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“Don’t make me swim backwards.”
Laughter leaving us both is followed by two large breast strokes towards the center.
“Beatles or Stones?”
“Def Leopard.”
For the memo?
I wanna do much more than pour sugar on her.
Seeing Bryn move forward again informs me that the answer is acceptable.
Or at least not unacceptable.
“Tits or ass?”
“Both.”
Her sarcastic stare is filled with sass and challenge and an irresistible command to confess.
“Tits.” My eyes grab a glimpse of what they can see of hers. “But it’s a close fucking call.”
She giggles loudly.
Swims.
Closes the gap even more.
“Top or bottom?”
“Behind.”
Her whimpering anxiously propels me through the water-filled barrier, desperate for the game to end.
To have my reward on my tongue.
“Blondes…” Bryn starts, breath noticeably choppy, body begging for my touch, “or…redheads?”
“You.”
I don’t allow the opportunity to ask any more questions.
Deliver any additional stalling.
I wind one hand roughly around the nape of her neck, yank her to me, clamp down on her bottom lip as promised.
She squeaks in shock or surprise or stupefaction.
Which exactly doesn’t matter.
Just that her lips part.
Widen.
Grant me access to the territory I’ve fantasized about taking more times than comics I have.
Gentle, timid brushes would be the smarter…wiser…choice for a first, yet they would be wrong.
