Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
She turned her head slightly to say, “Should we be doing this here? Couldn’t someone catch us?”
Sometimes, I couldn’t tell if she was worried about being caught or just playacting. She’d gone along with it in the hedge maze, but this was much more open. “Do you want to be caught?”
“Not at your mother’s house,” she giggled.
“Hmm. Well, I want to make you come, and you don’t want to get caught...” I nipped at her bottom lip. “I guess we’ll have to keep our clothes on. And your voice down.”
“I’m not the loud one,” she protested, but added, “Usually.”
“Then, we should have nothing to worry about.” I didn’t reassure her that I’d been accidentally caught in delicate situations by the staff dozens of times, and that they were paid to mind their business. Putting on an intentional show for consenting strangers was one thing, but when you had to see and interact with those strangers it was another, entirely.
“We’ll be discreet,” I promised, and slid my hand down her stomach to pop the button on her shorts.
Her breath caught a little, and I covered her mouth again as I slipped my hand beneath the denim and into her panties.
There was something to be said for simple, no-frills sex. Out there, on the ground, beneath the expanse of a near-cloudless blue sky, it felt almost like the days of sneaking around for illicit intimacy. My teen years of longing and frustration rushed back, the memory of the first time I’d ever touched anyone other than myself in a sexual way. The first time had been with a boy at summer camp; we’d known how to get each other off, and had done so with speed that had surprised us both. The second time had been in the backseat of a car with a girl I’d met at a party; she’d been more difficult to figure out. I was nearly certain that I didn’t make her come.
Now, I knew much more, and when my fingers encountered the hot, soft folds, already coating my fingers with wetness, I didn’t fumble as badly or nearly lose it in my jeans. But that feeling of innocent exploration was there.
I hadn’t realized how much nostalgia I could feel for those times.
Charlotte’s hips rose to the touch of my fingertips on her clit, and she mewled into my mouth as we kissed ourselves senseless. I bracketed her straining bud between two fingers and slowly scissored them back and forth; there wasn’t much else I could do in the confines of the tight denim. But it was working, judging from the way she undulated her hips and grew slicker under my hand.
Her own hands groped for my zipper, freeing my cock to pump it in her fist. I groaned, and wondered if she was right about the noise level. Sound carried across the water, and I was enthusiastic in my pleasure. Forcing myself into near silence, I concentrated on the feel of her clothed body pressed against mine, the hunger all over my skin as it begged to touch hers. The denial was beyond erotic, a kind of torment I wouldn’t have thought to incorporate before. When I stayed clothed during our games, it was a part of control, of dominance. A signal that she was vulnerable to me, stripped bare.
When she was clothed, too, it simply felt frantic and incomplete. When I got her back to my room, I would take such a long, thorough inventory of her nude body that she would beg for mercy. I would tease every inch of her skin, taste her all over, and when I finally sank into her, I would fuck her so slowly that I would feel every ripple of her clenching cunt around my dick.
Her lips pressed harder against mine; her hand sped up. I followed her lead, felt her stiffen. Felt her moan against my tongue. Thought of how her cunt was as wet as my mouth. Imagined my cock in both. And as she cried out, bucking against my hand, I surged through her fist with a low growl and closed my eyes tight against the starbursts of pleasure that left me lightheaded. I erupted over her hand, jets of cum splashing between us.
“Fuck.” I flopped onto my back, panting heavily, eyes opening to the too-bright sky. My hand was still in her jeans, and I withdrew it reluctantly.
She rose up on one elbow to look down at me, then brought her cum-smeared hand to her lips to lick it clean. I held her gaze and did the same, sucking her essence from my fingertips.
It was better than anything we’d eaten on our picnic.
“Thanks,” she murmured, lying beside me and using my chest as a pillow as she stared out across the lake. “I needed that.”
We lay there in silence for a long time, until I couldn’t put off cleaning up any longer. I used one of the linen napkins from the basket and felt terrible that someone would someday use it to dab their face, so I stuffed it into my pocket with the intent to throw it away later. Then, I laid back down and resumed snuggling, taking in the quiet nature sounds all around us.