Where Sea Meets Sky

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his voice lower now. It’s deep and rich and has this way of washing over you. I’m reminded of how incredibly turned-on I am and I momentarily squeeze my thighs together to quell the throbbing there.

“Nothing,” I say. I don’t dare admit anything. He’s still a stranger.

He places his hand on my cheek, cupping my face. I want to close my eyes and lean into his touch but at the same time I’m too afraid to look away. His lips are so perfect, his mouth so inviting. Those beautiful blues are hooded with desire, all for me.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers, inches away. Underneath the somewhat flowery scent of the bronzer he’s got all over him, he smells fresh and masculine, like he uses some kind of woodsy cologne or shower gel. It’s not Lynx like my ex used to spray all over himself, thank god.

I don’t have time to come up with a witty remark. He kisses me and the world around us slips away. His tongue is smooth but urgent, the tongue ring stimulating, and our kiss builds with desire until my whole body feels like it’s being licked by the sweetest flames. I’m sucked under, in a riptide, into the undertow, and it’s dark and I’m tumbling and I don’t know which way is up but oh god, how I don’t want it to stop. I could drown in his mouth. I could sink into him forever.

I barely know this guy. I’m leaving tomorrow and I’ll never see him again.

But I want to drown in every moment we have.

I want him to fuck me with all he’s got, until I’m left breathless, washed up on shore and deliriously spent.

It’s at least a promising start.

He gently slides my purple wig off of my head and tosses it behind me onto the pool table. He smiles—no, grins, like he won the lottery—and tousles my long dark hair loose and over my shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he says softly, running his fingers through the strands. It feels amazing.

“So I should rethink the purple hair?”

He only smiles and pulls my singlet over my head. I’m glad I’m wearing matching underwear today: intricate peach lace. It’s a bit too flimsy for my breasts—the girls need a lot of support—but that doesn’t matter the minute I can feel the heat of his fingers through them. I lean my head back and close my eyes as he peels down the lace, revealing my nipples, which sharpen, exposed to the air, to his touch.

Josh brushes them lightly with his thumbs, causing me to shiver. I let out a loud moan that sounds deafening in this haphazardly arranged room. But before I even have a chance to be embarrassed, he places his mouth on my nipples, teasing them with his teeth, running the cool steel of his tongue ring over them. I moan again and I can feel his smile against my skin.

“I’m going to make you come so hard,” he murmurs, cocky as all out.

“Just so you know, I don’t come on command,” I tell him. My voice is husky with desire, it doesn’t even sound like me. “I don’t care what books you read.”

“I won’t be saying a word,” he says before he starts flicking me with his tongue. Jolts of sweet agony shoot through me. Oh, sweet Jesus, this boy is good.

Just when I think I’m going to have an orgasm from him biting and sucking on my breasts alone, he slides a hand down my pants. I know I’m soaked when he finds me and he groans at the discovery. He quickly pulls my pants down toward my boots, the underwear next.

I have a fit body but I work hard for it. I have to. I’m a personal trainer and a bit of a fitness buff. But even so, there’s always been a part of me that blushes and feels insecure when a guy sees me naked. All my insecurities run through my head—my thighs are too muscular, my shoulders too wide, my butt needs its own hemisphere. I could go on.

But tonight, I don’t hear anything in my head. No doubt, no cringing, no bashfulness. I feel like I don’t need to apologize to Josh for being me. He’s too busy making me feel like I am all he’s ever wanted. His desire not only fuels my own but gives me confidence. Halloween is all about pretending to be someone else, yet for once I feel completely comfortable, naked and exposed; there’s nothing to hide.

Not really.

Josh brings me back around by trailing his fingers up the insides of my thighs. My skin shivers in anticipation and I lean back on the pool table, my cheek resting against the soft green surface. I’d had a couple of one-night stands before; one drunken night on the beach in Napier, the other after a night out at a sweaty club in Auckland’s Viaduct. Neither guy went down on me. Hell, neither guy even really knew I was there. They came, I didn’t—end of story. Sometimes it had been that way with my ex, too.

But Josh is different. He lowers his head and kisses down along the ridge of my hip bones. I can’t help but arch them up toward him. There’s a moment of anxiety as I feel his breath over my landing strip, tickling what hair is left there. I wonder if he’s going to like the way I taste, the way I feel.

The moment his steel-laced tongue grazes over my clit though, the worry is gone. He’s good, very good, and soon I’m coming, moaning louder than before. The room fills with the sound but I’m adrift on a bobbing raft, face to the sun, cool water beneath me. The orgasm takes me away somewhere beautiful until his chuckle slowly reels me back in.

I open my eyes and raise my head to look at him. He’s grinning and undoing his pants but keeping the leather corset around his waist. I kind of like that. He’s staying in character, the opposite of me.