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"Very much." I turn away.
She grips my chin, "Tell me about her."
"What’s to tell?"
"Everything. Do you look like her? What else did you do together?"
I peer into her eyes, "You really want to know?"
"Of course, I want to know. It’s why you brought us here, right?"
I tilt my head.
"So we could get to know each other. This is a kind of delayed honeymoon, isn’t it?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"No," she chuckles, "normally, you are very hard to read."
"But not right now?"
She half smiles, "Something about being here... You are so much more relaxed, and you’ve lowered your barriers. You’re not wearing that tough Capo look anymore."
"What’s my tough Capo look?"
She rises up on her tip-toes, raises her arm then frowns "Bend your head," she instructs. And because it’s Beauty asking me to do it… And only because yes, I want to indulge her, I lower my head. She traces the lines between my eyebrows. "Normally, you have a groove between your eyebrows and," she touches the skin around my eyes, "lines at the edges of your eyes, and," she drags her fingers around my mouth, "the skin around your lips is stretched."
I turn my head, pretend to bite her fingers, and she yelps.
"Do I now?"
"Mmhmm." She wraps her arms about my waist. I’d pulled on my sweats before heading to the kitchen and now she slides her fingers under the waistband, "These sweatpants are something else."
I chuckle, "I take it you like them?"
She grips my ass and I raise an eyebrow, "Correction. I take it you really like them."
"They’re bloody hot on you."
"You mean it’s the way I wear them, isn’t it?"
She rolls her eyes, "Yes, yes. It’s the way they hang low on your waist, then cling to your butt and mold your powerful thighs, and of course," she slides a hand between us and traces the outline of my cock, which is already standing at attention, "highlights just how much you are packing."
"Didn’t hear you complain about that when I was inside you."
She bats her eyelids, "Were you, now? I hadn’t noticed."
"Excuse me." I step back from the circle of her arms, place the cup on the table, then straighten. "You were saying—"
"Was I?" She bites down on her lower lip.
"Something about not having noticed I was in you?" I take a step forward and she skitters back. I lunge for her and she screams. I move toward her again. She pivots, runs forward, jumps off of the patio, and races ahead. She turns, panting, then screams when she realizes I am right behind her. I grab for her and she ducks, then takes off running, throwing up sand in her wake. The T-shirt that she’s pulled on, my T-shirt, flaps about her thighs. The fabric clings to her shapely butt that twitches as she runs. She glances over her shoulder, "What? Can’t keep up, old man?"
"Who are you calling old man?" I sprint toward her and she squeals. She puts on a burst of speed and she dashes toward the water’s edge. I dart toward her, closing the distance between us. I tackle her around the waist and she yells as she hits the ground. I clamber over her, flip her over, then pin her down to the sand with my hips. She flails around with her arms and I grab them and hold them above her. I wrap my fingers about her wrists and shackle them. "Do you submit?"
"No!" She spits out sand, "No way."
I begin to tickle her under her arms and she screams, then begins to shake with laugher. "Stop," she gasps, "stop, please."
