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But this is as close as I can get, and, well—
This is pretty fucking good.
I whisper back, "Okay. Can we still do the traffic light?"
"Of course." He presses his lips to my neck. "Whatever you need."
Perfect. I soak in the sensation of his lips on my neck for a moment. The soft brush of his flesh. The hint of moisture. The warmth of his breath.
He kisses me a little harder.
A little lower.
I want to close my eyes and surrender to it. But I want to tease him back more. I sit on a green lounge chair. I place his shirt behind me, and I look up at him. "Can you help with sunscreen?"
"Of course." He pulls the lotion from the bag and sets it on the ground next to the chair.
He sits behind me and spreads lotion over my shoulders. He works from the outside to the inside, his finger sliding under the straps of my bikini top.
He moves down my left arm.
Then, down my right.
Then the upper back.
The spot under the bikini strap.
The lower back.
Jackson reaches around my front, undoes the button of my shorts, and rolls them down my hips.
My body hums from the friction. From the tease. From the touch.
My nerves fade into desire.
My breaths run together.
My world because this perfect blend of his touch and my response.
He rubs lotion into the space above my bikini bottoms. Above my ass, then over my hips, then the spot right at my pelvis.
He pulls my body into his, so he's straddling me from behind, so I can feel his hard cock against my flesh, and he keeps those same slow, gentle motions as he works his way up my stomach.
He doesn't say a word. He just holds my body against his, holds my ass against his cock, as if there's really no need to discuss the situation.
As if he can wait there, hard and wanting, forever.
Maybe he can.
His touch stays endlessly patient as he works his way down my font body.
My shoulders.
Neck.
Collarbones.
Cleavage.
