Page 102 of Champagne Fizz

“I, uh—”

I kiss her, so she can take a moment to decide what she’s feeling, meanwhile I’m slowly showing her how to stroke me through my shorts. But then she pulls back and looks me in the eye.

“You’re touching my bare pussy,” she says hotly. “I want to touch your naked cock.”

27

KENDALL

Simon’s eyes dilate. He’s just as beautiful without his glasses on. His blue eyes sparkle, and his lashes are covered in seawater. He looks like Superman—thick arms, strong chest, dark hair wet and water-kissed.

He moves under me, adjusting slightly, and I realize he’s pushed his swim shorts down off his hips. His shorts are still hooked around his legs, but for all intents and purposes, Simon is naked below me.

I take a deep breath.

Wow.

His fingers stroke my entrance as his palm cups me and—I’m so sensitive. I look into his eyes as he wraps my fingers around his bare thickness.

It’s intimate and electric as I watch his face twitch and his lips part as my hand covers him. I’m delirious. And hot. And he’s touching me. Softly. Barely stroking. But he’s right where I’m aching. My head is clouded with cotton balls and suffocation.

“Breathe,” he coaches, and I gasp as if I needed his permission.

Simon’s big. He fills my entire palm. My hand is sandwiched between his hand and his impressive manhood, and he’s so warm, and firm, and soft at the same time—all of which defies logic.

“Breathe,” he says again, looking into me with a steadiness that seems unworldly. He moves my hand, showing me how to stroke him, and my heart thunders.

“Simon, you’re so …” I don’t even know what I want to say.

Sexy?

Potent?

Beautiful?

Overwhelming?

“I think you like this, Sunshine,” he says sweetly, letting my hand go and allowing me to touch him all by myself. That feels like too much power and freedom, and yet I can’t stop stroking him.

Simon makes a hot noise as I explore his tip, and my body spasms at the wicked sounds he’s making. It reminds me of when we were on the phone together, only now I’m actually touching him.

His fingers stroke my pussy again, and now both of our mouths are hanging open. I match his pace, slow, tentative, testing.

He teases my entrance, circling and warming, before he pushes one—maybe two—of his fingers inside my body. My channel opens to accept him, allowing him to slide in an inch, then all the way to his knuckle.

My heart rate explodes.

My breath shortens.

There’s the wicked pulse of shallow thrusts as his fingers start to pump.

“Oh okay!” I gasp. “That’s just—!”

I stroke his cock—or maybe I fumble with it—there’s too much sensation flooding me. Bolts of electricity spasm from where he pumps his fingers, then they radiate up through my belly, down through my thighs. I don’t understand how his fingers could do this much to me.

“Simon,” I pant. “Your fingers are incredible.”

He kisses me hard, and his tongue matches the pumping of his digits, and then suddenly—

---