My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,68

her pussy. Whatever it is that makes up Abigail’s special juices, I can’t get enough of them and am an instant addict, hungry for more. I suck and nibble, tasting and worshipping every inch of her flesh until she’s squirming, lifting her hips, and begging me for release.

“Lo—oh, God, Lorenzo, please.”

I grin, trailing my tongue up to the button of her clit and flicking her with the tip of my tongue. She bucks, jolted into pleasure, and her hands fly to my hair, her inner sexual animal growling to be liberated.

She is magnificent in her wanton abandonment of any rules or expectations, freely giving in to her basest urges and instincts. I do my best to release her, letting her cries guide my pace and her tugs on my hair lead the placement of my tongue. She grinds her clit against me, searching for completion.

The intensity rises and builds until she’s reduced to guttural noises. I grip her thighs, holding her apart and not letting her shrink back from the enormous release that’s building within her.

“F–fuck . . . ahh!” Abi screams, her voice rising over the lap of the waves and the nocturnal cries of the animals to pierce the night.

She is fierce and proud, a woman claiming her release and celebrating her pleasure.

It’s beautiful, more than the finest opera, more arousing than any other sound I’ve ever heard. In an instant, I’ve let go of her thighs to push my shorts down, and I quickly roll a condom onto my raging stiffness.

Even before the last quiver’s left her pulsing pussy, I bury all of my cock inside her tight velvety wetness with a single deep thrust. Abigail cries out anew, her body still thrumming with the throes of her orgasm. The fluttering squeezes are almost too much for me. I’m on the edge from all the flirting and teasing we’ve done, and I almost come right there, but I hold back, looking into her wide, vulnerable eyes.

“Mia rosa,” I whisper, swiveling my hips to feel every inch of her pussy wrapped around me. “How do you want it?”

We have shared much, but this is something different . . . and though I can’t bear to think it, it’s perhaps a one-time memory in the making. I want it to be everything for her, a perfect blissful moment she pulls out of her mind with a smile every time she thinks of me.

Abi takes a deep breath, biting her lip as she reveals her inner truth. “Hard . . . dirty.” She gulps, grabbing my arms. “Take me.”

I kiss her once as I withdraw, pausing with just the tip of my cock poised at her entrance before slamming hard and deep into her body. The sand under the blanket cushions the blow just enough to transform the pain into pleasure, and she cries out, her voice swallowed by my lips.

I pound her, long, deep strokes that stretch and fill her, her body clenching around me with each withdrawal. It’s not the wild positioning of our yoga class. Rather, it is simply us, face to face as we feel every inch of our joining.

Maybe we can try a wilder position next time?

The errant thought gives me hope for more, even if I know that’s not a certainty. But for now, simply staring into Abigail’s eyes as she takes pleasure from me and feeling her pinned to the sand by my cock are enough. It’s more than enough.

We rise together, my balls tightening as I feel my climax coming. Abigail’s there too, her breasts shaking with each slap of our hips and her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths.

“Come for me. Come all over my cock.” I grunt. Abigail cries out, falling apart underneath me and pushing me over the edge. I come hard, my cock pulsing as I growl through the spasms of my release before leaning down to kiss her again.

I stay inside her, our bodies entwined as I roll to pull Abi on top of me. Stroking her back, I feel her body relax against me.

“Mia rosa,” I whisper. I said it before just as an off the top of my head phrase, something to use as a way to give her a ‘pet name’ in our deception.

Now it’s real. She is my rose, tender and perfect in her small imperfections, a woman to be treasured and kept safe and protected. But I’d be a fool to think she’s helpless. Like every rose, mia rosa has