The Bikini Diaries (27 page)

vague, the aspirations foggy. But this was real, real, real.

So real that the blood was gathering again in her clit.

So real that she was lifting her ass from the towel against Stacy's face.

So real that she was beginning to feel that hard, dirty feeling— that strange disregard for the person licking her, she only wanted to fuck Stacy's mouth until she came, regardless of whether Stacy wanted those hard pumps against her lips, her tongue.

But Stacy met Wendy's thrusts, and when Wendy began to moan, she realized hers were

not the only hot sounds filling the air—her female lover was whimpering excitedly

against her pussy.

I
should have known Stacy would like it hard, would love having me drive my crotch into
her face.
That very thought—dirty and raw—was what pushed her over the abyss into another orgasm, this one longer, harder, harsher, making her crush the terry cloth at her sides in her fists, making her scream out into the night. She thrust, thrust, thrust at Stacy, the pleasure swirling through her like a hurricane—until finally it passed, and she could breathe again, she could rest again. She went still on the towel.

Then she came back to herself and, raising her head, bit her lip and gave Stacy a

weakened smile through her still parted legs. Stacy's face was wet with Wendy's juices as she smiled back, then said, with some arrogance, "I made you come
hard."

Wendy could barely speak. "Yes," she whispered.

And she was just on the verge of wondering: Was she supposed to return the favor? Was

she supposed to eat Stacy now? And did she want to?—when Brandon rose from his

chair and came to her. Standing over her, he said, his voice deep—and bossy again—"I have to fuck you." Then he bent and literally scooped her into his arms.

She forgot all about Stacy. Maybe that was wrong, horrible, but she did—because all she

wanted now was Brandon.

He laid her—not particularly gently—in the lounge chair where he'd been sitting. She

became vaguely aware that Pete was no longer in her line of vision—he must have gone

to Stacy. Which suited her fine. Suddenly she wanted to be alone with her man. Well, as

alone as possible given the circumstances. She didn't care if Pete and Stacy were still

nearby, but suddenly, all she could think about was Brandon and his blue, blue eyes.

Of course, when he pushed down his underwear, she started thinking about his majestic

cock, too. It stood ever-amazing and oh-so-rigid before her, and part of her still couldn't believe she managed to get
that
inside her, but another part of her wanted it so bad that she stopped thinking at all.

Except for spreading her legs wide for him.

Over the arms of the lounge chair.

It was a most inelegant position—but Brandon had taught her the joys of being sexually

inelegant at times. Visions of spankings and sand-covered dresses and cucumbers wafted

through her mind. Until, that is, her man straddled the chair and she saw his hard-on

coming closer.

The position allowed them both to look down and see Brandon's sturdy shaft slide into

her—and so smoothly now, too, as if her body had transformed to be the perfect glove for him. They both groaned at the slow, even entry, but neither said a word.

Both continued to watch the astounding way he slid in and out of her wetness, slow,

steady, deep—until she grew aware of sounds besides their own, the sounds of Pete and

Stacy fucking somewhere else on the patio.

When Wendy looked up to find Brandon's gaze on hers, it heightened her pleasure

immeasurably. "You have the most beautiful blue eyes," she heard herself say.

A slow grin stole over his face as he continued gliding in and out, in and out. He spoke softly. "You're not supposed to be thinking about my eyes right now."

She smiled, too. 'All right. You have the biggest, most amazing cock I've ever had."

"That's more like it," he said with a solemn nod.

She giggled softly and at some point simply closed her eyes, just like back on the towel, and soaked in the simple sexual joy and pleasure of the night. "Oh God, this is good," she told him, eyes still shut. "Fuck me. Keep fucking me."

Her pleas made him drive into her more roughly, and the hard pleasure forced her to bite her lip. When he did it, again, again, she couldn't stop a wicked grin from forming on her face. "I love being dirty for you," she purred up at him.

Then she opened her eyes long enough to see his eyes shining on her darkly. "You do it well, bunny. You get me so fucking hard. Keep massaging your tits for me. And tell me

again what you want, baby. Tell me."

"Fuck me,"
she said harshly. "Fuck me hard."

And then there were no more words, only the hard, fast, brutal plunges of Brandon's shaft into her ever-hungry cunt. His fists gripped the arms of the chair, near her thighs, and she continued to rub her breasts for him—and also for her.

He rammed into her, rocking her body, shaking her world— until finally he let out a

groan that she knew signaled his orgasm. She braced for it, for those extra-hard thrusts, and met them even when they felt like his cock had rammed clear through her. "Yes,

yes," she said, breathless, even though she hadn't come, because the way he fucked her brought enough rough pleasure regardless of orgasm.

Then he collapsed softly upon her, and her arms curled around his shoulders and his

warmth encased her as she peered upward into the stars overhead.

I belong here.

She wasn't sure where those words came from, but they came. And she felt them.

Although she knew she
couldn't
feel them, knew it was
crazy.
She knew that in a little while she'd be okay again, her stronger self, the self that kept the emotions out of it. And it would all be fine—back to normal.

But for just a moment, she let herself keep exploring the heavens, let herself cling to him a little too tightly as his undeniable warmth cocooned her.

In our culture, we are taught
that it is
wrong to have sex in public, to bring it out in

public at
all. It
makes sense, because most of
the time,
in most circumstances, I don't

care to be walking down the street forced to watch strangers indulging
in sexual

behavior, nor do I want my nieces to be exposed to
such. Yet in learning that social

value comes an associated
sense of shame, the idea that sex is wrong. In a way either

great or small, we are all taught to feel that. It seems an unavoidable consequence of

our societal mores, a thing impossible to unlearn.

And yet, since I stepped onto these "emerald shores," that stigma has been lifted
—
it

seems not to exist.

Possibly because I've not been caught having sex someplace I shouldn't.

Possibly because I've been so swept away in lust that I've
chosen not to think about it.

But it has provided me some of the most glorious moments in my life.

When
Brandon knelt over me on that patio, sliding in and out of me, nothing existed

but pure pleasure. Nothing else.

Nothing else. Not often in life does such magic come along.

So I held on to it too tightly for a moment. Both the unsullied pleasure part and the...

well, the Brandon part. The fact that I'm not sure I could be doing all these things with

just any other guy. The fact that he has given me such liberating freedom, all without

judgment, with nothing but respect.

I held on to att. that for a long moment—but it's okay. The moment ended, just as it

had to, and I have my head on straight again. I know this has to end.

Chapter 12

As Brandon's convertible traveled Emerald Shores Boulevard, winding toward the ocean,

he winked and said, "My place or yours, bunny?" After their ultra-arousing evening at Pete's place, he wasn't sure there'd be more sex, since it was late and they did both have work to do tomorrow, but he found himself wanting to sleep next to her. He was still

adjusting to the strange new phenomenon, but he'd mostly given up fighting it, since he

never exactly succeeded at that anyway.

Next to him, she hesitated. "I'm not sure."

His chest tightened just a little, but since he'd reached the turn-off to her building and had to make a decision, he swung the car onto Shellside Way, heading toward the collection

of pink stucco buildings not far from his own. "What's wrong?" he asked. He sensed there was something she wasn't saying.

She turned to him, the breeze whipping through her hair and making her all the more

beautiful. "It's not that anything's wrong—it's that... well, I'm leaving in a couple of days."

He was well aware of that. They hadn't discussed it, but he'd seen paperwork with her

arrival and departure dates, and once he'd discovered the girl he was fucking was

Gwendolyn Carnes, he'd found himself checking it again. "I know. And... ?"

She let out a sigh, her lips pursed uncomfortably as the car came to a stop in front of

Shellside Tower I. And... if you get in the habit of sleeping next to someone, when they're suddenly not there anymore, the bed can feel empty. If you don't get into that habit,

though, you don't have to worry about it."

He leaned his head back in understanding. He didn't explain that he'd never actually

shared a bed with a woman for more than a night, and that even the staying-over part was rare for him, but what she'd said made sense. "Good point," he said, trying to sound easy about it, like it was fine with him.

Then he gave her thigh a casual squeeze and changed the subject. "So what have you got going on tomorrow?"

"There are some outlying parts of the resort I still haven't seen, so I thought I'd visit some of those to wrap up my analysis of the place."

"If you need a golf cart to make getting around easier, I can put one at your disposal."

She smiled. "Thanks, but I think I'll bike. I did that this afternoon, and despite the heat, I enjoyed it."

He shrugged, grinned. "Whatever you like."

"Then, if you'll be in your office, I'll call you with my final suggestions on

improvements."

"I'll be there," he said. "I have some meetings in the morning, but I'll be catching up on paperwork after that, and I'll let Joanna know I'm expecting your call. And then... well, tomorrow night's your last one here, so I'm hoping you'll spend it with
me."
He couldn't imagine not being with her again, one more time, before she left.

The smile that lit her face warmed his heart. "I think I could arrange that, Mr. CEO."

"Good," he said—but then it hit him. "Oh, shit."

"What?" She looked alarmed—and
he felt
alarmed.

"I just remembered I have a business dinner I can't get out of. I totally forgot about it until now, but it's with a major investor—he's coming into town specifically to meet with me

and Charles over steaks." He stopped, sighed. "But... well, how about if we meet at the Shellside pool at ten? Is that too late?"

She looked doubtful. "It's not too late for
me,
but I happen to know the pool is
closed
at ten."

He raised his eyebrows playfully, devilishly. "That's the point."

"But we'll be breaking the rules."

"Bunny, I
make
the rules around here. Wear your bikini and come hungry."

With that, he leaned over, lifted his hand to her face, and gave her a warm, slow kiss

good night. "By the way," he whispered, their faces close, "you and Stacy—that was fucking amazing." And he meant it. He'd known a lot of women in his years, but still, there was something about Wendy—her innocence, her wildness, the way they meshed—

that made him crazy for her. Watching her go at it in the hot tub with Stacy had been

everything from softly sensuous to deeply erotic to insanely nasty. He was getting hard

again now, just thinking about it.

"I'm glad you liked it," she whispered back. "I wanted to excite you."

He felt the sentiment in his gut, supremely satisfied by it. But then he asked, "You liked it, too, though—right?"

She nodded, a slightly lascivious expression in her eyes. "Don't worry—I did it for me.

But at the same time, I did it for you, too."

A small groan left him. "Baby, that's
so
hot. I love it."

They kissed again, their tongues twining, and Brandon was trying not to get too carried

away, but that didn't keep his hand from creeping onto her lovely breast to squeeze and

massage as the kisses deepened further.

When finally the kissing ended and they eased apart, their eyes stayed locked as she said,

"Well... good night."

" 'Night, bunny," he said, giving her a little wink.

He watched her exit the car, shut the door, and walk toward the building, her ass swaying in those sexy blue jeans.

Letting out a sigh, he put the Mercedes in gear and started toward home.

And he'd just started picking up speed—when something inside him made him put on the

brakes. An instinct, a need, something he couldn't quite define—but he didn't waste too

much time trying. Instead, he threw the car in reverse and backed up the drive, pleased to see she'd just now reached the door and wasn't yet inside.

"Hey, bunny!" he called.

She looked up, clearly surprised, but then she smiled and started back up the stone

pathway toward the car. "What is it?" she asked, getting closer.