Summer Passion

Frecklemonade stretched out on the deckchair in nothing but dark lace lingerie. Heat wrapped around her like a fist. Her skin prickled, nipples tight, thighs slick under the thin fabric. The ache came quick and ugly. She turned, showed more, knowing the movement announced every hungry curve she had. He was already there when she looked up. Chocolate God moved in fast, the two of them hitting like a lit fuse. Bodies slammed together, sweat mixing as fast as their breath did. He took her where she lay, hard, driving, no space between them. Her lingerie came off in pieces she didn't care about keeping. His hands found every wet place, rough, insistent. She opened under him, spine arching, hips begging. The deck creaked under them. She grabbed his shoulders, bit his mouth, and met each thrust like she meant to wreck them both. The sun cooked their skin. They kept moving until the only sound was skin on skin and the ragged break of both their voices.