She didn’t apologize for her weight.
I respected that.
Her knees bracketed my ribs and her mouth came back down on mine, and I got my hands under her shirt and felt her shiver—not from cold; the van was a greenhouse—and somewhere in my hindbrain the shark surfaced, slow, interested, tasting the water.
Tasting her.
Elevated pulse, and coconut and salt and heat.
I told it to wait.
It didn’t usually wait once things got this far, but for her it waited. I’d be thinking about that later.
I had things to do now.
“This comes off.” She yanked my shirt up.
“Buy me dinner first.”
“Smoothies count as dinner.”
I made to protest, but then her nails dragged down my chest and the sentence died of natural causes.
I threaded my fingers through her hair, tugging her closer to me, those perfect tits right in my face. I nipped one through her white tee, and she made a small sound of encouragement, so I caught her nipple in my teeth before sucking harder, letting both the rough fabric and my tongue drag across the hard bud.
Oh, she really liked that, and so did the shark. She started grinding against me through my very thin board shorts and her bikini bottoms, and every single part of my brain—shark and man—said the same thing.
Taste her.
My other hand wrapped around the soft skin of her ass, yanking down her elastic bottoms to find the wet heat of her pussy, already waiting for me.
“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked.” I released her nipple, enjoying the dark, translucent mark on her shirt that gave me an amazing view of the mauve skin beneath. I sank two fingers into her until she moaned, taking a little too much pleasure in the whimper she released when I immediately pulled them out and brought them to my lips. Her pupils blew wide as I licked her arousal from them, making sure my tongue went between. “This is better than anything on the menu, for sure.”
In the dim light of the van, she looked down at me like I was a solution. To what problem, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t really care. I’d been on magazine covers, I’d had crowds chant my name, and not one second of any of it had ever lit me up likethat look. Because I knew she was seeing me, and not El Tiburón.
“You want more?” she asked as she wove her fingers through my hair, tugging just enough to make my cock twitch, hard.
“Fuck yes, I do.”
She shifted up my body, her knees walking forward over my chest, and the scent of her hit my predator brain like chum in the water. The shark was not going to wait anymore.
“You know what I want?” she murmured.
Oh, I absolutely did.
I got my hands under her thighs anyway and purred, “Tell me,” because some things you make your competition say aloud.
“You talk a big game. Let’s see if your mouth backs it up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I pulled her down onto my face.
She tasted like salt and coconut, and the shark in me went still and very focused. I learned her in about ninety seconds. It was just like learning a break, but with even better results. Where did the energy gather? What made her stutter? Which rhythm did she chase with her hips?
It got easier when she stopped holding back and started using my face for exactly what she’d commandeered it for. Her hands found the wall of the van, then my chest, then back into my hair as she started rolling her hips, my tongue and nose hers to use.
“There,” she breathed. “There—don’t you dare get creative?—”
