One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) by Sharon Page Page B
Authors: Sharon Page
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Jonathon, so sex in the surf turns out differently than I expect.
In the 1930s screen siren bathroom, I put on a brand new bathing suit. Before I left, I drove to the largest city near Milltown, large enough to have a store dedicated to swimwear and dance costumes. The bikini cost me over one hundred dollars, which made me gag, but once I tried it on I knew it would be impossible to walk away.
The suit is sapphire blue, decorated with silver, and has a padded bra top along with a string bikini bottom. It makes my breasts look spectacular, even lengthens my legs and makes my butt appear tighter.
It was worth it to look and feel confident.
I came here promising I’d have a week of wild sex, but I realize this is going to be an intensely emotional week too.
I take a deep breath and walk out onto the terrace where Jonathon is waiting. I’ve already drunk two Painkillers, which is dark rum, pineapple and orange juices, sweet coconut cream and shaved ice. Nutmeg is sprinkled on top. Despite having a bar in our room, one stocked with every type of liquor imaginable, Jonathon ordered the drinks from room service.
At home I’m too young to drink, but in the villa, I guess I go by Jonathon’s rules.
The drinks are sinfully delicious. I don’t know if they kill pain, but they definitely kill inhibitions. I’m aching for more sex, aching to be tied up again and come like crazy. But I’ve tempted him with ocean sex and I’ve got to follow through.
He’s waiting for me wearing an open Hawaiian shirt over swim trunks. The soft blue and vivid red and purple flowers frame his firm pecs.
To provoke him, I run across the terrace, sprint over the sand. My bare feet sink into the soft warmth and I squeal with pure delight.
Laughing, I stumble, but then I run flat out until I splash into the edge of the ocean. The water is heavenly, breaking into foam around my legs.
Jonathon chases me just as I wanted. He catches me, and I grab him and try to wrestle him into the water. Finally, we both stumble and fall, then Jonathon pulls me back until we are sitting on the sand at the edge of the waves. They rush up, splashing over us.
I move to kiss him, because that’s the point. This is supposed to be an intense, French kissing make-out session that leads to wet, sandy sex. But Jonathon orders, “Get up on your knees with your ass facing me.”
I do it, surprised by his brusque tone.
His hand spanks my bottom through my bathing suit, making my cheeks jiggle. I thought I’d object to spanking, but the slap sets my senses sizzling. I wiggle my ass, encouraging him to do it again. He gives another smack to my rump. His groin presses against me. Already his prick is rigid, pushing against my butt.
I hear the soft rip of a condom package opening. Shifting his hips, he brushes the tip against my pussy lips. He teases me with his hard-on, his hands mold around my ass cheeks, then he shifts his hips forward, driving his cock into my wet pussy.
“So wet and so beautiful.” He stokes my hair, which is damp from the spray.
Then he drills me as we are washed by waves—the tide is coming in. When I burst in orgasm from his playful fingers on my clit and his deep, long thrusts, water is splashing around my upper thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he says tersely.
“Yes,” I urge. We may drown if he doesn’t come soon, plus I want to make him explode. I rock against him, meeting his rhythm so he pounds deep into me. He puts both hands on my hips, gripping them to fuck me hard. I press my wet fingers to my slippery clit.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Play with yourself. I want you to make yourself come.”
But I know I can’t come anymore. I’m starting to feel a little sore. Yet I want to please Jonathon. I stroke with my fingers and cry out in a pretend orgasm. I make my inner muscles tug at his cock so he believes it. I don’t care that I’m not able to climax, since it’s because I’ve had so many.
I turn and see Jonathon’s
In the 1930s screen siren bathroom, I put on a brand new bathing suit. Before I left, I drove to the largest city near Milltown, large enough to have a store dedicated to swimwear and dance costumes. The bikini cost me over one hundred dollars, which made me gag, but once I tried it on I knew it would be impossible to walk away.
The suit is sapphire blue, decorated with silver, and has a padded bra top along with a string bikini bottom. It makes my breasts look spectacular, even lengthens my legs and makes my butt appear tighter.
It was worth it to look and feel confident.
I came here promising I’d have a week of wild sex, but I realize this is going to be an intensely emotional week too.
I take a deep breath and walk out onto the terrace where Jonathon is waiting. I’ve already drunk two Painkillers, which is dark rum, pineapple and orange juices, sweet coconut cream and shaved ice. Nutmeg is sprinkled on top. Despite having a bar in our room, one stocked with every type of liquor imaginable, Jonathon ordered the drinks from room service.
At home I’m too young to drink, but in the villa, I guess I go by Jonathon’s rules.
The drinks are sinfully delicious. I don’t know if they kill pain, but they definitely kill inhibitions. I’m aching for more sex, aching to be tied up again and come like crazy. But I’ve tempted him with ocean sex and I’ve got to follow through.
He’s waiting for me wearing an open Hawaiian shirt over swim trunks. The soft blue and vivid red and purple flowers frame his firm pecs.
To provoke him, I run across the terrace, sprint over the sand. My bare feet sink into the soft warmth and I squeal with pure delight.
Laughing, I stumble, but then I run flat out until I splash into the edge of the ocean. The water is heavenly, breaking into foam around my legs.
Jonathon chases me just as I wanted. He catches me, and I grab him and try to wrestle him into the water. Finally, we both stumble and fall, then Jonathon pulls me back until we are sitting on the sand at the edge of the waves. They rush up, splashing over us.
I move to kiss him, because that’s the point. This is supposed to be an intense, French kissing make-out session that leads to wet, sandy sex. But Jonathon orders, “Get up on your knees with your ass facing me.”
I do it, surprised by his brusque tone.
His hand spanks my bottom through my bathing suit, making my cheeks jiggle. I thought I’d object to spanking, but the slap sets my senses sizzling. I wiggle my ass, encouraging him to do it again. He gives another smack to my rump. His groin presses against me. Already his prick is rigid, pushing against my butt.
I hear the soft rip of a condom package opening. Shifting his hips, he brushes the tip against my pussy lips. He teases me with his hard-on, his hands mold around my ass cheeks, then he shifts his hips forward, driving his cock into my wet pussy.
“So wet and so beautiful.” He stokes my hair, which is damp from the spray.
Then he drills me as we are washed by waves—the tide is coming in. When I burst in orgasm from his playful fingers on my clit and his deep, long thrusts, water is splashing around my upper thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he says tersely.
“Yes,” I urge. We may drown if he doesn’t come soon, plus I want to make him explode. I rock against him, meeting his rhythm so he pounds deep into me. He puts both hands on my hips, gripping them to fuck me hard. I press my wet fingers to my slippery clit.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Play with yourself. I want you to make yourself come.”
But I know I can’t come anymore. I’m starting to feel a little sore. Yet I want to please Jonathon. I stroke with my fingers and cry out in a pretend orgasm. I make my inner muscles tug at his cock so he believes it. I don’t care that I’m not able to climax, since it’s because I’ve had so many.
I turn and see Jonathon’s
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