“Oh god, I’ve missed this. And you’re so deliciously wet.”
She sat up, and I sucked on her nipples as she bounced up and down on my dick. It was hot, deep, and erotic.
“I need you to come,” I said as though struggling for air.
Her climax built, and as her pussy contracted around my cock, she flooded me. A cataclysmic explosion swept me away. I came so hard that I felt the earth move.
Then she fell into my arms, and our hearts pounded together.
After Miranda performed her newfound talent for feasting on my dick and I devoured her sweet pussy for breakfast, we finally left the apartment wearing matching smiles. Endless orgasms did that to a person, and our night had been one of endless fucking and whispering sweet nothings—well, sweet somethings. I told Miranda I loved her. She was the only girl I’d ever said that to. It felt so natural, as though my soul were doing the talking.
After checking my app, I discovered the conditions were just right for a much-needed surf.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” Miranda said as we drove along the coastal highway.
“Better still, you can go in the nude.”
“But aren’t people around?”
“Probably. We’ll find something. A T-shirt, even.”
“A T-shirt with my boobs?” she asked.
“Mm… nice. A wet dream come true.”
She shook her head. “You’re a sex maniac.”
I laughed. “Maybe. Blame it on your sexy curves, beautiful face, and clever mouth.”
“How would my clever mouth make you hot?”
“Hearing you talk passionately about art turns me on.”
She turned sharply to face me. “Does it?”
I laughed at her surprised expression. “Hell yeah. Gomez wanted to ravage Morticia when she spoke French, and I want to ravage you when you talk about the virtues of Bacon’s frenetic lines.”
She giggled. “That was Egon Schiele. But hey, I didn’t even think you were listening.”
“Oh, I listen. I just don’t comment, because it’s not my area of expertise.”
“I’m the same when you talk about five-four rhythms and downbeats. I don’t have the foggiest idea what that means. But hell, it sounds sexy.”
I laughed. “Mission Impossible. The original sixties version.”
Miranda knitted her brow. “Huh?”
“That’s five-four timing.”
I tapped the rhythm on my steering wheel and sang the tune for her.
Her face lit up. “Hey, that’s so cool.”
“Yeah. Five-four rhythms are super cool. Take Five by Brubeck, another famous tune.” I hummed it for her.
Miranda shook her head.
“What?”