Page 127 of Ride the Wave

I trail soft kisses up his cheekbone, my lips lingering at his ear.

‘Then fuck me in it,’ I whisper.

He tenses. To make sure he knows I’m serious, I take a step backwards to lean against the wooden fencing of the viewing point. His hands resting loosely on my hips, he watches as I drop my hand to the side of my thigh and I slowly begin to lift the skirt of my dress. The cool breeze hits my leg as it gradually becomes more and more exposed, the material drifting up higher and higher as I gather it in my hand. My heart is racing, my nipples hardening as I witness his eyes darken with desire and the muscle in his jaw tick as he clenches. I love watching him like this. Watching him want me.

When I’ve lifted it high enough, his hand falls to the opening I’ve created and slips beneath the hem. Relinquishing control, I let go of the dress, leaving it draped across his wrist, my hands gripping into the shoulders of his shirt. I feel like my whole body is throbbing as his fingers follow the thin string waistband of my black thong, brushing over the flimsy strip of lace between my legs to feel how damp it is.

‘God, Iris,’ he breathes, as I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.

His fingers slide beneath the fabric, circling over my clit. I gasp at the jolts of pleasure, begging him hoarsely for more. A surge of heat gathers beneath his fingers as his other hand holds me still at the hip, his head dipping to my neck to kiss and nip at my skin. When he sinks his fingers into me, I close my eyes and bite back a moan, knowing that we can’t be too loud. OhGod. If he keeps going like this, I don’t know if I can be quiet.

As the pressure builds, I arch my body into his touch, letting my arms drop from his shoulders to lie along the top rail of the fence barrier behind me, my fingernails clawing and digging into the wood. I don’t care if I get splinters, I don’t care about anything, he’s too good at this.

‘You look so fucking hot,’ he growls, his mouth devouring mine, my hands coming back to the sides of his head, raking through his hair down his neck and making him groan.

‘Fuck, Leo, you’re making me close,’ I whisper breathlessly.

Spiralling as he increases the pressure on my clit, I frantically reach for his belt, fumbling at the buckle. His mouth captures my short, raspy breaths, while I grapple with the button and zip of his trousers, his erection straining against the material. Gripping the waistband of his boxers, I yank them down with his trousers, nudging his hand out the way so I can wrap mine around his cock, feeling it thick and hard in my grasp, my muscles clenching and fluttering at the thought of him inside me.

His hands gripping the back of my thighs, he hoists me up, propping me against the fencing, while my legs spread to accommodate him, winding around his waist, my dress fully hitched up over my hips. He’s so fucking strong, I feel so light and secure up here, knowing there’s no chance in hell he would ever let me fall. Moving one hand to press against the bottom of my spine, he uses the other to guide himself to my entrance, pushing my thong aside and thrusting deeply into me. I gasp, my blazing core winding tighter as he pulls back and rocks into me again, finding a faster pace, his fingers sinking into my arse as he holds me in place, his muffled groans and pants at my neck driving me wild.

‘God, you feel amazing,’ he mutters, driving into me harder and faster.

My muscles tighten and tremor, the pressure builds, the angle, the pace, the fullness sending rippling waves of pleasure through my body.

‘Ohfuck,’ he says through gritted teeth as I near the edge, clenching around him.

The pressure inside me erupts and I cling to him as I come, consumed by the sensation, biting into his shoulder as my body squeezes and convulses around him. My orgasm breaks whatever resolve is left in him and I capture his groan with my mouth as he releases. He drops his head to my neck, his thrusts slowing, his breathing warm on my shoulder. As my daze clears, the setting starts to come back into focus. Lifting his head, he kisses me softly, once, twice, before he pulls out, carefully lowering my heels back onto the decking. We sort ourselves out, making sure we look respectable.

Wrapping his arm around my waist, we start to make our way back up the steps, both of us grinning like idiots, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled, hearts glowing.

‘I kind of forgot our driver was waiting,’ I remark as we near the car park. ‘This is going to be an expensive taxi fare.’

‘It is. Good thing Jenna organised it. Actually, that’s a great point: since it will be my mum picking up the bill—’ He stops, turning to jab his head back in the direction of the viewing platform. ‘Want to wait a few minutes and go again?’

Bursting into laughter, I tug his hand and we reluctantly head back to the car, grinning like idiots the entire way home.

34

QUARTERFINALSHeat 3, Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach Leo Silva vs Antoine Lambert AUS FRA

The conditions aren’t so favourable today as they have been. The surf size has dropped to three-to-four foot waves and there’s a bitter wind whipping across the beach. Wrapped in a puffa jacket I bought this week over one of Leo’s hoodies, I’m regretting wearing denim shorts today, my legs covered in goosebumps – it turns out it can get really quite cold around Bells Beach this time of year. Aside from the misjudged shorts choice, I feel like a seasoned spectator, and am sitting on the sand on my picnic blanket, armed with a flask of coffee and snacks, as well as a cap and suncream should the sun decide to make an appearance later on, as the app on my phone predicts. It feels like one of those days where you get all the seasons in one.

I’m waiting anxiously for Leo’s heat to start.

Adriano invited me once again to come with him to watch from a higher vantage spot, but I like it here on the beach. If you grew up in the area like Leo, I can understand why you would love it here, but even as a visitor, it’s impossible not to acknowledge that there’s something special about this spectacular setting, its natural beauty maintained by the Wadawurrung people, the traditional owners of Bells Beach. Once this contest is finished, I want to drive the Great Ocean Road with Leo, I want to explore this coastline, learn everything there is to know about his childhood, where he surfed, where he swam, where he went to school. This magical place is part of him, so I want to be a part of it too.

I take a deep breath in as Leo’s heat begins.

The two of them are bobbing in the water together, their hands swirling through the water back and forth as they drift up and down with the swells.

‘Antoine is a great surfer,’ Leo told me this morning, sipping at his energy drink, his free hand in the front pocket of his hoodie, a backwards cap on – since being back in Victoria, Leo seems to have really leant into that effortlessly sexy, laidback surfer style.

And I can’t lie – I’mlovingit.

‘You’re a great surfer,’ I countered, before adding, ‘The best, in my opinion.’

His forehead furrowed, he was too lost in his own thoughts to acknowledge my cuteness. ‘He’s shown big powerhouse turns this contest that judges love. He’s full of confidence.’

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