Page 116 of Fire Island
With a low growl, I tug her T-shirt down. The material gives way, ripping a little at the center. Sliding two fingers behind her lacy black bra, I expose one perfect tit. It bounces in my rough hand, and I clamp my lips around her hard peak, rolling my tongue around it.
Hands sink into my hair instantly, and a sweet little moan breathes into my neck as her head drops. “Cal.”
I’m hard as a rock, stretching these jeans to the point of agony.
It’s not enough.
I want her under me, over me. Wrapped fucking around me.
I want her soaked pussy in my face. My name tumbling out on every breathy cry I can pull from her.
I haul her shirt from her body. It hits the deck. Removing her black bra, I stand back, taking her in.
“Fuck, look at you, baby. Bare under the stars.”
“Not yet I’m not . . .”
I move to fix that, but she holds up a hand, saying, “My turn.”
Her finger releases the button on her jeans.
Christ.
She holds my gaze as she pushes those tight jeans over her hips. The black lacy panties are all she stands in on the moonlit deck as the moon pokes its way over the trees now. Illuminated and backlit, she’s stunning. She pulls her hair around her shoulders, and the ends fall over her chest, tickling her nipples.
“No touching, Callum. Only watching.”
I swallow past the stone in my throat. “Okay.”
She slides the panties down. They hit the deck. She tosses them aside with her foot.
“Now, you need to do as I ask, fear milis.”
Sweet man.In fucking Gaelic. This woman . . .
“Shirt off, now.”
I tug the shirt from my back and toss it away.
“Thank you,” she says, running a hand over her left breast. Her lips part as her fingers find her nipple.
The breath in my lungs evaporates.
“More, please. The jeans next.”
I flick the button open and shove the zipper down. Rough hands push the jeans from my legs. I stand in my boxers, my rock-hard cock tenting them.
“Hmmm, I like that.”
Elegantly, she sinks to her seat. Leaning forward, spreading her legs, she pulls her knees up as she caresses my cock through the silk boxers.
Christ, woman.
I pant a groan, my restraint harder to hold by the second.
Evie strokes me like she’s exploring something precious. It throbs, and now the air in my lungs burns on each too-short inhale.
Hands hanging by my sides as I stand over her, she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. With one hand, she drags her hair around her neck, letting it settle over her shoulder. Her breasts now fully exposed, she leans back, knuckles grazing over her pussy.
