Page 70 of The End of Summer

I shake my head. “I’m on birth control. Do I need a condom?” I ask in return.

“No, I’m clean.”

“Same,” I say. Then, I angle his manhood at my entrance and push him inside. He fills me, stretching me open in the most pleasurable way. He moans as he enters me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. We begin to move together, waves cresting, crashing, and retreating on the shore, our fingers interlocked by the sides of his head, hips bucking up and down. It’s untamed and animalistic, wild and raw – pure lust mixed with an emotional connection so deep it defies measure. I pound my body into his, building his orgasm with intention, not even focusing on the enjoyment my own body is receiving from the unfiltered, natural experience. I can feel my own climax developing, which surprises me. I’m not the type to come twice in a night – but then again, I’m also not the type to ride someone in public.

Only, maybe with Brady, I am.

I move faster, and his hands unclasp mine so he can help me along with his fingers as we move towards an inevitable grand finale. The thought strikes me that Bradywantsto make me come again, so I don’t hold back. I let him bring me to the brink and just as I gasp and shudder, his face contorts. With a grunt, I feel him explode inside me – once, twice, three times, followed by a long series of smaller aftershocks.

I collapse on top of him and we lay like that for a minute, fully spent atop his beach blanket.

“God damn,” he whispers into my hair. His heart pounds through his T-shirt.

I lift my face off his chest to look at him. We lock eyes and both start to laugh. “That was really good,” I say.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I can’t believe nobody caught us.”

“Me too. I didn’t plan this, you know,” he says. “I mean, Ihopedfor it, but not outside. I thought maybe later, like, at home…”

“I know. I didn’t plan it either.”

“But, my God. That was –”

“Yeah,” I interject. “I know.” Brady takes off his shirt and uses it to clean us both up. I put my panties and my dress back on, and he pulls back on his pants but keeps his T-shirt in a pile for the time being. We lie there, his arm around me and my head on his chest.Because of Youby Ne-Yo starts up on the Bluetooth speaker.This is like the greatest hits of 2007,I think.

“Can I ask you something totally random?” he says.

“Of course.”

“What’s your affinity with the Christina Milian song?”

“I don’t really know,” I reply. “I just like it. You want to know something funny?”

“Sure.”

“I broke three toes to that song once. I should hate it.”

Brady stills. “Wait. How?”

“In a dance class, back when I was a little girl.”

“Did someone –” he starts.

“I got stomped.”

“Oh, my God.” His eyes grow wide. “That was me.”

“What?”

“I was the cowboy.”

“Shut up.”

“Miss Wanda was the teacher.”

“That’s right! I could never remember her name.”

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