He started by kissing me then he reached out and grabbed the blanket I brought, pulled us up to our feet and covered the pier with it.
After he did that, back down we went, this time, Creed on top of me.
A place I loved him to be.
Creed, being Creed, gave and gave, with his hands, his mouth, his fingers, his tongue, even his teeth. Gentle, slow, sweet.
Restrained.
I knew it cost him because I felt his tenseness, heard him stifle the noises he would normally make, probably so he didn’t scare me.
My hands up his shirt tensed against his sleek skin.
“Let this be everything it’s meant to be, Creed,” I whispered into his neck.
“Want it to be the best it can be for you, Sylvie,” he whispered in mine.
“It’s you. There’s no other way it can be.”
His head came up and I felt his eyes looking down at me.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Whatever you want,” he answered. “Do what comes naturally.”
I shoved my hands in his tee and pulled up.
Creed arched his back and lifted his arms.
I pulled his shirt off.
Amazing.
All that smooth, muscled skin in the moonlight.
Amazing.
I put my hands to it.
Not amazing.
Sublime.
Creed kissed me.
Even better.
He rolled so I was on top and I used my hands on him, my mouth, my fingers, my tongue, even my teeth. Just like he did on me.
He rolled us again so he was on top, he did the same to me and I felt it building. Building so much, I couldn’t stop the noises from escaping my throat. Little whimpers, low moans, breathless gasps.
Creed’s lips on mine, he told me gently, “Gonna put my hand between your legs, beautiful. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” I breathed.
His hand slid down my belly and I shivered, waiting, braced, anticipating, needing but he stopped with his fingertips at the top edge of my bikini bottoms.
“You sure?” he checked.