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Gently I push his hand away from his cock and take all of it in both of mine. His hands cup my face, and he bathes my mouth in a long, slow, passionate kiss. The kind of kiss I’ve dreamed about, but he’s the only one who has ever delivered.
We come up for air and hold each other’s gaze, our foreheads pressed together, my mouth spread in a wicked smile. The kneading, pumping of my hands continues, building him up, pushing him toward the edge.
When I sense he’s about to plummet off the precipice, he tries to come in his hand. I instead hold his hands down and let him squirt on the dress.
“Fuck…your dress, beautiful.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying…fuck my dress.”
Chapter 16
Penny
I’m not sure who that wom
an was an hour ago in Josh’s truck, making out with his hands and jacking him off like a teenager by the side of the road in broad daylight.
I’ve never done anything that reckless before in my life.
The logs are assembled in our little beachfront fire pit, I’ve got my flint and my paper, and I’m working hard to get this fire going.
Josh acts like everything is normal. The things we just did, the whispered promises. It’s like none of this surprises him at all.
The flint isn’t working as well as it used to when I was a girl scout. Or maybe I have less patience now.
I swipe and swipe. I glance over at Josh, who’s brought out my lawn chair and has a cold glass of wine already poured out for me on the mini camping table. He’s eyeing me like he’s ready for more, whatever that may be.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a side of bacon,” I say, unable to hide my smile.
“Babe, don’t run yourself down. You’re at least a porterhouse.”
I roll my eyes and say, “You could at least help me with this.”
He downs the rest of his beer and lets out a massive burp. “You want my help? I can help.”
He gets up and saunters off while I keep up trying to get the fire lit. Moments later, Josh comes back and he’s holding a small metal can with a spout at one end.
“Stand back. Way back.”
And it’s then that I get a glimpse of my future. Someday I’m going to be married to this man, and he’s going to stand in our backyard, drink beer, belch, and be ready at any moment to set things ablaze with lighter fluid.
The whoosh of flames is pretty damn impressive. “Cheater,” I say.
“You say that like it matters how you start a fire.”
“It’s a skill you hone with practice. I earned a badge in it when I was a girl.”
He pats the chair next to him. “Relax, drink your wine, and tell me all the other stuff you learned in girl scouts.”
I settle in and sip my wine. “How to start an outboard motor, for one.”
“Touché.” My glass and his beer bottle clink together and what follows is a long talk into the night in which we share our stories, our heartbreaks, our wins, our failures, and our dreams.
He tells me that despite his dumb joke earlier, he’d love half a dozen kids or more. He’d grown up with only himself and a single mom, and he wants a big rowdy house full of kids.
I tell him that someday I want to run my own marketing company that only takes on one client at a time, and would allow me to work from home so I can be close to my family.
He tells me about the backyard pool he wants to design, complete with a tube waterslide.
