The Bikini Diaries (12 page)

She lowered her chin derisively at his vagueness.
"Yes,
I'm sure the mafia pays well."

He chuckled again, then moved on. 'If you really want to see the
best
part of this place, come here." With that, he headed toward the doors that led onto the balcony.

During the day, you could look up and down the beach through the row of picture

windows lining the seaward side of the penthouse, but at night, they only admitted

darkness and to really see anything, you had to go outside. When Wendy stepped through

the door, he placed an instinctive hand on her ass, following her out.

"Holy crap," she murmured as they approached the railing. "This is amazing. And...

mmm, the breeze feels great."

Brandon smiled at her bluntness and closed his arms around her from behind. He leaned

in to her, letting the salty sea air soak into him, as well. "Believe it or not," he said near her ear, "as much as I like this place,
this
is the main reason I live here. This view."

"I bet in the daytime you can see forever."

He nodded, cheek to cheek with her, his hands splayed, one across her hip, the other

caressing her breast. "It always makes me feel... somehow both big and small at once.

Like there's this huge, beautiful world out there, too big to ever really be fully explored or fully controlled. But at the same time"—he couldn't help laughing at himself a little—"I always have that 'I'm king of the world' feeling when I look out on it."

She laughed softly, as well—but her laughter faded when his palms skimmed down onto

her thighs. She drew in her breath, and he kissed her neck, his cock pressing into the

valley of her ass, rigid and more than ready. He'd never fucked anyone out here before—

and as he slid his hands upward on her soft skin, under her dress, it dawned on him that it was high time he had.

His touch glided higher, slowly higher, on smooth as silk legs—until he found the
real
silk at the juncture where they met. When he stroked his fingers through her slit, her

pretty gasp heightened his need even further. Her head dropped back, inviting more little kisses across her neck, shoulders.

Upon easing his fingers inside the lacy edge of her panties, a small jolt shook him—just from the mere connection with her female flesh. His fingers sank into her moisture,

forcing a ragged sigh from his throat. "Smooth and wet," he murmured deeply in her ear.

"I told you—you make me soak my panties."

He smiled, even though she couldn't see it, his chest swelling with a masculine arrogance he couldn't push down. "Then we should definitely take them off," he said, slipping his thumbs through the bands at her hips to send them dropping to her ankles.

After emitting a little gasp, she looked over her shoulder at him in the darkness, and now he let her see his wicked smile. She bit her lip, looking lusty, weak, like a woman who

needed to be fucked. And he was more than happy to oblige.

It took only one hand to undo his zipper and extract his aching cock. With the other, he raised her dress in the back, watched the way she arched her ass slightly in invitation—

even as she turned her eyes back toward the ocean.

Gripping her bare hips with both hands, he nudged the tip of his erection at her damp

opening. A hot little moan echoed from her, urging him onward—so he slid deep, slow,

tight, until he was fully sheathed in her warmth.

"Oh God,"
she breathed.

Like last night, he feared he might be too big for her. He knew the whole world thought

big dicks were great, but he'd been around enough to know that for some women, his was

hard to take. "Is it okay, bunny?" he whispered.

She let out a heaving, thready breath, but then finally said, "Uh-huh."

'Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"It's... so big."

"Do you want me to take it out? Would it be better lying down?" He knew for a fact that it
would
be easier for her lying down.

Yet she said, "No. I want you ... to fuck me hard."

Oh. Okay.
So
his naughty little beach bunny was adjusting to the size of his cock.
Thank
God.
Withdrawing from her body right now would have been nothing less than torture.

"Tell me again," he said. Because he needed to be sure
she
was sure. And because he wanted to hear her say it a second time.

"Fuck me hard, Brandon. Please."

That was all the prodding he needed to tighten his grip on her hips and begin thrusting, thrusting, into her tight warmth. Jesus God, it was good, filling
him
as much as he was filling
her.
With each stroke, she cried out, arching her ass farther, curling her fingers around the balcony railing like she was holding on for dear life.

And he went faster, rougher, soon pummeling her sweet flesh, driving into her with all

his strength, fucking her hard, hard, hard, just like she wanted, just like he wanted, too—

until the orgasm he'd been needing all day broke over him like a sweet downpour after a

long drought. Of course, he hadn't exactly been in a sexual drought, but as he exploded, shooting his come deep inside her, it felt that good, that powerful.

When the climax waned, he slumped over her, wrapping around her tight and muttering,

"God, baby. God, you drained me."

In front of him, she panted her own exhaustion, then glanced over her shoulder, looking

tired but still perfectly naughty. "That was
so
good."

He found himself returning her weary grin. "And we're just getting started."

After which he summoned his strength, hoisted her into his arms, and carried her inside.

T
here are moments with him when I forget. Who I am pretending to be here, who I am

with him. There are moments when I am... me. There are moments when I yearn to

know him better than I do, better than I should want to. Better than you know a guy

you rejust having meaningless sex with. That part surprises me. I mean, when I first

saw him, I just never thought ahead to that as a possibility. He was too beautiful, with

too much potential for arrogance and superiority.

But then, I never expected one night to turn into two.

Luckily, though, when things get hot between us, I forget that. Mostly.

Mostly, it turns into what I wanted from him from the very first glance—hot, wild,

make-me-scream, make-me-crazy sex. Then that's all I can think of, all that matters.

Passing Go. And staying outside the box.

Chapter 6

W
endy wrapped her arms around his neck, her panties looped over one wrist, and kissed him as he carried her inside and across the room. She remained vaguely aware that he

hadn't bothered shutting the door and that the sea breeze followed them in as sheer white curtains blew around them, making the world feel dreamlike for a moment.

But then, in ways, all of this felt dreamlike—still.

The sex.

The man.

The woman she became with him.

He laid her on a king-size bed that faced the windows and said, "Take your dress off. I want you naked."

He stood, looking down on her as she followed the command, aware of the wetness on

her inner thighs, and for the first time in her life not minding the messiness of it. He kept his eyes on her, all the while unbuttoning his shirt, dropping his pants, shedding his

underwear, until he was naked, too. Beautifully so.

He was a vision of rippling muscles, perfect male flesh that she hadn't seen enough of last night on the beach. She found herself wanting to touch his hard, masculine body, run her fingertips over the ridges and valleys of his skin. And—oh God—his cock was growing

again, that quickly, as large already as most men she'd known with a full-on erection.

The backdrop to his perfection was a wall of windows that made the ocean and sky part

of his home. Pale yellow walls and ceiling shone warm and golden in the dim lighting but probably imitated the sun during daylight hours. The sprawling studio-style condo

possessed only one small wall erected to separate the bed from the living area and lavish state-of-the-art kitchen, the space as open as the beach itself. And so he fit here in this setting—as well as he did on the ocean shore—and she couldn't have imagined a more

perfect place for Brandon to live.

"Lie down," he told her, waiting as she reclined. For a guy who seemed genial and easygoing most of the time, he had the ability to take firm charge of things during sex.

She didn't usually like bossy men, but when Brandon got bossy about sex, she

instinctively trusted him to know what would make them both feel good.

When he straddled her hips, his majestic phallus expanding to still greater lengths, she thought he would fuck her again, and she tried to spread her legs beneath him. But when

he reached behind him with both hands to push them closed, then gave a small, precise

head shake, she realized that wasn't what he wanted.

Next, he bent to drag his tongue from the bottom of one of her breasts to the top, passing over the turgid nipple on the way. The moment he drew back, a burst of air lifted the

curtains across the room and wafted coolly over the wet pink peak to make her tingle in

delight. A low moan escaped her, and she saw the satisfaction wash over his face.

Then he bent again, to the other breast, but this time he swirled his tongue around the

beaded tip, then sucked it into his mouth, hard, deep. She cried out, surprised by the

severity of the action—how it hurt a little but she felt it echoing through her
everywhere.

He continued to suckle her and she found herself running her hands through his hair, over his shoulders—until her breath came heavy, as if she'd just run a long distance, until her pussy pulsed with hot need. "More," she heard herself beg.

More what? She didn't even know.

But he responded by releasing her breast from his mouth, sitting upright on her again, and easing his body up hers until his thighs stretched across her torso just beneath her tits. His cock was completely erect again and looked impossibly huge from her vantage point as it

arced magnificently upward from her chest.

That was when he took the rock-hard shaft in his hand and began to feed it to her.

"Unh..." she heard herself moan, opening her mouth, accepting what he gave her with all willingness. He was direct without being forceful, leaning toward her, sliding several

inches of his length between her lips, making her taste herself there, the remnants of their sex on the balcony still present.

She remembered last night on the beach, wanting to look obscene for him, and earlier on

the pier, as well. She knew she looked that way now, and in better lighting this time. She met his gaze, hoping he could read her eyes.
I want this. I want this experience. I want
your cock. I want to know what it is to taste all of life, to live to the fullest, to know every
emotion, every sort of sex, every dirty bit of it. When I'm ninety and people think I'm a
sweet, docile little old lady, I will look back on this moment and smile a secret smile and
know I missed nothing.

Of course, there was no way he could read all of that, but maybe it was enough just to

feel it herself, just to bask in the knowledge that she'd taken control of her sexuality, that at least in this facet of her life, she would never have regrets now, never have what-ifs or doubts or curiosity over naughty fantasies. Because she was
doing
this, living this, and it was the most thrilling thing she'd ever done.

He fucked her mouth, slow and deep, and sometimes she looked at him, and other times

she closed her eyes and simply felt the nearly overwhelming wonder of it. He never went

too
deep, made her take
too
much—he seemed to instinctively know what she could handle.

When he finally pulled out, her mouth felt stretched, well used and a little sore—and if a woman had to have a sore mouth, this was the best possible reason she could think of.

She had no idea what would happen next, what pleasure he would lead her to—but she

simply waited, trusting him, feeling swept along, as if she were traveling in a strange land and he was her guide.

Their next stop on the journey was... her breasts again. But this time it had nothing to do with his mouth—he lay his still damp hard-on between them and used his hands to lift

them, to press the soft flesh up around his hardness, and then he began to slide.

"Oh... oh God," she heard herself say. Because it seemed— just like fucking her mouth—

as if this were something that should pleasure
him,
not her. Yet this, too, filled her with such delight and satisfaction that she could barely contain it. The very sensation of

having his hardest part against one—or two—of her softest. The slick slide. The raw

visual as she watched the rounded head of his shaft jut between her breasts. The moisture, which grew as his pre-come gathered and then became spread across her inner curves,

helping him to fuck her there even more wetly.

Without planning it, she covered her hands with his, wanting to push her breasts even

harder around his stiff cock. He let go, let her take over, as he braced his hands on the teak headboard and thrust in earnest, same as if it were her pussy, emitting low groans at each hot drive.

He wasn't holding back—she could feel it. He was fucking her tits hard, hard, and he was going to come this way soon, and her body forgot to be selfish at all—she knew only the

intense need to pleasure him. Hadn't it been that way all night? Sucking his cock on the pier, and then he'd fucked her on the balcony without making her come. And maybe she