Chapter 2: The First Taste
The kiss deepened, slowly, as the last of the sun bled out over the water. Josh’s hand, tentative on her cheek, slid down the column of her throat, over the smooth plane of her shoulder. His fingers traced the curve of her collarbone, a question. When his palm finally cupped the full weight of her breast, she gasped softly into his mouth. Her nipple hardened instantly against his touch, a pebbled tightness that made his own breath catch.Charlee pulled back, just enough to look at him. Her green eyes were dark, pupils wide. “Off,” she said, her voice husky, and her hands went to the hem of his shirt. He raised his arms, a little clumsily, and she pulled the cotton polo over his head, tossing it to the floor where it joined his abandoned bag.The warm air hit his skin.Her gaze traveled over his chest, down his stomach. She placed a flat hand on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his chinos, and he flinched at the heat of her touch.
“You’re real,” she murmured, as if confirming it for herself.
“So are you.”
She leaned in and kissed him again, harder this time, her tongue finding his.It was a shift, a door opening from tenderness into hunger. Her hands were everywhere then—raking through his curly hair, down his back, pulling him closer until his bare chest was pressed against hers. The feel of her augmented breasts, soft yet unyielding, against his own flesh was a specific, thrilling reality he’d only imagined. He could smell the salt on her skin, the vanilla perfume, and underneath, a sharper, muskier scent that was purely her.
He trailed kisses down her neck, taking his time, feeling the pulse jump under his lips.He bent his head to her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth. She arched off the bed with a sharp cry, her fingers threading into his hair and gripping tight. “Yes,” she hissed. “Just like that.” He suckled, licked, worshiped the other with his hand, losing himself in the physical feedback loop of her gasps and sighs. This was a language he understood, a script they’d hinted at a thousand times online. The theory was now devastating practice.Her own hands grew more urgent, fumbling with the button of his trousers. He helped her, lifting his hips so she could push them down along with his boxers. His cock sprung free, fully erect, curving up against his stomach. She wrapped her fingers around him, a firm, knowing stroke that made him see stars. “Fuck, Josh,” she breathed, looking down at him.“You’re perfect.”
He couldn’t speak. He was caught between the sheer erotic bliss of her hand and a sudden, crashing wave of insecurity.This was her profession. She’d seen countless cocks, handled them with clinical expertise for a camera.Was he just another one? The thought was a cold trickle down his spine.
As if sensing his hesitation, she let go of him and guided his hand back down her body, over the soft swell of her stomach, through the coarse triangle of brown hair, and lower. “Touch me,” she whispered, her lips against his ear.“Please.”
He let his fingers drift through her folds. She was soaked, slick and hot, opening for him. He slid a finger inside, and the tight, velvet clutch of her made him groan.Her head fell back, exposing her throat. “God, yes.” He added a second finger, crooking them, searching. When he found the rough patch inside her, rubbing it in a slow circle, her whole body tightened. “Right there, don’t stop, right fucking there.” Her hips began to move against his hand, a frantic, needy rhythm. Her language turned raw, filthy, the persona surfacing not as armor now but as unfiltered want. “Make me come on your fingers, you beautiful fuck. Do it.”
He obeyed, mesmerized by the sight of her coming apart, by the dirty words tumbling from her mouth. He watched her face, the tension coiling and then shattering. Her back arched, a strangled cry tore from her throat, and she pulsed around his fingers, wetness coating his hand. She collapsed back onto the sheets, breathing ragged, a sheen of sweat glistening between her breasts.
For a moment, they just lay there, the only sound their combined panting and the distant sea. The room was nearly dark now, the sky a deep indigo. She turned her head towards him, her expression soft and sated, but her eyes held a new intensity. She reached between his legs, stroking him again, her grip firm.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she said, her voice low and decisive.“Now.No condom.”
The words cut through the haze. “Are you sure? I’m clean, I’ve got tests, but—”
“I’m on the shot. And I trust you.” She said it like a challenge, like this was the final leap.The ultimate intimacy, beyond the nudity, beyond the flight.“I want it bare. I want to feel all of you.”
It was the most vulnerable thing she could have asked. It stripped away the last pretense of safety.He nodded, a lump in his throat. “Okay.”
She moved, rolling onto her back and pulling him with her. He settled between her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, already slippery from her come and his own precum. He looked down at her face, at the woman who had been pixels and fantasy for so long, now real and warm and open beneath him. He saw the quiet hope, the guarded optimism, and the sheer, brave audacity of her being here.He pushed forward.
The sensation was so profound it blanked his mind. The hot, tight grip of her, the slick glide as he sank deeper, the absolute completeness of it. He buried his face in her neck, a low, animal sound escaping him as he seated himself fully inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his backside, pulling him even deeper.“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Oh god, yes.You’re so deep.”
He began to move. Slowly at first, a long, withdrawing stroke followed by a gradual, pushing return. The friction was exquisite, a steady-building fire in his gut.Her filthy talk started again, spurring him on. “That’s it, give me that cock.You fill me up so good, Josh. Fuck me harder.”
He obeyed, his hips snapping forward with more force, the slapping sound of their skin meeting filling the quiet room.The bedframe creaked in protest. He was losing himself, the insecurities burned away by pure, physical need. He braced himself on his arms, looking down to watch where they joined, to see his length glistening as he drove into her. The sight was obscenely beautiful.“Look at me,” she demanded.He dragged his gaze up to hers. Her green eyes were locked on his, fierce and unblinking.“This is real. You’re really here. You’re fucking me.”
“I’m here,” he grunted, the words ripped from him. “Charlee, I’m right here.”
Something in her expression broke then, a crack in the professional facade. A raw, unfiltered emotion flashed through—relief, fear, wonder.She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin. “Don’t stop.Please, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His pace became relentless, pounding into her with a desperation that matched his own loneliness, his own need for connection. She met every thrust, her hips canting to take him deeper. The coil in his abdomen tightened, a pressure building towards an inevitable release. She felt it too, her breath coming in ragged shudders.“I’m gonna come again,” she choked out.“With you. Come with me.”
It was all the permission he needed.The dam broke. His orgasm roared up through him, a blinding, white-hot wave of pure sensation. He cried out, a sound he didn’t recognize as his own, as he pulsed deep inside her, spilling into the warm, clutching dark. The feeling triggered her own climax; he felt her inner muscles clamp down on him in rhythmic, milking spasms, her body bowing beneath him as she let out a shattered, wordless scream.
He collapsed onto her, spent, his weight heavy but she held him, her arms wrapping around his back.They were both slick with sweat, sticky with sex, utterly joined. He could feel his own heartbeat pounding against her chest, or maybe it was hers. He couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.For a long time, they didn’t move. The crash of the waves outside finally registered again.The room was dark. A cool breeze drifted in from the sliding glass door, chilling their heated skin.Slowly, softening, he slipped out of her. A messy, intimate truth between them. He rolled to the side, gathering her against him, her back to his front.He kissed her shoulder, a silent, tender punctuation.She was quiet. Then, her voice small in the vast, dark room: “So. Not a disaster.”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, pulling her closer.“No. Not a disaster.”
They lay there in the aftermath, the reality of what they’d done settling over them.It was more than sex. It was a pact made in skin and heat and vulnerability. Outside, the moon began to rise over the Caribbean, casting a silver path on the water, a new road on a dark sea.