Page 82 of Letting Go

I run my hands across his chest, careful not to touch where he was hurt.

He moans a deep, guttural moan and shifts his hips under me. Even this small movement is enough to make me wetter.

His breathing is already ragged, and his eyes are bright. "Jesus, I want you."

"I love you Bryce Tucker," I whisper in his ear. I run my hand inside the waistband, brushing my knuckles along his smooth skin. I kiss him once more, move down a little, and then unbuckle his pants, noticing every time my fingers touch his skin, he flinches, abs tightening.

Every flinch also leaves a hot flare between my legs. I pull off his pants, drop them to the floor and look at him lying there watching me. His erection is huge and his penis throbs against his groin.

"You are so incredibly gorgeous," I say and drag a finger between his testicles.

"Chloe," he gasps. "No—I need—"

Holding up an index finger to signal patience, I lean over and remove a condom from the nightstand. He wants to put it on and I watch, dipping down to mouth his balls just as he gets it in place. His chest shudders, nipples hard. I stroke one, following the dark circle with my thumb.

All along the edge of the cabin are safety straps to use when the seas are rough. But I figure out another use for them. Straddling him again, I reach up and grab two straps. I want to give him a taste of what he gave me at the cabin on Rock Island. I also don’t want my weight to hurt him where he's still tender.

I'm so wet. Bryce lifts his hips and his cock teases my clit. My head falls back, and I keep my weight off of him by lifting myself with those straps.

He unhooks my bra. His hands, warm, huge, pull the bra off and then slide from my throat to chest, his thumbs making circles, my nipples already hard, grow harder.

I moan.

"Where did you come from Chloe?"

"Right here," I say. "I came from right here." I let go for a moment and curl on top of him, my hands cupped above his head. He sucks my nipples, not hard, just enough to nearly make me come. His tongue caresses each nipple and his hands slide down my rib cage and squeeze my ass. He sits up and guides my hands back to the straps.

"Less pressure," he says. "Still a little sore." I grip and watch him adjust himself underneath me, my knees barely touching the bed.

This means I can't touch him, and I so desperately want to. I need to touch his chest, his arms, lick his nipples, hold his penis, take his cock into my mouth, but I can’t. I'm delirious.

But he can. He can touch me, everywhere. And he does. At one point I look down at him and his face is so full of love that when our gaze meets, I cry out. I arch backward and he slips a hand between my legs where I'm spread wide open, straddling his hips. With one hand cupping my ass, the other reaches up and trails along my collar bone, chest, stomach. I pull myself up higher. His cock is right at my sex, teasing—his fingers circling my clit, rubbing the nub, harder now, faster. My arms are starting to shake with the effort of holding myself suspended.

"Now, Chloe, before we both—"

I lower myself onto him. Fast.

I am so wet, so ready for him. When I let go, he stretches me, filling me up so suddenly, it triggers an instant climax. I come, wave crashing into wave, gripping his tense shoulders, his head, grabbing his hands and he pushes against me. He takes me into his arms and rolls us to his right side.

He's still inside me and I'm still coming. Then, just as it ends, he slides his thumb around my clit. I shudder. My jaw quivers.

"Oh my God, Bryce."

Suddenly he thrusts the tip of his penis nearly out and then plunges in even deeper, seemingly cleaving me into half. He's so big, and he stretches me so wide and the tension is exquisite. With an arm under my head and the other wrapped around me, he hangs onto me like a man drowning. Then he rolls on top of me. Both arms support him and gently he swivels his hips and thrusts even deeper. A cry escapes my lips. With a moan from my throat, I lay hands on his chest, slide them up to his shoulders, then down, following the curves of his triceps and deltoids.

"Look at me," he says, "look into my eyes."

I can't. My eyes stay shut. All I can do is feel. Him. Us. The sea rocks the boat, my head spins, my clit throbs.

"Look at me," he repeats. "I don't want to fuck you. I want to make love to you."

His voice is ragged but not from exertion. I do look at him. I am seeing him. His voice is ragged because he means what he says. So do his eyes. I reach down, cup his balls and when he comes, I stroke in time to him.

We lay there together for a while. I'm not too sure how long, and then slowly, sweetly, he leaves me. At the very end, there's a hot little gush, and he's out. His dick is huge and wet. Cocking an arm beneath his head he grins at me. "He's tired," he says. He glances around the room. "And we made a mess on the corporate boat."

I look around, there are wine glasses tipped over, red wine on the beautiful hardwood floor, and somehow my bracelet is tangled up in the sheets. Even the cheese and crackers I had laid out somehow ended up on the floor.

Bryce slips an arm around me, lifts my hair from the back of my neck and kisses a sweet spot.