I hooked a finger under the lace and tugged it aside, baring one perfect breast to the cool night air. Her nipple was tight, flushed rose, glistening with harbor water. I didn’t tease. I closed my mouth over it—slow, deliberate—sucking gently, then harder, swirling my tongue around the stiff peak.
She cried out, back arching, legs tightening around my hips, pulling me flush against her. Heat pulsed between us, unmistakable, urgent. Water lapped at our skin as the harbor rocked us, gentle and relentless.
I moved to the other breast, pushing the bra fully aside now, lavishing the same attention—lips, tongue, the soft graze of teeth—until she was trembling, fingers tangled tight in my hair, whispering my name like a prayer.
The city lights blurred. The stars blurred. There was only her taste on my tongue, her body arching into mine, the slow, deep roll of the water carrying us farther from everything but this.
I didn’t want the night to end.
I just wanted her—burning, breathless, mine.
The harbor had us completely now—nothing but black water, distant gold lights, and the slow rock of the current holding us like a cradle. Her mouth was on mine again, no space between us, the kiss turning fierce and desperate, all the heat we'd been banking since that first night finally catching fire. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, breaths ragged and shared. She tasted like salt and want, and every time she moaned into my mouth it went straight to my cock, already aching against her.
Her legs stayed locked around my hips, pulling me tighter, grinding slow and deliberate so I felt every slick slide of her through our soaked clothes. My hands couldn't stay still—roaming her back, gripping her ass, then sliding up to palm her bare breasts again, thumbs circling those stiff nipples until she broke the kiss with a gasp, head falling back, throat exposed to the moonlight.
I took the invitation. Mouth on her neck, sucking hard enough to mark, then lower, dragging wet kisses down her chest. But it wasn't enough. The need between us was too sharp, too long coming.
One hand drifted down her side, over the curve of her hip, fingers tracing the edge of her panties under the water. She stilled for half a heartbeat—then rolled her hips forward, wordless permission.
I slipped beneath the lace.
God.
She was soaked—not just from the harbor. Slick, swollen, burning hot around my fingers. I groaned against her throat as I parted her, thumb finding her clit in one slow circle. She jerked, nails digging into my shoulders, a broken "Ethan..." spilling from her lips.
"So fucking wet for me," I rasped, voice rough. "Been like this all night?"
She didn't answer with words—just rocked into my hand, chasing the pressure. I rubbed her clit harder, steady circles, then slid one finger inside her. Tight. Velvet heat clamping down instantly. Then a second, stretching her, curling deep to find that spot that made her whole body shudder.
The water buoyed us, making every movement weightless and endless. She started riding my hand in earnest—hips rolling, thighs squeezing my waist, breasts bouncing with each thrust. Moonlight painted her like something unreal: eyes half-lidded, lips parted, hair drifting wild around her face.
I watched her, couldn't look away. The way her stomach tensed, the soft cries she couldn't hold back, the way sheclenched around my fingers every time I stroked that sweet place inside. Hotter than anything I'd ever felt—her arousal coating my hand, mixing with the cool water, proof of how much she needed this. Needed me.
"Fuck, you feel perfect," I told her, pumping deeper, thumb relentless on her clit. "So tight and greedy. Come for me, baby. Right here in the water. Let me feel it."
She shattered.
Back arching hard, a low, throaty cry tearing out of her as her walls pulsed around my fingers in long, milking waves. Wet heat flooded my hand, her whole body trembling through it, thighs shaking against my sides. Sexiest thing I'd ever seen—her coming undone under the stars, completely open, trusting me to hold her through it while the harbor rocked us gently like it approved.
I kept moving slow, drawing it out until she sagged against me, breathless and glowing, forehead pressed to mine.
Best night of my life didn't even begin to cover it anymore.
We swam back slow.
Not racing anymore.
Just drifting.
My hand brushing hers under the water, fingers laced tight, like if I let go she might vanish into the dark.
By the time we reached the stern ladder, the adrenaline had faded and the night air slapped us hard—wind whipping off the harbor, sharp and cold. She hissed as she climbed out, goosebumps blooming across her skin.
“Okay,” she laughed through chattering teeth, “now I’m cold.”
“Yeah,” I said, hauling myself up behind her. “Come here.”
I grabbed the old navy towels from the bench, wrapped one around her first—always her first. The thick fabric swallowed her, damp blonde hair wild, cheeks flushed pink. She looked wrecked in the best way. Like we’d survived a storm together.
