He looked down. Her ass was bare and pale in the over-saturated lamplight, full and round and begging for his hands. His teeth. His tongue. He bet he could get her off with his tongue.
He groaned. He was a goner.
Her brain processedthe noise Des made, but she could only manage a half-heartedly prompting ‘hm?’ in response, too blissed out from the gentle but insistent vibrations massaging her. If he said anything after that, she didn’t hear him. He slid the wand up her back, following her spine up to the curve of her shoulder blade.
This time it was she who groaned, toes curling as tension evaporated from her muscles. “This is my kind of toy,” she mumbled into his pillow, shoulders rolling against the vibrations coursing through her body.
Just relax.Des was probably right. She got too in her own head and psyched herself out. She just needed to go with the flow, like she had that night on the phone with him. She could do this. She could let the feelings take over.
The stimulation of the massage seemed to ignite her blood within her, so much that she felt feverish as he worked the vibrator along her body. Her fingers flinched toward the hem of her shirt, acting on instinct rather than instruction. He dragged the bulb upward to the back of her neck, tracing the edge of herspine, and her fingers twitched again. Then, when he pushed the vibe into the muscle where her neck met her shoulder, she moaned again, and her hand clasped the edge of her tee.
She wriggled against his mattress as she worked the shirt up over her ribcage, then her breasts. With some difficulty, not alleviated by his continued pressure with the Hitachi, she maneuvered the shirt over her head and tossed it. A whispering followed as it brushed the lamp and settled somewhere on the floor. Des didn’t react. He just traced the vibe along the back strap of her bra.
“Des,” she whined, burying her face back into his pillow. The scent of his shampoo filled her lungs. “Unhook me. It’s too hot in here.”
She could hear him breathing as one warm finger slid under the band of lace that encircled her ribcage. There was a quick pinch, and relief as the band slumped around her. Then his big, warm hand was gone.
A sigh of disappointment escaped her as she pulled the bra out from under her and tossed it away. Her skin was still flush and desperate for his touch, off-limits though it was. She clutched his pillow and inhaled again.
Des dragged the Hitachi down her back, over her ass, and between her legs.
The sound she made was unlike any she’d made before. She couldn’t have replicated it for all the money in the world. It was animalistic, primal and passionate. The steady massage combined with the heat friction of the vibration made her feel as though her core had been replaced with lava. She could identify no individual body parts. She was only hot, molten need.
He was relentless, working the bulb against her clit and maintaining pressure even when her hips bucked. She couldn’t help it. Her fingers scrambled for purchase against his bedspread. She tossed her tangled, sweaty hair back.
She didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but Des, the genius, dipped the vibrating bulb away from her clit and pressed it against her opening, where she was slick and wanting. It was too big to slip inside, but damn, she wanted it. The pressure was so deliciously sweet, she couldn’t help but ride against the thick, bulbous head, wishing to God it was the head of his cock instead.
There was a distant click as Des nudged the wand into its second speed setting, and then Cami’s world fell apart.
Taste, sight, sound, and smell—all of her senses shorted out, except for one: touch. She could only feel. Every inch of her body clenched and held taut as the orgasm gripped her in suspended animation. It dragged in the most exquisite way, Des refusing to move until she couldn’t hold it any longer. She couldn’t breathe until the final rolling peak of it slipped away like the final satisfying notes of a heartbreaking song.
She collapsed against his mattress, and the vibrations ceased.
There was rustling behind her. Des was moving. “Oh my God,” she said, and it was only when she hiccupped in a sob that she realized she was crying. Her entire body had turned to mush, and the only part that still worked was her tear ducts. She laughed.
“Did it work?” he asked. The excitement in his voice suggested he already knew the answer. “Did you come?”
She peeked up at him through her wet lashes and tried to smile. Her mouth felt mushy, like not even her jaw muscles worked properly anymore. “Yeah. Sorry—I’m not upset. I have no idea why I’m crying.”
She did, though. She felt as though a cold, weighty mass inside of her had disintegrated away. The part that weighed her down was gone. She was crying because she wasn’t broken.
He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and laid the vibrator aside. “It’s okay. I imagine it’s a lot to process.” Despitehis sympathy, his grin oozed primal male satisfaction. It was an extremely good look for him. “Do you want that break now? Or we could call it quits for the night, if you’ve had enough.”
She inhaled. “No.” Her muscles were starting to feel more in her own control, and her tears had stopped. She rolled over to face him. “Let’s go again. What else you got in your bag of tricks?”
Her shirt and bra were gone, she remembered belatedly as his sparkling gray eyes dropped to her nipples. They pebbled under his gaze, still flushed from her orgasm, but she didn’t have the will to be embarrassed.
His eyes pulled back up to hers as he smirked. “Let’s find out.”
13
When the door to Sex on the Beach opened, Des was leaning against his motorcycle, thumbing through the business section of the Washington Post on his phone. He caught the swish of Lenny’s skirt from the corner of his eye, and glanced up just as she noticed him. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and crossed the parking lot to her side as she locked the door.
“If you’re looking for Cami, she headed upstairs.”
While he’d been waiting for Lenny, the lights in the apartment above the store had flickered on. Once, he’d seen the shadow of Cami’s now-familiar body through the thin curtain as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. He hadn’t been able to tell if she’d been wearing something form-fitting or if she was naked, and that question had taken over his imagination until a burgeoning erection necessitated a distraction. That’s when he’d turned to the news. He doubted Lenny would be keen to talk shop with someone sporting a hard-on.
“I’m here to see you.”
