by Daphne Dawn
Slowly, I turn her in my arms so she’s facing me. Her tits rub against my chest, and her hands link behind my neck. I lower my mouth to hers. Our tongues meet, and pleasure erupts in me.
I need to take her, but before I do, there’s a little matter I have to attend to.
The music changes again. It’s another genre I’m not familiar with.
I move back to the coffee table and grab the packet I had left on it earlier. I pull out the condom, and it’s on my fucking cock before she realizes what’s going on.
The tip of my cock hovers at her dripping pussy. I debate my next move. And then, I let her warp her legs around my waist, straddling me.
Oh. Fuck.
As I stand there, Rose in my arms and on top of my cock, I feel the world spin around me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was drunk. But I’m not―except maybe drunk on ecstasy.
With her arms still around my neck, she thrusts against me, using her crossed legs behind my back as support.
This is the most amazing fucking feeling I’ve ever experienced. I knew there was some kind of caged animal locked inside this woman. I’m sure this is only the beginning of the more adventurous Rose coming out.
As fucking awesome as this is, I need to put her down and really fuck her. There’s an aching need I have to fill.
My eyes zero in on the table, and I head for it. Gently, I put her on her back and make sure her legs drape over the edge.
I’ve momentarily pulled out of her to change position, and now that she’s in the perfect spot, I spread her legs apart and shove deep inside her.
A low moan escapes her lips. My hands use her tits as support. I push into her slowly until my balls are pressing against her ass.
And then I start pummeling into her, hard and fast.
She meets me with her own little upward thrusts as I slam into her again and again. Soon, the music stops, and the only sounds we can hear are my balls slapping against her naked skin and our short, shallow breathing.
There’s the occasional moan, and then Rose is yelping like a little lost puppy dog.
“Yeeeeeeeeeessssss,” she hisses, and I see her body tense all over. Her hands reach for my shoulders, and I feel her nails dig into me.
I can sense she’s about to come.
So am I. My cock grows with each thrust. It’s expanding, and the walls of her pussy are tightening. I increase my pace yet again.
The pressure of her tightening pussy is too much for my cock. I suddenly explode deep within her.
Wave after wave of cum fills my condom. My hands are frozen on her tits, and now she’s engulfed in her own orgasm.
Her pussy is tightening around me and squeezing every last bit of juice out of me. I fear she might break me. Eventually, I feel her go limp beneath me.
I stay in her a little longer, relishing the sensation of that fucking tight pussy.
When I pull out of her, I give her a gentle kiss on the nose and stand to discard my condom.
After I return, she’s still leaning against the table. There’s a dreamy expression on her face.
“Another glass of cool bubbles?” I offer, and she nods.
“Actually, I don’t think I finished my last glass.” She goes over to the couch to take a look. I feast my eyes on her ass for a moment before I join her.
Naked, we lie on the soft leather and stare out the window at the deep, dark blue ocean. Later, I think we’ll go for a walk along the beach. And if it’s deserted enough, you never know what we might end up doing there.
Rose
I look at myself in the mirror and breathe a sigh of relief when the same familiar face looks back at me.
I mean, like, all of this luxury and expensive shit is so unusual I’m half-afraid I might have turned into someone totally different.
From ordinary girl to what—fake exquisite beauty? I smirk at the thought.
Is that possible? If you get used to all this expensive stuff can your looks change, too?
Of course they can, my inner voice pipes up.
When was the last time you picked up one of those glossy women magazines, the ones that tell you about the type of plastic surgery the rich and famous are having, the number of Botox injections, and not to mention the latest diet they subject themselves to?
And then there are contact lenses that change eye colors, beauty salons for manicures and pedicures, and parlors where they do all kinds of other painful things to your body.
The thoughts have me shivering a little. No, thank you. I may not be a supermodel, but I’m not hard on the eyes.
I’ll take myself as I am, thank you very much. And Daniel seems more than satisfied with what he sees.
I sigh and pull my hair up into a ponytail.
Of course it’s not a hip, cool, or deluxe hairdo, but it’s practical and super comfy for a day at the beach.
And that is what I’ve been promised—a day at the beach.
Briefly, I’m tempted to put on the war paint, but then I dismiss the idea. If this is about finding out how compatible we are, he may as well get to look at me in my natural state.
I mean, he’s seen me naked, mascara smeared across my face from choking on his cock. Surely no makeup will be okay, too.
My cheeks blush just a little as I recall some of the crazy hot sex we’ve been having. Just thinking about it makes me tingle all over and long for his touch again.
Daniel is an expert at dishing out pleasure. He seems to know my body better than even I do. The way his fingers caress my flesh, not to mention the fact he’s found and unlocked my sweet spot.
I didn’t even know I had a sweet spot.
Sure, I’ve heard other women brag about the sex and how a-m-a-z-i-n-g it is, but since it never happened to me like that, I used to think they just made it up. I mean, no man can be that good.
And then I met Daniel.
What’s more than that, I enjoy giving him pleasure. I positively fucking love to watch his massive cock bounce up and down as I breathe on it or feel it swell in my hand to something so massive it couldn’t possibly fit into me—and yet, it does.
“You ready, gorgeous, or have you grown roots in there?” Daniel calls to me, interrupting my thoughts.
“Coming,” I call back as I grab the perfume bottle. No harm in using a little special scent to bewitch the man.
I chuckle. So far, I haven’t needed to bewitch the man. He’s responding all on his own.
I mean, if our sexual compatibility was the only thing to worry about, I’d say we’re highly compatible.
But there’s more to this than just having a fantastic fuck.
When I find him in his shorts, my gaze travels from his chest to his cock on instinct.
His whistle makes me look him in the eyes, and a warm glow envelopes me. It feels good to be appreciated, even if it is from a man who only wants a purely transactional business relationship with me.
Well, it’s not all business, anyway. Stop thinking so much, Rose, and just get on with the day.
I take his outstretched hand. “So,” I begin, trying to sound nonchalant, “what’s on the agenda today?”
“The beach.”
I nod and push any silly thoughts about my looks, the future, and any other shit out of my head. This is supposed to be about getting to know each other before entering our bargain, and that’s what I should focus on—getting to know Daniel.
When we get to the beach, I can’t believe my eyes. Two deck chairs have been set up for us, and in between is a table with a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne next to two long-stemmed glasses.
Floating in the water just ahead of us is a jet ski. I’ve only ever seen those things zoom by and never up close like this.
“Can we ride this thing? I ask, feeling like a little girl about to walk into a toy store to pick her favorite toy.
Daniel nods. “If you want to.”
Do I want to? Of course I want to!
I’m no adrenal
ine junkie, but I do like the idea of traveling across the turquoise-colored water at breakneck speed, the wind in my hair, and the saltwater invading my lungs and nostrils.
I was right not to put on makeup today.
I sit behind Daniel, even though he offered me the steering wheel. I enjoy resting my head on his broad shoulders and wrapping my arms around his abdomen.
This is crazy awesome. So this is what you get to do if you have money.
Usually, I have to debate whether I can afford to treat myself to a trip to the hairdresser or wait for a few days more to save money.
I would never be able to buy a jet ski, let alone be able to store it somewhere.
After we’ve ridden up and down the sea, Daniel takes me back to shore. Spontaneously, I jump off and swim the last few meters. I love the feel of the cool water on my skin. I dive under to get my hair wet, too.
When I walk out, my skin is prickling from the salt and cool air. I feel alive.
Daniel comes up beside me and holds my hand. I glance at him and briefly toy with running my hand down his back, but I stop myself. It’s a bit exposed here.
Even though we’ve already indulged in some pretty public stuff already, I tell myself wryly.
“Champagne, my love?”
I nod and take the glass. I sip and drink, soaking up what’s on offer. Daniel, primarily.
When it’s time for lunch, we walk back to the resort. Along the way, Daniel goes to great lengths to introduce to me some of his staff.
“Hey, George.” He waves to someone working the grounds. A great big straw hat covers the man’s face. When he looks up, he smiles and waves.
Daniel takes me by the hand and leads me over.
“George, meet Rose.”
The older man takes his hat off and wipes the sweat from his face with the back of his hands.
“Nice to meet you, madam.”
I blush and stammer a thank you. No one has ever called me madam before I came to Daniel’s resort.
The man smiles and turns to Daniel. “Nice day for the beach.”
They exchange a few more pleasantries before we walk on. A large lady pushing a heavy-looking trolley comes down the pathway.
“Ah, Linda!” Daniel calls out. “Come meet Rose.”
Again, I shake hands with one of his staff. I am even more embarrassed when Linda does a little curtsy.
When she’s gone, I turn to Daniel.
“You don’t have to introduce to me everyone, you know.” I feel a little out of my depth.
Daniel’s eyes have that special glint I already like about them.
“Of course I do. I’m sure you’ll be back, either as the mother of my child, or as a friend, at the very least.”
He pauses and tucks a loose strand of wet hair behind my ear. “Let’s hope it’s the former.”
His staff has already prepared the most delicious lunch imaginable.
Daniel pulls out my chair at a small table on the restaurant’s veranda overlooking the beach.
I could get used to a view like this, no doubt.
A tall, thin waiter comes to take our order.
“Could I have a lemon, lime and bitters, please?”
“Of course, madam,” he says with a slight bow. “And would you like a fresh lemon with that?”
I nod, feeling a lump form in the back of my throat. This entire experience is surreal, and I never want it to end.
After lunch, I lean back in my chair and find Daniel staring at me. His lips are curled up into a smile.
“I’m exhausted,” I confess.
He nods. “I know. Let’s go and get a massage.”
I stare at him. Where does he get the energy? “I don’t think I’m up for walking anywhere.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll get someone to come to our room.”
And sure enough, less than ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the deck chair on the balcony of our room, someone massaging my feet.
On the little table to my right is a steaming mug of coffee and a small plate of a selection of delicious chocolates.
I sigh.
“Something wrong?” Daniel says, looking concerned.
I shake my head. “No, not at all,” I reassure him quickly, wondering how to put what’s on my mind into words.
“It’s just...” I start, then hesitate before deciding to bite the bullet. If this is about getting to know each other, I have to learn to speak freely to him.
“I do enjoy all this.” I wave my arms around in an all-encompassing gesture. “But I’m a little overwhelmed. I’m used to simpler things. Do you think we can do something a bit simpler?”
Instead of exploding in an angry tirade, Daniel smiles and nods eagerly, like it’s the best suggestion he’s ever heard.
“Of course. Tomorrow. I promise, tomorrow we’ll do something normal.”
I smile, relieved and excited at the same time. I can’t wait to see what Daniel’s idea of normal is.
Daniel
Okay, so I need to wrap my head around this concept of doing something simple. I’ve gone out of my way to show this girl how the rich and famous lead their lives and she asks for this.
I scratch my head.
But, of course, I agreed to her request. I mean, what else could I do? I want to spoil this girl and make each and every one of her dreams come true.
Her wish should be my command.
It’s easy for me. I’ve got the backing. She wants to look at the beach? No problem. I whisk her away to one of my resorts and make sure she gets a view of the beach—her own private beach.
If she wants a ride on a helicopter, no worries. I can arrange anything money can buy.
Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds are easy to purchase. Vacations to any destination can be arranged, as can any mode of transportation―from expensive sports cars to a horse-drawn carriage, if that’s what her heart desires.
Of course, a trip around the world or a visit to a five-star restaurant would all be a piece of cake.
And boy, have I dated some girls with demands. Actually, demands is probably the wrong word. More like expectations.
Let me be the first to tell you, women have fucking high expectations of men, particularly men with money.
About three girlfriends ago, I was asked if I could arrange a meet-and-greet with some famous singer I had never even heard of.
When Rose asked me earlier today for a favor, I was expecting a list of requests from meeting Hollywood superstars to buying her a diamond ring and a fucking Ferrari.
But Rose asked for nothing like that. She wants simple.
I can’t fucking believe I’m thinking this, but Rose is definitely the marrying kind. The kind who takes joy in the simple, everyday things in life. The kind who wants a baby.
A family.
And I’m even more shocked to admit that I’m on the same fucking page.
I watch her as she’s curled up into a little ball, fast asleep. Her chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
She looks peaceful and happy. Maybe she’s dreaming about tomorrow already. If only I had a clue what a simple day really means.
I don’t want to ask her. I don’t want her to think I’m a complete idiot who doesn’t know how to treat a woman on a date. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.
I sigh.
I guess hiring a private yacht with a personal crew and chef to take us sailing wouldn’t be classified as simple. It’s just a guess, but I think I’m fucking dead right about that one.
What about hiring a private guide to take us on a luxury cruiser—no, I’m pretty sure Rose would not call that simple.
My head hurts from all the thinking I’m doing.
Rose mumbles something in her sleep. I can’t make out specific words, but I imagine she’s saying my name and showering me with compliments.
I’m surprised at myself. I find it interesting that I will go to great lengths to impress this girl. I mean, this is turning into
hard fucking work.
And I’m completely game for it.
And I’m impressed Rose is asking me to tone things down. Human nature and my own experience dictate that people want more.
Once the carrot of luxury and what money can do for you is dangled in front of someone’s nose, their appetite is piqued, and they can’t get enough of what they once only dreamed of.
Clueless as to what ‘simple’ thing we can do tomorrow, I do the only thing anyone would do in my situation. I consult Dr. Google. Sure enough, after I type in simple things to do on a date, it takes less than two seconds for three hundred and fifteen billion results to appear.
I scroll through the results, scanning the headlines.
Fifty Fun Things to Do on a Budget
One Hundred and One Ideas to Do With Your Date if you Have no Money
Twenty-five Ways to Impress Your Date on a Shoestring Budget
I cringe at each and every one of those headlines. I don’t want to read about things to do with Rose on a budget. There’s no budget to stick to. My budget is, well, it’s whatever I fucking want it to be.
But her words buzz around my head like bees in a bottle looking for the way out.
After taking a deep breath, I open one of the promoted websites.
The picture of a couple strolling along the beach, hand-in-hand, catches my eye. They look like they’re walking into the sunset.
I scroll through the list of cheap things to do. The suggestions range from walking hand-in-hand to browsing a second-hand bookstore or visiting an art gallery.
I can’t see how any of those things will appeal to Rose. They’re too simple.
With a sigh, I click onto another site.
Surprise, surprise. It’s another suggestion for walking along the beach holding hands, going on a picnic. Visiting local bric-a-brac shops, making a fire outside and toasting marshmallows, and visiting a park to feed the ducks. Fucking seriously?
I frown. Were these people for real? Who writes this shit? I want to spoil Rose and impress her, not bore her to tears.
The longer I search on the world-wide-web, the more confused I get. One thing’s for sure—the most common piece of advice is that walking hand-in-hand on the beach thing―or anywhere for that matter, as long as it’s fucking hand-in-hand.
