Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“Santi,” I warn, my voice a mix of exasperation and need.
“Patience, mi cielo,” he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek. “Good things come to those who wait.”
I’m about to argue that patience is not something I possess at this moment when he finally closes the distance. His lips capture mine in a kiss that’s slow and deliberately heated.
The hand that isn’t settled between my legs slides up to cup the side of my face, and his thumb brushes against my cheek in a gesture so tender it steals what little breath I have left. Every inch of me feels alive, buzzing with a need I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, though there’s an edge of seriousness to it now, like he’s giving me the chance to call the shots.
My answer is immediate, my voice steady despite the tremor running through me. “Not even a little.”
And this time, he doesn’t make me wait.
His fingers return to my clit, and my back arches in pleasure at the much firmer pressure of his touch. With my hips canting forwards as he draws tight, harsh circles over my sensitive flesh, my body instinctively grinds against his fingers in search for more friction.
Much to my surprise, the last thing I’m concerned about right now is sand. All I can think about is this: how good it feels to be touched by Santi, and how close I am to reaching my orgasm.
“Oh, fuck - don’t stop,” I pant, not caring how desperate I sound.
He listens intently and does exactly as I request, his steady rhythm not faltering even by a beat despite the involuntary jerks and thrusts of my hips. My arousal practically drenches his fingers and serves as a lubricant as he pinches lightly at my clit.
“That’s right, baby,” Santi breathes, his accent thick and audible over my squeal of pleasure. “Give me all that you’ve got. I want you to come just like this. Want to see that pretty pussy soaked just from my fingers.”
“Santi, please,” I cry, my eyes squeezing impossibly tighter. “I need more. I need - I need -”
Shit. I don’t even know what I need, and now I’m babbling incoherently as the muscles of my thighs and abdomen repeatedly clench tightly and then release.
I’m so close, feeling as though I’m teetering on the precipice of something wonderful -
“Come on, Olivia,” Santi encourages. “I need to feel you. Give it to me. Now.”
He swirls the pads of his fingers repeatedly over my clit at rapid pace, and I begin to see stars against the backs of my eyelids. I’m far past the point of being able to quieten myself or focus on the sounds that are falling from my lips, and I cry loudly into the night as pleasure consumes me.
Santi continues to murmur words of encouragement, and my heart races as his fingers continue their work, the slick, wet sound of my arousal filling the air -
And then he squeezes my clit tightly between two of his fingers, and I’m pushed over the edge with a stuttered gasp.
Burning heat explodes through me, my toes curling against the sand as my body jolts uncontrollably. I shake my head from side to side as my breath comes out in heavy, laboured pants, truly exhausted from the build-up to my pleasure.
My clit pulsates in time with my heartbeat, and my mouth is completely dry.
“Look at you, sweetheart,” Santi says when I finally open my eyes. I feel utterly delirious as I smile up at him. “You’re so beautiful.”
Despite the fact that I couldn’t even tell you what day of the week it is, I hum happily at his words of praise.
“My beautiful girl,” he continues, and I hum happily as he moves to kiss me.
I’ve been far too lost in my own pleasure to have noticed Santi removing his jeans and underwear, but the feel of the head of his cock nudging against my entrance is a welcome sensation indeed. It awakens something within me, and I grin against his lips as I push him backwards.
Santi looks at me in confusion, and I nudge his chest a little firmer this time.
“Sit back,” I tell him, though he’s completely stoic. “Santi,” I say, laughter in my voice. “Sit back. I want to - I want to be on top.”
“You want to ride me here?” he questions, arching a dark brow at my admission.
Still, as he speaks, he moves. I watch as Santi carefully lowers himself against what remains of the significantly mussed-up blanket and sand, and I bite down on my lower lip at the sight of him wearing only a shirt.
“You don’t care if anyone sees us?” he presses.
Despite what happened in the locker room, this sort of thing is not at all like me. Most of my confidence this evening comes from the knowledge that we’re tucked safely away in a very secluded, private area of beach so late at night.