Hot In Mexico.
He’d promised her Cancun. As soon as we wrap, he’d told her. The sand between her toes, Corona’s at two in the afternoon sun. He’d promised it all.
Her sandals hit the floor with a thud as her back arches against the luxurious mattress. She’s delicious torment against crisp white sheets, her supple skin, like induced intoxication.
He watches her from the doorway; grinning from ear to ear. The mere sight of her eclipses the seascape that surrounds their villa.
He’s going to enjoy this vacation.
He’s not that married man pining for a married woman anymore. He’s no longer playing with fire. He can appreciate the way her full hips fill out her bathing suit, the way that her heavy breasts just spill over the top of her two piece.
“Scared of the water Meloni?”
They’re lounging on deck chairs, close to the water’s edge. Her sarong sits low on her hips, and he licks his lips, savoring the sting of lime and caustic salt that dances across his palate.
He shakes the near empty bottle in his hand and smiles.
“Nah. I’ve had one too many I think. Probably wise to sleep it off.”
“Suit yourself,” she says. “I’ll be waiting.”
He watches her frolic; he leans back in his chair and pulls his frames across his nose so that his gaze is invisible. But he watches her legs, long and lean, they stir desire within him. He has to adjust himself whilst imagining her thighs, the soft yielding flesh beneath his fingers.
So delicate, so easily bruised.
His cock is hard, and he sucks in a rush of air that fills his lungs as he steadies his breathing.
The water is warm, and blue. A welcome distraction from the sun bleached sand that burns the soles of his feet. The heat of the day is lethargic, and he splashes her, like a child throwing tumbled shells back into the churning surf.
“Thought you were tired.”
“Changed my mind.”
He turns his lips upon her, his fingers moving through her painted locks.
She presses her body against him. His chest is firm, and when he flexes his biceps to take her into his arms, she can feel the ripple, the contraction of fibers that plays across his torso.
He’s hard. Christ is he hard.
“I’m game if you are.”
He means it.
Her legs curl around his waist, the water takes her weight, holding her steady as he anchors her body to his. His shoulders are slippery, slick with ocean spray as she hustles to find the grip that she needs.
Hips lock together; and he’s long and thick against her aching mound.
He has complete control, as he follows the hem of her boy legs with one hand. His fingers slip beneath the fabric and he knows the difference automatically. Her arousal is thick and balmy, and it coats his fingers.
His cock slides home easily, her sopping folds restraining him as he settles himself deeply.
He doesn’t thrust, but he sets a rhythm.
“You really are an exhibitionist.”
He chuckles, but maintains their position.
“It’s a beautiful thing. You’re a beautiful woman. How do you expect me to keep my dick in my pants?”
“I was expecting romance.”
“Yeah,” he grunts into the column of her neck. “But this is more fun.”
She clenches around him and he breaks deep inside of her. Spilling himself. Offering life.
Because he can now.