The ocean rises to our chests, a perfect clandestine cover.
With one arm wrapped tight around him, I circle the edge before easing my finger inside.
His moan is drowned out by the noise of the surf.
No need to censor ourselves.
“Mmm,” I grit my teeth.
So warm. And so damn tight.
With a slow beckoning motion inside him, the curl of my finger piques his arousal.
Wave after wave, I hold him.
“You’reverygood at that,” he says, grinding himself into my hand.
“You give me plenty of practice,” I grin.
“Ahhh…” The arch of his hips sends me deeper. “Fucking heaven.”
I tease the rim, but Marco is relentless.
“More,” he pleads.
So I cave, adding a second finger.
“Ohhh…”
A pleasurable gasp as he grabs my thigh.
“Naughty boy,” he scolds. “Don't be shy.”
My mind is anything but innocent.
“When have I ever been shy about what I put in your ass?”
Fingers curve in a heated, deliberate rhythm, sending him into orbit.
It’s sending me too, those shorts pulled down below his hips in public.
Good thing we came here at high tide.
Our breath is heavy and urgent.
I steal a kiss.
Another wave pelts my shoulder.
Then I notice a shadow to our left.
Someone moves behind us.
A surfer carries a board above her head just a few metres away.
She doesn’t notice a thing.
“Is it wrong that I love doing this in broad daylight with you?”
