Page 67 of Texting My Valentine

“What are you doing?” She gasps between greedy kisses.

“I don’t want to get that dress sandy…”

“Huh?”

She giggles when I put my jacket on the sand, then gently lift and lower her to it. I lie atop her, kissing her again, knowing this is reckless, that I can’t watch our surroundings.

But somehow, I don’t care. It doesn’t seem to matter when I’ve got her body pressed against mine. Our lips fuse as if nothing else exists or matters, and that’s the goddamn truth.

As we kiss, I forget about the stress of the day and the heartache I had to thrust upon people who didn’t deserve it. I forget about the Kents. I forget about everything except for the feel of her body.

“You’re so hot,” she whimpers.

“You’re pretty damn hot yourself…”

“No, physically,” she says. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s you,” I tell her. “You do this to me, Tori. You set me on fire.”

She lets her head fall back when I slide my hand up her leg, feeling her naked thigh, the goosebumps on her perfect skin. I look around to make sure nobody’s watching us.

I wouldn’t be able to stay calm if somebody else saw Tori like this, her legs open, my hand under the hem of her skirt, the smell of the ocean rushing around us. I push my hand against the wetness of her underwear, feeling her folds through the fabric, her swollen nub begging for attention.

“Oh, God…” She shifts her hips against me, chasing the pleasure. “Yes, yes…”

“You feel perfect,” I snarl.

“That’s your… favorite… word, huh?”

I smirk, kissing her neck. I do it softly at first, but her taste is addictive. I bite down, tasting her sweat, her essence. Her moans become more magnetic when I gently push her underwear aside.

I know I should stop. The beach is quiet, sure, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe. It doesn’t mean somebody might not walk by, catch us, see my woman like this, and provoke a furious protective instinct in me.

When I feel her sopping entrance, though, I know I can’t stop. I circle her wetness with my finger, leaning back so I can watch her as I caress her. Her mouth is open, starlight glimmering in her eyes and on her cheeks.

She shifts her hips in time with me, up and down, grinding her wetness against my hand. My breath comes shakily as I try to keep it together. My body throws signals at me: tear down my pants, bring my swollen dick to her waiting hole, slip into her slit, and fuck her hard on this beach. Who gives a damn if we’re in public?

Her moans change quality, becoming more urgent, her breath catching as though she’s on the verge of letting go completely. I push the heel of my palm against her needy pleasure point, caressing her entrance with my finger at the same time.

She grabs my face and stares into my eyes. “Oh, Alex,” she moans. “This feels… you feel… like fate.”

Her eyes widen as if her words have shocked her. She rubs her sweet pussy up and down my hand, her hips bucking like she’s getting ready to take off.

“It is fate,” I growl. “I don’t care if that means we’re nuts. I don’t care what other people would say. I don’t care if Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a cynical holiday nobody takes seriously.”

Her moans become musical and poetic as I caress her heat.

“Something happened to us. You changed me. We changed each other. Texting you has been sweeter than any other relationship could be.”

She wraps her hands around my wrist and pushes so that I’m applying more pressure to her body.

Finally, she makes a gorgeous sound of release. I kiss her before her moan turns into a fully-fledged scream, and then she falls back, gasping. I look around to make sure nobody saw.

“Are we good?” she asks, panting.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Nobody saw what happened. Don’t worry, angel. I’d never let anyone else see you like that.”

She sits up, adjusting her dress, then takes my hands. “Did you mean what you said?”

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