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He pushes me back to the edge of the fountain, using the same technique with his knee, and swivels us around so that I’m straddling him while his back is against the ledge.
His hands move up and down my waist, my ass, my thighs…and I feel his bulge press against my cunt.
I leisurely move my hips in a circular motion, and I watch as the expression in his eyes go from elated to eager and needy. I get a voyeuristic thrill as his act changes, and my clit throbs in anticipation for what’s to come.
“See? I told you it’s fun to play in a fountain!” I tease him, leaning in to give him a quick peck. But he captures my lips and kisses me back, reigning me into a hot, steamy make-out session.
“You never said fun…” he whispers. “All you said was that it feels good to be wet.”
His lips explore down my neck, licking and sucking a path to my chest while his hands land between my thighs, lightly rubbing my clit over the wet satin.
“Who would’ve thought satin would look and feel so good wet?” he breathes into my neck. His sensual tone ignites me, making me rock up against him hard.
“Ahh!” I moan, softly. “Or that a fountain could become a place of torture,” I sigh and stare into his intense gaze.
“Only the best kind.”
He’s right—this is definitely the best I’ve ever had. Everything about this is the best—him, my dress, this moment.
I grab his hand, pausing his torture momentarily.
“Brendon, I love you.”
The words spill from my lips so smoothly. They tastes better than the finest champagne or the smoothest tequila, one that I’d be happy to only drink…always.
I’ve always loved him. Before all this bullshit that’s happened—the careers, the marriages, the unforgettable hangovers—he’s always been the one my heart couldn’t let go of.
And now that I have him, wet in a fountain and under me, I don’t ever have to.
He grabs my ass and pushes me closer to him. Grasping onto me, he kisses me with more ferocity, and when he breaks away, he keeps us inches apart.
Staring into my eyes, he says, “I need to get you in bed. Now.”
