“I’d ask rough or sweet, baby girl, but I think we both know the answer you’d give.”
His fingers gripped harder. His tongue flicked my earlobe, and I felt his thick cock slide deep.
I felt it deep inside me. Not just his cock. Him. He was marrow-deep.
“Mine. You’re mine, Tia. No one ever fucking takes you. No one.”
“No one,” I agreed, shaking my head, working sand off my tongue with my lips. I wiped my mouth, but then he grabbed my wrist and shoved it into the sand. Roughly. It would leave a bruise, I was pretty certain. I had sand everywhere. My mouth, my nipples, and suspected I’d have it everywhere by the time we were done here.
“God, I love you so much. So fucking much, baby girl.”
He thrust deep inside me.
Bliss. Bliss straight through me.
I’d often said it was a fantasy of mine to have sex on a beach, but it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. First, there’s the sand. It gets … everywhere. E-v-e-r-y where!
I had it in my butt, in my vajayjay, everywhere. Even kissing, sand got into our mouths. Bugs, too.
But that release of frustration helped us both that day, I think. It was more of a game than the time before. I made it a game when it was about me and played a little dirtier when I meant for it to help him through something.
When he pulled me to my feet, he walked me back inside, holding my hand, and shoved his phone and his keys into his pocket. He locked the door and led me out.
I didn’t say a thing, just followed along.
We took a long walk. The walk was almost two hours. It was a quiet one, but it needed to be. Words weren’t necessary, because I think we both knew what the other was feeling.
Later in bed, I looked at him and decided I needed to give him more insight to my feelings.
“Hm?” He sounded sleepy. But I had to get this out.
“They used to have this pet bird at the foster home I was at before Rose and Cal’s. Its’ wings were clipped so it wasn’t supposed to be able to fly away, but sometimes it still could fly pretty good and once, it almost flew outside. So, Amy, my foster mom, she got extra protective. She loved that bird so much. It used to talk. Said all sorts of cute stuff. Tell her he loved her. Adorable. Anyway, it used to squawk when the cage door got closed. Amy would close it when it was summer because she worried he’d fly out. Even though his wings were clipped, she didn’t want to lose him, so she was very paranoid.
But when you kept the cage door closed, he’d squawk all day long.
If the door was open, he didn’t fly anywhere near the front door. And if he flew somewhere in the house, she’d make a kissing noise and he’d fly right to her so chances were, if he got out by mistake, he’d just fly back.
Anyway, he liked to sit on top of the cage or sit on the side of the cage sideways. He didn’t need to be out of the cage all the time; sometimes he was in the cage and completely content. He just liked the door to be open so he had choices.”
I stopped talking.
He said nothing. For a good long minute, it was just silence, and I wondered if he’d been listening at all.
“Point taken, baby,” he said gruffly.
I kissed him.