“Okay.” He flexes his fingers on my bicep and loosens his grip. “I think I’m good.”
“Do you want to try moving?”
“That’s the next step, isn’t it?” He grimaces.
I chuckle. “Yeah.”
I help him with his posture and show him how to move his feet like a duck. I hold his hand as we skate up and down the boardwalk in front of the rental shop. And then I show him how to glide and teach him how to stop.
We’re both grinning when he’s finally ready to tackle blading on his own.
***
“That actually wasn’t terrible,” he tells me almost two hours later as we skirt the pool on our way to the pool house that was our own little oasis last night and this morning. He rubs at his wrist with a pained expression. “Although I can feel the bruises coming out already.”
“You did great. You only fell twice. That’s pretty good for a beginner.” The sun and exercise has both of us a little sweaty. I catch a whiff of his musky aroma. I’ve always had a thing for that clean and salty smell, but combined with his natural odor it’s an aphrodisiac. I have an itch I need scratching bad. “Plus, it was kind of sexy. You strapping on rollerblades just to impress me.”
“Sexy?” He catches me around the waist and brings us both to a stop beside the grotto. His lips lift wickedly as he stares at me with those hot as sin eyes. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.” I caress his inked bicep. The black roses and their dark thorns. Beauty and pain. That’s what he told me once when I admired them. There’s so much latent power in those muscles. Recalling the way they flexed as he held me against the wall last night has me wishing for a repeat.
“I like the sound of that.” He tugs me closer with that arm cinched around my middle. Presses his lips against mine in a slow drugging kiss that leaves me breathless.
“Thank you for today.” I try to catch my breath and smile and not swoon all at the same time. “It’s been the best first date I could imagine.”
“I’m glad,” he says. “But I’m hoping it’s not over yet.”
“Really?” What more could he possibly cram into an already perfect day? “Won’t you have to go to the bar soon?”
“It’s Sunday. The staff they have on is enough, though I’ll probably go over applications this evening. And your friend will be here at some point.”
“Lewis. He is living here with us.”
“I figure you’ve talked about me.” He takes a seat on one of the daybeds lined up next to the pool and draws me onto his lap.
I blush. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He strokes his thumb over my wrist and presses his lips to the inside. “I just figure it could be awkward.”
“I’ll talk to him.” I shiver. His stubble prickles the delicate skin there.
“It’s fine, Lil. Let them think whatever they want to think about me.” He gropes my ass with his other hand. “The only person whose opinion matters to me is you.”
“I was upset,” I concede. “I may or may not have called you a dill pickle. It might or might not have stuck these past few weeks.”
“Dill pickle, huh?” His eyes fill with amusement. “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“You get a lot of names, huh?”
“Jerk mostly,” he admits, briefly focusing on something behind me. “It’s well-earned.”
“I disagree.” I catch his face between both hands. “You’ve never been a jerk to me.”
“Except for the night that earned me the title of dill pickle,” he amends.
“Okay.” I kiss him. “You’re a jerk. Are you happy now?”
“More than I thought was possible,” he says in a low tone, as though thinking out loud and it’s only recently occurred to him—like within the last five seconds—that he actually could be happy.
“Do you know what would be the perfect ending to this perfect date?”
“What’s that?”
I waggle my eyebrows. “An orgasm and a nap.”
“Woman.” With me still in his arms he rises in one fluid movement and heads toward the pool house. “I think you might be my ideal girl.”
I hope so. I want to believe it. As much as I’m holding myself down, my heart is a helium balloon and it wants to float away with the idea of me and him and a future so rosy it can’t possibly belong to either of us. I have to keep my dreams in check. My hopes under wraps. “Supergirl to your Batman?”
“That’s not lore.” The door shuts with a clap.
“Well, maybe it should have been,” I argue between his tongue ravaging my mouth and his fingers slipping inside my thin shorts. They pluck my panties to the side so that he can stroke my slit. I gasp into his kiss as he slips one inside me. Whimper. “Supergirl is optimistic. Perhaps that’s exactly what Batman needs.”
“Or maybe he’d turn out to be her kryptonite. The man is a loner. He’s not good with relationships.”
I grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head. He doesn’t even have the decency to move his fingers from my pussy, so his shirt ends up dangling from his elbow.
His finger plays over my clit in a series of circles that leave me lightheaded.
“Of course that’s what you’d say.” I whimper.
“It’s the truth. He’s married to his mission and his beliefs. Batman isn’t a forever kind of guy. And Bruce Wayne isn’t any better.”
“Well, I guess my Batman fantasies are ruined,” I nuzzle his throat. His moan reverberates against my lips. “What a pity. I’ll just have to content myself in other ways.”
“Like what?” His rough molasses voice in my ear does wonderfully sticky things to my panties.
I clasp the back of his neck and tickle the lobe of his ear with my lips. “Like get on my knees and suck your cock.”
“You wanna…” He blinks at me.
I lick my lips. I can practically imagine what he tastes like. “I want to.”
“You sure?”
I slide down his body, my hand following my path and converging on the hardness tenting his shorts. “It’s time Goliath and I grew more intimately acquainted.”
He gulps. “Fuck, Lil.”
The hardwood is rough under my knees as I help myself to what’s inside his boxer briefs. His beautiful, thick cock. It bobs straight out as I press my palms against his thighs and stick my tongue out to lick the tip. He tastes exactly like I knew he would. Like him. Only sweeter. And a tad salty. But not macadamia salty.
He groans as I wrap my mouth around him. “You feel so good.”
I take him in slowly. As far as I can go. Stretching my jaw to accommodate his girth. I’ve been dreaming of doing this since my hormones started raging. Letting him fill my mouth. Bringing him pleasure while he lets me have total control.
He feathers his fingers around my face and into my hair. “Can I?”
I nod. Mumble. My mouth is full of spit and him and his pre cum.
His fingers tighten in my hair, tug at my scalp. He rocks his hips as he guides my movement. It’s an exquisite sensation. Sexy and hot and wild. It’s his desperation for me transformed into pleasure. Barely contained by his restraint.