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Maybe she does.
I turn her to face me, placing my hands on either side of her face, and press my lips to hers. It’s a risky effort, making such a bold move on a girl who’s spent more of her life watching the party rather than joining in, but she moves her lips against mine in response, slowly parting them so I can taste her, explore her soft mouth, and give her an inkling of other things I have in store for her. She surprises me in how she gets lost in our kiss, gradually pressing herself to me, arms around my neck. I continue to lightly rock in time to the music, and she follows, like I’m leading her in the kind of slow dance teenagers do when they’re trying to be romantic but also cop a feel without anyone around them noticing.
By the time we part and come up for air, we find ourselves alone on the deck. Sometime during our kiss, the other four disappeared, no doubt to get started fucking before dawn breaks and the magic of the evening, not to mention the ecstasy, wears off. The morning after nights like this are rough, like a pretty glass falling and breaking into pointy shards. The girls’ makeup will be smeared, their hair a mess, their eyes half closed from lack of sleep, and their skin will be sallow and splotchy from crappy street drugs. They will complete their walk of shame, staggering back to their accommodations and sleep most of the day away like many of the partiers on the island.
If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a hundred times.
“Let’s go,” I say to Abby, and take her by the hand.
She follows me with no resistance, probably having resigned herself to getting ‘the whole vacation experience.’ Once in my cabin, I remove her jeans and top. I lay her on the edge of my bed, her ass all but hanging off, and get to my knees. The scent of her musky excitement has me vibrating, and even if she begged me to stop now, I wouldn’t.
But I’ll let her think she has a choice.
“You good, baby?” I whisper.
She’s silent for a moment and I wonder if she’s going to raise an objection. It would be such an inconvenience.
“Yeah,” she says. “Vacation sex. Another box to tick off.”
I have to laugh at how she’s surrendering to a checklist, practical to the end, even when she is about to get her pussy eaten. But I can fuck that out of her, if not tonight, then another. We’ll have plenty of time.
Not that she knows that.
I slash my tongue through her lips, tasting the cream from her opening, stopping only at her clit, the hard little bud begging for attention. I create a suction that has her bucking her hips into my face, silently pleading for more.
She lies back, her hair sprawling, hands on tits, tossing her head as I swirl her clit between my lips.
I pull back as her breathing gets raspy. Her eyes fly open, and she looks up at me in alarm.
Or is it frustration?
I enjoy both.
“Open your mouth,” I say. I take two fingers and put them in her mouth as far as she can take them. “Suck, Abby. Make them wet so I can fuck you with them.”
Her eyes fall closed, and she licks and slurps until my fingers are wet. I place them at the entrance to her cunt, slowly wriggling my way inside her. She’s so hot and so tight, just like I knew she’d be, and when I’ve worked my way inside her, I start a ‘come here’ motion with my fingers that brings her to her edge.
Her hips push into my hand for more, so I begin to pump. She writhes and tosses her head, her breath punctuated by sighs, moans, and little laughs.
With my free hand, I adjust my dick in my pants. The only way I’ll be getting off tonight is by myself, which is fine. My priority is to make this girl feel good. To make her feel as beautiful as she is.
I will make her believe this if it’s the last thing I do.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she moans, and she contracts around my fingers. I want to put more inside her, maybe even fist her, but that will wait for another time. We’ll work up to that.
And with a gasp, she convulses, thrashing lightly on the bed, alternately clenching her fingers, opening them, and clenching again. As she comes down, I withdraw my hand, now covered in her delicious juices and move her up on the bed. I pull back the comforter and tuck her under it. With a kiss on the forehead, I turn off the light and leave her.
Back on deck, I find Karol returning from shore with the tender. He switches off the small boat’s quiet engine after tying it off. He doesn’t bother storing it because we will be using it for shore runs in the coming days.
“How’d it go?” I asked him.
He wipes the sea spray off his grizzled face and yawns. The man has been up all night long, just like we guys have. “Good, boss. No problem. The French girls are gone. They took the money, said thank you, and disappeared.”
Good, good. Just how we planned it. We don’t need complications, not at such an early stage.
Those could come later.
* * *
