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7
Coco
Iwake up groggy and confused about how I made it to my room last night. It takes me a few seconds to remember the feeling of security, muscular arms around me, the ocean breeze blowing my hair around, gruff reassurances. And when I swallow and realize my throat is sore from Walt’s use of my mouth, my gaze shoots to the adjoining door, my fingers curling into the sheets, pulse starting to flutter wildly. Walt.
There is an absence of tension in my body that has left me light in some ways, heavy in others. Heavy, because Walt obviously doesn’t see us having a viable relationship. I’m probably just a kid to him with unrealistic feelings. Light, because…
What Walt gave me last night?
I’ve been empty without it. Ownership. An authority figure.
I arch my back on the mattress and allow my fingertips to skim down my bare stomach, into my panties and over my mound, two fingers parting the lips of my sex and experiencing myself grow wet. Rubbing my clit until I’m gasping. I’m still wrapped up in the haze of bliss and when I close my eyes and replay the rough push of Walt’s shaft down my throat, I moan so loudly, I have to turn over and press my face into the pillow.
I’m not gentle, Coco. That’s not me. You get on your knees in front of Daddy, you get a rough mouthful of dick. Do you understand?
“Yes,” I whisper, that single word muffled by the pillow.
I’ve only got about ten seconds left of playing with myself before I orgasm, but it won’t be fulfilling like my first two times. It must be him. I need to get my pleasure from Walt. I’m going to make myself ready for him without completing the entire act. I’ll walk around aroused all day in his presence and he’ll know it. He’ll have to touch me. He won’t be able to ignore the responsibility. Because whether or not he believes I can be his girlfriend, what’s between us physically is undeniable.
I’ll use that.
There is only one day left of this reunion and I can’t walk away without knowing I’ll see him again. I don’t know how to be without Walt now that I’ve discovered him. Now that I know what it’s like to have a man claim me in a way that ignites me soul, satiates my body. In a way that might be a little twisted and wrong…but done without judgment. Done with purpose and care. I need him to take charge of me. Love me, be rough and demanding with me.
I need to be his little girl.
Thinking those two words almost pushes me into an orgasm, but I stop at the last second, rolling over onto my back and gasping into the air-conditioned atmosphere of the hotel room. It takes all of my control to resist bringing myself to completion and climb out of the bed on shaky legs.
With my eyes constantly drifting to the adjoining door, I kneel down in front of my small suitcase, rooting out my white bikini…and stopping. Remembering I packed two bathing suits. In addition to the white one, I have a pink one piece that I purchase without looking at the back. From the front, it looks mostly innocent, but in back? It’s a thong with an extremely low cut back. Basically, there is very little material between the back area and the butt. It’s held together by a frilly pink bow. More like lingerie than a bathing suit.
My plan was to return it.
Maybe I should wear it instead.
My sex dampens as I pull it on, turning to the side and imagining Walt’s reaction to my backside being on display. I hope he makes a scene. I hope he puts me over his knee and spanks me, shouts at me. Takes me to bed and never lets me out.
Breathless with anticipation, I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top over the pink bathing suit. Slide my feet into a pair of flip flops. Finding my room key and phone, I leave the room and go down to breakfast. When I arrive at the buffet, almost everyone is there. Wanda gives me her characteristic hangover wince and wave, burying her face back in the crook of her arm. Her father is sitting beside her and he gives me a speculative look before quickly glancing away. It didn’t occur to me until now how it must have seemed when I left with Walt and never returned to the bar last night. Is Wanda’s father suspicious?
How could he not be?
Picking up a plate at the buffet, I start to heap on fruit, eggs and potatoes, but my arms nearly go limp when Walt strides into the breakfast room. On cue, my mouth begins to water for something very different than hash browns.
His hair is semi-damp from a shower and he’s wearing a tight gray T-shirt that stretches and strains over his pecs, sunglasses tucked into the neckline. Black board shorts.
Every non-related woman in the room stops to watch him pass, soaking up the sight of a capable man. I want to stab them all with my fork. But I’m appeased when his attention travels right through everyone else and sticks to me. A line jumps in his cheek and then he’s walking in my direction, his eyes traveling down the front of my body with a mixture of resentment and hunger. Upon reaching the buffet, he snatches up a plate and comes to a stop beside me.
It's only now that I notice his breathing is shallow.
“Good morning,” I murmur, frowning. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” Briefly, he glances around, seemingly to see if anyone is within earshot. There’s no one there, though. Apparently, everyone has already eaten. “I heard you fucking yourself through the door.” He stares at the crotch of my jean shorts, his eyes taking on a glassy quality. “Did you finish?”
I swallow a whimper, turned on simply from having this conversation with Walt in public. Turned on by the fact that we speak to each other in a way that is so intimate. “Of course not.” I give him a sideways glance, peeking up at him through my eyelashes. “It’s your job to finish me.”
His chest rises and falls on a shuddering breath. “It’s not even nine a.m. and you’re already driving me crazy.”
“Better teach me a lesson,” I whisper.
A growl kindles in his throat. “You are playing with fire, little girl.” With agitated movements, he begins to load eggs onto his plate. “You’re wearing a different bathing suit.”
