The rising sun lured us to the beach where we stretched out on the king-sized blanket from our bed. He was naked, the same as he had been ever since we arrived on the private island four days ago. Daily sunbathing eliminated the paleness from months of twelve and fourteen hour days in the office and gave him a healthy glow.
"I'm going in for a quick swim to cool off," he said after an hour.
I understood him; knew his quirks and habits. Jackson Dakota, or JD, couldn't sit still long, craving physical activity. I recognized the restless look in his eyes and didn't offer to join him. Some women I knew demanded constant attention from their partners. I was not in that group.
He swam to the diving platform and pulled himself up the ladder. Muscles bunched and flexed when he ran across to the other side and dove back in, a pattern he repeated numerous times before swimming to shore.
"You made that look so easy," I said when he dropped onto the blanket.
I wasn't surprised when he didn't reply. It was one of those habits I discovered in the beginning.
"This place is beautiful. You have excellent taste."
Our trip hadn't been planned. A late night conversation involved places we had never been but would love to go. I mentioned a private island as a joke. He made it happen the very next day. His list of contacts amazed me. Then again, he amazed me as well.
"Are you hungry?"
"Always," he said, the leer on his face telling me he wasn't referring to food.
I laughed and half-heartedly swatted at the hand snaking inside my bikini top. His touch sparked my desire and brought a low moan from deep in my throat.
"Take it off."
It wasn't a question. A command, yes, and one I obeyed without hesitation. He stared as I untied the skimpy top and tossed it onto the sand.
"All of it."
The bottoms slid down my oiled legs to join the other half. They lay forgotten as we slaked our hunger.
****
We decided on fish for dinner that night. Although he invited me to go with him in the small boat, fishing didn't appeal to me. I sat on the shore, notebook and pencil in hand, where the words flowed from the tip of my pencil because we were the characters.
"Like what you see?"
She wore a red leather corset, thigh high hose attached to lacy garters, and red boots. A pair of leather gloves waited on the arm of the sofa. The jeans he wore emphasized the shape of his ass. She stood inches from him and ran her knuckles over his chest. Both nipples pushed at the soft material covering them.
"Take it off," she whispered.
He hesitated before stepping back and working the shirt over his head. The gleam in her eyes told him she approved. Lacing her fingers into his, she tugged him down the hallway, stopping inside the bedroom. There she pushed him against the wall to brush her barely-covered breasts over him.
He moaned and wrapped his arms around her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss that had her tongue dueling with his. He wanted to be naked, to feel her skin, and to taste her. Through the fog of desire he heard the unmistakable click of handcuffs.
I stopped writing and stared over the water. The island wasn't large but it was the most beautiful place I had ever been. Of course, I hadn't traveled much before I met JD. He, on the other hand, had been everywhere. I turned the page and started writing again. Another image took over and the words changed to fit the scene in my head.
His hands intrigued me. Strong, masculine, they skimmed your spine with the lightest of touches before settling across your firm cheeks. I watched, mesmerized, gasping for air after forgetting to breathe. You flexed the muscles in your chest moments before your nipples tightened. I felt them on my tongue even though I hadn't moved. But I remembered their texture. I envied the shadows dancing over your skin in places I wanted to touch. Yet I remained sitting, waiting . . .
"See how his body reacts to me?" He whispered the question, looking right at me, daring me to argue.
My slight nod put a smile on his face. His fingers shifted, cupping the curves of your ass, his thumbs pulling your cheeks open. I wanted to stop him. Yet I wanted to be him. I wanted my hands bringing you pleasure, not his.
"I . . . please . . ."
He seemed to know what I wanted even though I wasn't sure myself because he traced an invisible path over your skin with his tongue. I tasted you through him, the flavor that was uniquely yours. I felt the heat building in my empty center and longed for it to be filled as he tormented your entire body with his hot mouth.
He swirled his tongue over the spongy tip of your penis, then sucked you into his mouth, taking you deep into his throat before clamping his lips around you. The constant in and out became hypnotic as he sucked you. I saw the veins bulging and pulsing with blood, and felt them on my tongue just as I had that morning.
Your body writhed and bucked on the huge bed. Legs, strong and muscular, fastened around him and urged him closer. I knew their power from being in that same position hundreds of times before and I wanted to be him in that moment so I could experience their strength once more.
Yet you struggled to give him what he wanted. Taking you to the edge, he couldn't find the key to pushing you over. But I knew I could. I slid my hand deep inside my cunt and masturbated. I saw the change in your body as soon as you heard the sloppy wet sounds I made. My groans triggered your orgasm and hot gooey semen exploded into his mouth.
Much later we saw him slip out of the room, his face sticky from your semen.
Each word added to my desire until I wanted to swim out to him and turn the fantasies into reality. I loved being his woman even as I hungered to let him see how strong and commanding I could be. He waved when I looked his way, not realizing how I pictured him in that moment. I loved him more than I thought it was possible to love another person. He owned my soul. No one else understood me, or saw the pain inside me, the way he did. So I did everything I could to make him happy—but never at the expense of losing a part of myself. He encouraged me to show him, and the world, the person hidden inside. Loving him was easy.
I stared at the water and let my imagination run before putting my pencil at the top of another clean page.
I stood behind you, inches from your naked cheeks, absorbing the heat radiating from your skin.
"Touch me, please, oh god, touch me."
Your tortured whisper elicited a reaction so intense I couldn't breathe. I expected the trembling hands, the shaking knees, and the flushed skin tone. I anticipated—even planned for— those responses from you. What I didn't foresee was the effect your plea would have on me. To mask my hesitation, I placed a series of kisses along your neck, stopping at the sensitive skin under your ear lobe.
"Have I ever told you how much I love your thighs? Your muscles tighten and flex seconds before I touch you, as if they know my fingers are close by."
My words, spoken so close to his ear, came out raspy, deeper than usual. Yet I didn't wait for a reply before running my knuckles along his hip.
"Maybe you had somewhere else you wanted me to touch first though. If I took another step you could feel my nipples pushing into your back. Would you like that? Shall I see what happens? What if I sway back and forth? Did you maybe think of that?"
I punctuated each question by pushing a plump breast against him. The response I wanted, the one I longed for, came faster than a rattlesnake strike.
"Or maybe what you really want is my dick pounding your cunt until you're too weak to stand," he said, whipping around and pushing me against the wall. "Maybe I should just fuck you like the whore you really are."
Trapped between the wall and his body, I could barely breathe. I wanted to shake my head, move away, and be in control again. I wanted more.
"Oh, god, fuck me like the slut I am," I mumbled. "Do it."
He took his time, teasing me with his hands and mouth, ripping my skin open with the mini whip. Several minutes passed before he parted my legs. But instead of taking me, he slid the vibrator along my lips, never quite reaching the places I begged him to touch. The more I squirmed, the tighter he held me.
"Dirty fucking whore, begging for cock . . ."
I wailed and came as soon as he stabbed his rigid shaft into my sopping wet cunt, blocking the rest of his words. He didn't stop. He hammered me until my knees buckled and my vision clouded. My body took the pounding and gave him more orgasms. When I thought I didn't have anything left, he plunged into me and found another.
And then he erupted. Blast after heated blast tore into my ravaged body. Without the support of the wall and his body I would have fallen to the floor. Several minutes passed while our breathing slowed enough that we could speak. I was glad he spoke first, because I didn't know what to say.
