Page 120 of Dagger in the Sea

I let out a chuckle, my thumb wiping at her wet lower lip. “Suddenly I’m starving.”

Her lips tipped up as she rose and went back to the frying pan. I pulled my bathing suit back up as she emptied the fluffy, thick frittata onto one large dish and brought two forks with her and set them on the table.

I grabbed her waist and hoisted her on my lap. An instant of silence. The game had changed, and she knew it.

I said, “We’ll eat together.”

Her already flushed face streaked with more red. She bit her lip as she cut into the omelet and offered me the forkful. I took it and ate. The spicy sausage, the mellow potato, and egg melted in my mouth.

“I like that. That’s good.”

“Hmm.”

I steadied her with a hand wrapped around a thigh, keeping her close. A hand that rubbed right at the apex between her legs. She wriggled on my lap and my grip on her thigh tightened.

She fed me.

I traced circles over the fabric of her bathing suit right over her pussy.

She fed herself.

My fingers slid past the bikini bottom and into her wet slickness as her thigh muscles tightened over me.

Clang. Her fork clattered onto the dish. She fed me with her fingers.

I fingered her slit.

She fed herself.

She fed me.

I sucked on her fingers.

My thumb circled her stiff nub.

Her breaths came fast and short, louder, desperate.

The wooden curtain rod hoops clattered together on the rod with the warm breeze blowing through the gauzy white curtains on the window over the sink. A wind chime tinkled languidly from the garden leaving its elegant music in the air for us. I pushed the plate away.

Picking up her wine glass, I tipped it before her mouth and she drank, her throat moving carefully with each long swallow. Taking the glass away, I cupped the back of her head and quickly brought her lips to mine. I took her mouth, and she released wine onto my tongue. Warm, mellow, sweet.

A little river of understanding, of shared culpability. Of enticement.

Adri twisted in my hold and straddled me, rocking over me as her need for friction dictated. My girl was hungry and it wasn’t for fucking omelets and wine and delicate caresses. I grabbed her ass and slowed her down, our humid breaths heavy between us. I suckled a nipple through the fabric of her gauzy tunic and she panted, her hands fisting my T-shirt at my shoulders. Her head knocked back and she groaned loudly.

My fingers slid down the rear of her bikini bottom, gripping her bare ass. She yanked at the ties at each hip and the bikini fell away and a groan ripped from my chest. I took out the condom I’d stashed in my pocket when she started cooking and we both pulled at my bathing suit trunks. My cock sprang free, and I pulled her over me again. She slid back and forth, back and forth making me harder than hard, making my dick slippery with her wetness.

“Fuck yes,” I muttered in agony.

I squeezed those fantastic tits together, brushed her nipples with my teeth over the fabric of her tunic. She cried out, her back stiffening, arching.

“I want my cock inside you,” I breathed against her skin. “Now.” I gestured at the condom, and she snapped it up from the table, opened it with her teeth, and expertly fitted my hard length, her breath choppy. Her careful smoothing of the rubber over my aching shaft, so thorough, so conscientious; the blood rushed to my cock and brain in a crazy whirlpool.

Her gaze snagged on mine. She seemed unsure of what to do next. I lifted her up and she settled over me, my hand guiding my hard dick just inside her wet heat.

“Yes,” came out of my lips on a long groan as I nudged and slid inside her inch by fucking inch. Slick and tight. Sheer fucking perfection.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered. “Oh, Turo…” She stilled.

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