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Peels my bikini top from my skin.
His pupils dilate as he brings his hands to my chest.
He toys with my nipples. It’s different than it was in the water. Less smooth. More intense.
He draws circles around my tender buds. It starts soft—I can barely feel it—then gets harder.
Desire pools between my legs. This feels so fucking good, but I need more.
I shimmy out of my bikini bottom
s then kick them aside.
I move closer.
My hands skim his hips. I trace the waist of his speedo. Cup him over the swimsuit.
He’s hard. I need that. I need him out of his fucking mind.
His hands curl around my wrists. “Not yet.”
My sigh is a whine. Now. I need him now.
He releases my right wrist. Brings his hand to my breast. Toys with my nipple again and again.
My eyelids press together.
My sex clenches.
Every brush of his fingers winds me up. The tension in my sex builds. It gets higher, deeper, tighter.
My body buzzes with desire.
And all from his hands on my chest.
“Fuck.” I reach for him. Get his chest. Dig my fingers into his firm flesh. “Ryan.”
He moves to my other breast. Teases it just as mercilessly.
Finally, he releases his grip on my wrist.
Both hands go to my chest.
His rolls my nipples between his thumb and index finger. It sends a pang straight to my sex.
He does it harder.
Harder.
“Fuck.” It’s the only word I have. The only way to explain what he does to me.
He toys with me again and again.
Winds me up.
Gets me panting.
Fuck. I’m aching with desire.
