A thrill runs down my spine, the kind that shoots out into every nerve in every crevice in my body. A heat builds between my legs, a pressure that’s both foreign and familiar to me. I want this more than I can admit.
His lips now suck along my neck, and his moan sends vibrations down my spine. I put my hands on his shoulders, on his back, feeling the taut strain of his muscles, the heat of his body, and the sun beating down on us.
“Pascal,” I whisper, though I don’t want to say anything more than his name. I want to keep saying it, keep reminding myself that this is him, this is him. My boss, son of the devil, the one person I want to get closer to and the one person I shouldn’t.
Those thoughts would normally be enough to shake me out of it, but this time they don’t. This time they disappear in a flurry of lust as Pascal makes a gentle fist in the back of my hair with one hand—I can feel the water trickling down my back from it, making me shiver. His other hand goes to my bikini top and slips under.
His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I gasp, my nails on his back digging in. His touch is electric. Whatever I was feeling before was just kindling, and now this is the fuel he’s poured on top. I am so fucking alive, so damn turned on. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never had anyone touch me and make me feel the way he’s making me feel now.
“Don’t stop, ever,” I manage to say, my heart starting to beat in my throat. His lips come down to my pulse, sucking and licking until they rest in the corner of my neck. The way his thumb keeps passing over my hardened nipple shoots rays of pleasure out of my breast, washing over the rest of me. I’m starting to become impatient. I’m starting to need more, like some rabid animal.
His mouth comes back up to mine again, and I gasp into another kiss. I open my eyes enough to see him staring back at me, those endless blues reflecting my own lust to me. “Lie back,” he whispers, and one hand goes to my shoulder, gently pushing me onto the sand. He reaches down and carefully spreads my legs, then gets between them.
He could be rougher. I get why he’s not. He’s been as easy on me as he can, and I don’t blame him. It’s thoughtful. It’s endearing. It’s a side of Pascal I never thought I’d see when it came to sex. I thought he would just take, rough and wild, and discard. This is different. This is gentle but commanding. It’s slow but it’s decadent. It’s borderline torturous.
I gasp again as he briefly hovers over me and licks up the sides of my breast, swirling his thick tongue around and around until I’m fidgeting, the pressure inside me building again with nowhere to go. The need to get off is greater than anything else right now. I’m being driven mad.
He glances up at me, his damp dark hair falling in his eyes, and he gives me his trademark crooked grin. Though the want on his face is written clearly, the way his pupils are dilated, how tense his jaw is, the way his lips are open and wet, I also see something else in his eyes. The feeling that no matter what happens next, he’s got me.
With a hard, slick pull, he sucks my nipple into his mouth, and my hands shoot up to his thick hair, grabbing on tight. I know how fussy he is about his hair, and I don’t blame him. He’s got the perfect hair to hold in times like this.
Then he moves back, his lips leaving my breasts and trailing down the middle of my stomach, making light little kisses down and down and down.
I tense up, nervous and excited and desperate all at once.
I’ve never had a guy go down on me before.
Suddenly I’m glad that I’m still wet from the ocean, though perhaps that’s my own desire as well.
Pascal slips his finger under one side of my bikini—the same side he was untwisting earlier, when the intimacy got too much for me—and instead of pulling them down over my hips, he undoes the ties until the bikini falls to the side.