in places it shouldn’t be.” She lifts delicately, my cock slipping out of her as she rises fully to her knees. “Definitely gonna be some chafing. Gonna need lotion or baby oil or something.”
“Movies make sex on the beach look way easier and sexier,” I complain, still trying to shift without flinching too much.
Standing, we shake out our legs and arms a bit in the hopes the sand will magically fall off. But it’s stuck to us like . . . sand in sweat and, ahem, other stuff. Carefully, we try to pull bits of clothing on and head back toward the house. But a few steps later, we’re both wincing and end up walking back considerably more bow-legged than when we first arrived.