Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,53
my reach.
At that point, I roughly grab her by the nape of her neck, drop my forehead against hers, and growl, “Rub faster.”
Her stroking increases; however, her breathing noticeably decreases. No longer is she whimpering or moaning as my cock mercilessly grinds itself against the smoothness of her edges that are providing so much pressure and friction it has my knees buckling. Sound seems to have become stuck in her throat, leaving her parted lips to uncontrollably bob instead. The lack of my name pinging around the room sends me into a feral frenzy where I begin yanking her into each thrust and wildly whipping my tongue in the unprotected territory of her mouth. Brooklyn does her best to withstand the unpredictable parallel patterns of attack by nipping at my bottom lip when free to do so and viciously clawing at my pecs.
Suddenly, the movement of her finger begins to slow down prompting me to grunt in a voice I barely recognize, “Don’t you dare fucking stop rubbing.”
The circles resume though the accelerated pace doesn’t.
“Faster.”
“But-”
“Faster.” My gruff voice uncontrollably shakes. “Faster for me, babe.”
Her hesitation disappears granting me access to a view worth coming for.
I fasten the other hand beside the one that’s already on her neck so that they’re side by side.
Sealed to her shaky frame.
Surmounting our smutty situation.
Pre cum cascades down my cock adding sweet slipperiness to the already sublime sensation. My untamed pumping, paired with the tiny puffs of air hitting my lips, tear away remaining reluctance to unleash the inner sea savage that swims closer to the surface than I care to admit. I inhumanely yank her closer and grind harder. Thrust and pant. Bruise and bellow until she’s screaming my name in the same rapid streams that I’m coming.
One mind-blowing round leads to another with my mouth lapping up her self-delivered juices.
That transitions to a session in the same place except my dick is plunging into her perfect pussy rather than through the makeshift one created by her feet. Thank fuck I keep a small stash of rubbers in the surfboard haven just in case I need one on the go, otherwise it wouldn’t have happened.
Our garage tryst in which her feet shifted the sticky residue from our first encounter to various places on my body is what prompts a shared shower and a shared masturbation session.
Completely spent and alarmingly hungry, we swing by her favorite fish taco shack to grab a late lunch for us and the couple of employees who are currently working at my store. She pays, despite all of my objections since they’re my employees, and they end up singing her praises every other bite.
Bryan, the one manning the hunt today, licks jalapeno ranch off his thumb prior to proclaiming, “Your girlfriend has amazing taste.”
Mirth immediately fills her gaze.
“These are the best fish tacos I’ve ever had.”
Brooklyn shoots me a smug smirk on another bite of the dish in discussion.
“I don’t know that I’d say they’re the best,” I stammer out, tossing my crumpled-up foil into the nearby recycle bin. “I’d say that they’re pretty good.”
“Really fucking good,” Bryan needlessly coos.
“Just admit it, bae.” Brooklyn swallows the chunk in her mouth. “My favorite place is better than yours.”
The reluctance to concede childishly continues.
Bryan, less than cleverly, eyeballs the last taco up for grabs. “What’s his favorite place?”
“Marco’s Fisheria,” she answers before I can.
“Aw, come on, bro! Really?”
“They’re good!”
“They’re mediocre,” Bryan scoffs. “And overpriced.”
Brooklyn starts snickering a second time causing me to shake my head.
Not sure why I won’t just let her win this.
Is it my pride?
When did my pride get here?
Why does that matter more than making her smile?
“Fine,” I quietly bow out, arm winding around her waist, “you win.”
“She should. She’s got good taste,” Bryan states as he inches the still wrapped taco his direction.
“That’s why she picked me.”
“Did I pick you or did you pick me?”
Her playfulness receives a small squeeze and loving grin. “I think we picked each other, like seahorses.”
“They hold tails…”
“Pretty much the way we hold hands.”
“Or feet sometimes.”
Our flirting naturally sends us gravitating together, anxious mouths ready to meet.
“You know sometimes the male seahorses eat their babies?” Bryan loudly interjects.
The mood interruption is also, apparently, a meal killer for Brooklyn by the way she pushes her unfinished taco to the side.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off like Trixie?” I slyly suggest over an idea slowly being formed by both of my brains. “We can man the counter and the hunt for