Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

17

Brody

She does it. I hardly have time to think, She’s naked! And No, she’s wearing a bra and panties! before she’s in the water, hooting and hollering.

“I did it!” she says, breathless. “Oh my God, Brody, I did it!”

I swim over to her. It’s not easy to kiss while treading water, but we manage a short, breathless, tantalizing taste.

“See that rock there? That’s where we’re going. And then there’s a path back up.”

We swim to the rock, and I boost her up, shamelessly loving the feel of her cool, smooth skin under my rough palms. I climb up on the rock beside her, and she sits close to me, tucking herself into me.

“Rachel,” I whisper.

She turns towards me and tips her face up, so trusting and eager that my cock manages to rally against the icy dip, reaching for her.

This woman.

I kiss her. She tastes so good, sweet and salty and Rachel, which is definitely the best of those three flavors. And she is soft in my arms—hair damp against my cheek, satiny arms wrapped around my neck, breasts pillowed against my chest.

I kiss along her jaw, tease her ear, kiss down her throat, to the hollow. I lick that spot until her cries turn to pleas. I drop kisses along her collarbone.

Then I lean back, slightly, and take a minute to just soak her in.

“Fucking A, Rachel. You’re so beautiful.” I stare, shamelessly, because holy shit she’s gorgeous. Smooth-as-satin skin, spilling out of the lacy cups of her bra, curving down over her belly to the triangle of her bikini, through which I can see the tantalizing shadow of her pussy. I duck my head and kiss her everywhere, open mouthed, tongue exploring her. I tease the edge of lace with the curled tip of my tongue and she makes a perfect, helpless noise that I feel like it’s the tug of a hand on my cock. No, that is her palm on my cock, cupping me, pressing me. I reach down, nudge her hand aside, because this is for her.

Then I go back to work, running my lips and tongue over every exposed bit of her. Edging the cup of her bra down, I find her nipple with a biting tease. I flick it with the tip of my tongue, over and over, until she pants and clutches my head. Sliding off the rock, I help her wiggle to the edge, then kneel between her legs and slide my hands up her thighs.

My mouth follows my hands, tasting the smooth bare skin, finding her panties with my thumbs. I dip my head and suck, then open my mouth over her to breathe heat against her mound.

“Brody!”

“You want more?”

“Yes!”

“Lean back. Open your legs.”

I watch her face, registering the flare of her pupils. She likes the command. Noted.

Then she sits straight up, and for a split, wretched second, I think she’s calling it.

But nope. She slides her panties down. She slips them off, folds them, and sets them on the rock next to her.

Those two things—her baring herself to me, and the care she takes with it—make my chest hurt.

Then all the ache shifts to another part of me, because I’m looking at her, and she’s so fucking pretty. A neatly trimmed strip of dark curls, her clit swollen enough to peek out at me, and her lips glistening and eager.

I need to get my mouth on her.

She tastes so good. She’s so soft and so lickable and I want all of her. I need to get my tongue on her clit, need to give it the same pleasure I gave her nipple, nipping and flicking and drawing all those little gasps and pleas from her lips. I have to see how she likes it. Whether she wants the tip or the flat, the flicks or the circles, fast, slow, up and down. Just right here, or the feel of my whole mouth, open and hungry, over all of her.

News flash: She likes it all.

She lifts her hips and jerks against me, grabs my hair and calls my name.

“You need more?”

“Yes, please.”

The please slays me. Jesus, Rachel.

She’s tight. Slick and tight. My cock clenches at the root and there’s a split second when I think I’m going to lose it. Then I get myself under control. I work my finger gently into her, and she squeezes it, thrusting back against my hand. I lick her harder, faster, and she replies, yes, please, this time with the rocking of her hips.

“More?”

“Brody,” she gasps, which I take as a another yes.

I love all her yesses.

I give her a second finger. An open-mouthed kiss and a long, flat lick. And with a cry, she tips over the edge, coming, clenching my fingers, writhing against my tongue, calling my name.

I lift my head, letting my hand do the work my tongue was doing, because I need to see her face.

And I’m so glad I do, because she’s even prettier like this, all undone, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed.

I start to move away, to stand up and help her put herself back together.

“No. Wait.”

She reaches for me.

“Rachel—”

“Please. Just let me.”

No argument here. She runs a thumb over my boxer-briefs, over the swollen head of my cock, then untangles me from my shorts.

“You have a nice cock,” she says, which catches me somewhere right between a chuckle and a shudder of pleasure. And then she wraps her hand around it, cool and sure, and her fingers are way prettier there than on that silicone model I’ve seen her handle. It probably would have been enough to put me within three strokes of bliss, even before she pulls her hand back, licks her palm, and goes to work again.

The sexiest part is that she’s watching, too, watching her hand fist my cock, my head emerge, shiny and taut, a new droplet forming. Her lips are parted, her tongue peeking out.

“Rachel.” My voice breaks.

She opens her eyes.

“You might want to—”

I’m not sure what I was going to say. Stop, maybe, or duck, or grab a paper towel.

But Rachel has the situation in hand—literally. “Shhh,” she says. “I gotcha.”

Some guarded thing in me lets go, and suddenly I’m coming in long shuddering waves, lashing her palm. It’s one of those deep orgasms, the ones that feel ripped up from the bottom of your spine, that go on and on in waves.

My knees buckle and I lower myself to the rock beside her, pulling her closer.

She tilts her face up and smiles at me, shy and real. “Never a dull moment.”

Then she leans her head on my shoulder, her hands still cupping me, and makes a small humming sound, like happiness.

Me fucking too, Rachel, I think. Me fucking too.