by Hazel Parker
I turned the water to hot and stepped inside as soon as the initial blast of cold water warmed up. When I felt the water cascade from the top of my head, all the way down, dripping down my lower back, down my ass, and to the floor, I imagined Brad’s hands doing the same. God, how I wanted him here right now. How I wanted him naked, standing before me, taking me in this shower.
I’d planned on making this a quick shower so that I could get a nap in. That plan had gone out the window. Now, my hand was running down to my clit as I sat on a ledge in the shower stall. I closed my eyes and imagined Brad in there.
He’d come behind me, the shower falling over both of us, and slide his hands all over my naked body. With no clothes between us this time, I’d reach behind me and start stroking his hard cock. Hot, soapy water would rush over us. We’d be slick, wet, and horny as hell.
At some point, I’d reach down and get on my knees. I’d look up at him, smiling, getting off as much from his pleasure as I would from my own. I’d wrap my lips around his cock, engulf him, and start to please him. He’d groan my name. I’d turn him into a hot mess of incomprehensible shaking and quivering, his legs like jelly. I’d get him nearly to the edge, but then he’d pull me up, spin me around, and enter me from behind.
Raw.
We were married, after all. There was no need for anything to dull our pleasure.
“Oh, fuck, Brad,” I’d say—and I said it out loud in reality. My hand was working hard against my clit, increasing in speed as the pleasure increased.
In my vision, Brad grabbed my arms and pulled me hard. I could feel my pussy swell and tingle. He was getting me close…
He pressed me up against a wall. It gave him a better position. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and bit my shoulder, in conjunction with his cock ramming up deep inside me, made me finally orgasm—in the vision.
Then he started to swell, and it was as if his cock and my pussy in real life were in unison. As he swelled and gasped, I started to do the same.
And when we both released, we both shook, spoke incoherently, and felt an immense rush of warmth through our bodies. Oh, fuck, yes! Oh my God! Oh…my…
Damn. Again.
What. A. Day.
“And that was just in my dreams,” I said to myself with a grin I could not shake.
I wondered if Brad heard me. He obviously had not come in, but I did not even hear him move from down the hall. I suppose he wasn’t kidding. He really was going to make me wait.
Luckily for him, I had a high sex drive. Luckily for him, I didn’t only have one orgasm per day.
And luckily for him, I was desperate to fuck him sober so I could fucking remember it vividly. In that regard, we still had never had anything like that.
I finished with the rest of my shower in record time, hurriedly applying just one round of body wash, rushing through the conditioner and shampoo, and getting out as quickly as I could. I dried off, made my way to the bed, and pulled the covers over me for a quick nap.
I ended up passing out so fast I barely had time to think about if I wanted to call Brad in for some cuddles.
* * *
I woke up with the sun almost having set in the windows, and I felt great.
Like, I felt so good, it was as if I hadn’t drunken myself into a marriage mistake last night. No, not a mistake. An unexpected accident.
But hey, at this point, at least while we were on the boat, I cast aside any doubts about us. I, of course, wondered what the future would look like, but I could do so with confidence and hope. I didn’t feel like I had to prove anything—that would surely change when we got home, but I was trapped on a boat. I’d make the most of it.
And then I remembered what Brad had said.
“If you’re lucky, I’ll fuck your brains out tonight when you can remember it.”
But he wasn’t here right now. I didn’t even hear him when I was in the shower. I guessed he was in the kitchen or something. I was tempted to just walk downstairs naked and take him, but we weren’t exactly out on the ocean. Lake Mead might have been big, but the last thing I needed was for a nude photo of me to leak somewhere and infuriate my father.
Which wasn’t so much the concern as it was that he would find a way to make sure I never inherited the title or the shares of the company.
I put on a red robe—and nothing more—and headed downstairs. Brad was in the kitchen, putting together the final touches of a charcuterie board and some wine glasses. He still wore the same thing as before, but it looked like the time had done wonders for his spirits. Like me, he looked like he had recovered and regained his vigor and enthusiasm for the day.
“Wow,” I said.
“Like what you see?”
I smirked. I could have answered that in so many ways. If this was how we always talked, this was going to be promising.
“I love it,” I said. “This looks amazing.”
“I know,” he said. “But not as amazing as you.”
God, he was making me tingle all over. Even just a flattering comment like that, not an innuendo in any real way, had me wet and aroused.
“Haha, you’re too much,” I said, giving him some serious “fuck me” eyes.
“Nice robe you have on too,” he said. “You better not have anything else under it.”
Holy shit, yes. I shook my head no. Brad looked me up and down, undressing me with his eyes. I waited for the moment…
And Brad just chuckled.
“That will make for a great dessert,” he said. “Come, let’s go outside.”
I was amusingly stumped. God, I just wanted us to have sex! But he obviously knew what he was doing. He was getting me even more aroused, even more ready, even more fired up for him.
It wasn’t fair.
And I needed to press back.
“Why go outside when we can stay inside?” I said. “You know what’s under this robe?”
Brad paused, looked at me, and arched a single eyebrow.
“You’re right, I do.”
I laughed. Much harder than I should have.
“What?”
“What you said—I do. Just like last night!”
Even Brad—even fucking Brad Nimico—laughed at that. Call it something small and insignificant, but if he could laugh at a marriage joke like that, it must have meant things were settling between us. It both made me fall for him even harder and made me willing to exercise some patience.
We walked out to the deck, each of us with a glass of wine. Brad placed the board behind us, and we each picked at it as we leaned on each other, looking at the setting sun and some other distant boats. It was a quiet evening on the lake, the kind of Hallmark moment that defined so many movie-ending scenes.
“How was your nap?” he asked.
“Fucking perfect,” I said. “The shower was even better, though.”
Brad didn’t display any overt reaction to that. I wasn’t disappointed, given we had three days together on this boat, but I was surprised. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
“I guess we didn’t shower after last night’s insanity, huh?”
“I sure didn’t. So that was nice. But yeah, the nap really did wonders. Did you nap?”
Brad shook his head.
“I didn’t need to,” he said. “When I have a day like today, I feel fucking energized. I don’t fall asleep. Although I will probably sleep like a rock tonight.”
“Really?”
I found that…well, I guess most people weren’t like me. My father always said that the more a project became urgent, the less he felt a desire to sleep. I suppose I was too much of a “slacker” to get that.
“And besides,” he said, turning to me.
My stomach caught fire with those eyes. I had a feeling something was about to happen.
“Why the hell would I want to sleep when I am going to fuck you?”
I stammered over my words, but there weren’t any necessary. Brad was in control now. Brad was the one who would spe
ak. I would only do as he commanded.
He grabbed my chin, locked eyes with me, and pulled me in for a kiss.
The first kiss, as far as I was aware, that we’d ever had while sober.
And God, he was such a good kisser.
He had command of his kiss. It wasn’t like kissing someone passive. I could tell he wanted me, and—
He pulled me in, hard. My wine glass sloshed and spilled. I yipped, but Brad smoothly grabbed it from my hand, put it on the table, and kissed me once more. In the brief moment with my eyes opened, I saw that his shirt had gotten stained, but he apparently did not give two shits about that.
His hands went to my robe and started to untie it.
“Brad,” I whispered in between kisses. “Not—”
But then he turned so that my back was facing outward, so only he could see what lay beneath my robe. When he finished untying it, he parted the robes, found my breasts, and kissed and nibbled on each one. I arched my head back, closing my eyes as the last of the sun’s rays blinded my eyes.
I ran my hands all over his back and his hair. I no longer wanted him—I needed him.
And then Brad ran a hand just over the outside of my clit, not quite rubbing, but more like touching. Even this touch, though, even after my shower orgasm, had me practically jumping off the boat with delight.
“Now, come,” he said. “Follow me.”
Oh, I’ll come. I will come wherever you take me, Brad.
And this time, I’m going to remember every single detail.
Chapter 11: Brad
I’d waited as long as I could.
And seriously, even that was a fucking miracle.
Once Megan had left for her shower and nap, though it was impossible to not think of anything but her and fucking her brains out, I wasn’t going to interrupt her beauty rest. The thought certainly crossed my mind, but even I needed a nap, albeit not one as long as she took.
But the second that she came downstairs in that robe, I just wanted to slam her body on a bed, part that robe, and start devouring that pussy. Holy shit, she looked smoking ass hot. And I knew there was nothing else underneath it.
I couldn’t even tell you why I waited. I guess I wanted to give her a romantic sunset before taking her? I guess I wanted to show that I wasn’t beholden to my libido like others were? It was all just bullshit, anyway. As soon as I couldn’t take it any longer, I fucking took her.
The only thing I gave was making sure no one else could see her. There was one boat maybe a thousand feet away, but I knew Megan valued privacy and appearances. Give her that, and she’d give anything in return.
And now, it was time to get what I fucking wanted.
We started out stumbling to the nearest couch, all the while my hands exploring her naked body. I got her to discard the robe in full about halfway to the couch, which made for a bit of an unfair trade since I still had my clothes on. Merely temporary, though.
I got her on the couch, kissed her neck, and laid a trail of kisses leading down to her pussy. Just like I had with the day, I took my time pleasuring every part of her body possible. If she had a particularly strong reaction to, say, the way I kissed part of her stomach, you best believe I teased the shit out of her. “No mercy” was how I wanted this sex to feel.
After all, if we’d forgotten some of the finer details of last night, we had to have sex pleasurable enough for two rounds here.
When I got to her pussy, instead of kissing it and eating it out, I bypassed it and went for her legs. She yelled my name in frustration, to which I just casually shrugged and gave her a shit-eating grin. Too bad. She’d survive.
I hoped.
Eventually, I gave her what she—and I—wanted. I pressed my lips against her pussy, gave it a kiss, and started eating her out.
I never had a disdain for eating out someone, but I couldn’t pretend that I sought it out. I usually saw it was the means to the end of some great fucking sex. There was no greater way to guarantee an amazing blowjob than there was to give even half-decent oral to her. Too many men refused, which I thought was stupid. It was like choosing not to eat a quick salad with the promise of getting the world’s greatest ribeye in return.
But with Megan, oh, eating her out was the steak of the meal. I was in no rush to get her to the brink. In fact, whenever I thought she was getting close, I backed off, said something dirty to her, waited a few seconds, and then went back at it. I think she hated me by the time we got to the actual end, but the way she screamed and twisted under my tongue made me think she’d forgiven me.
She almost actually kicked me when she tried to get me to stop. Hazards of the job, I suppose. I didn’t mind in the slightest.
“Oh my God,” she said, practically whimpering on the couch. “Now I hate that I blacked out if you eat pussy that good.”
“Well, luckily for you, we got plenty of time to make up for that,” I said.
“I’m not wasting any more of that waiting to get you off,” she said, sitting up, crawling on her knees, and positioning herself between my legs.
I just closed my eyes and let her do all the work. I let her unzip me, I let her pull my pants and underwear off, and I let her do all the work of sucking my cock. I liked to think of it as my payday after an insane twenty-four hours. I didn’t need to encourage her; I didn’t need to do any of the work. She knew how I felt about her.
I felt utterly relaxed. Actually, I felt quite at peace, something I hadn’t felt in some time. I was always charged in some way—charged to do more work, charged to get some girl, charged to make Megan Adams—sorry, Megan Nimico—mine. But now, here, I felt like I’d finally “made it” in some sense. I didn’t have to strive for anything or fight for anything. I could just kick back, relax, and let Megan bring me to orgasm.
And the best part was, this was how it was going to be for the next three fucking days!
The only regret was we couldn’t make it three fucking weeks. Alas, both of us had responsibilities to get back to. Just not right now.
Megan worked like a fucking pro on me. I never came until I wanted to in most cases. I liked to keep that control. But for whatever reason—that reason being it was Megan—I couldn’t control myself. I felt myself get harder and harder and the cum start to form at the base of my shaft. I needed to be inside Megan.
“Come here,” I finally said when I knew if she went even another five seconds, I’d be past the point of no return.
She looked up at me, smirked, and climbed over my body. She positioned herself right on the tip of my hard dick, let it slide on the outline of her clit just a bit, and then finally put me inside her.
And fuck me, I’d never felt anything so good in my life.
I was never going back to a condom ever again. Which I guess meant Megan and I had better damn well work out.
Oh, how it felt to feel her raw pussy. How it fucking felt to feel my dick tense, wet, and sliding in and out of her. Jesus Christ, I could barely maintain any coherent fucking thoughts, fucking fuck!
And judging by how Megan sounded, it was much of the same.
Fuck!
It was almost worth forgetting last night. I knew I’d worn a rubber then, but that clearly wouldn’t have felt as good as this one.
We changed positions three times in rapid succession, mostly so I wouldn’t come so quickly. But it was a losing battle, and when I found myself on top of her, I reached that point where I had to charge full steam ahead. I closed my eyes, jackhammered as hard as I could into her, and let out a prideful cry when I finished.
And then I collapsed on top of her. Like, literally, I pulled out, felt weak, and just fell on top of her.
“That was amazing,” she whispered into my ear.
“Uh-huh.”
I didn’t mean to be that curt. I just literally had no strength to say anything more. Thankfully, Megan understood. She laughed, kissed me on the cheek, and held me close.
I actually fell asleep in her arms. I didn’t know
how long I’d slept, but when I woke up, my dick was back in Megan’s mouth, and it was hard.
“Fuck it,” I said. “I’m retiring and making life a full-time honeymoon.”
* * *
The next three days proved to be much of the same.
Wake up. Fuck. Eat breakfast. Spend some time on the dock. Fuck. Rest. Fuck some more. Eat lunch. Play a game or watch a movie or swim. Fuck. Eat dinner. Spend some time chatting. Fuck one more time. And then finally pass out in bed…and maybe fuck again if we couldn’t fall asleep.
It honestly got to the point where, if it had been anyone else, I doubted I would have had this much sex. By the third day in the afternoon, I was pretty sure I was having dry orgasms. I barely had anything left in the tank.
But for Megan—my motherfucking wife—I always had a hard cock ready for her. I knew marriage wouldn’t involve banging five times a day, and I wasn’t even sure either of us could make it that frequent post-honeymoon. But as far as creating better memories, as far as making the silver lining in an accidental marriage as bright and shiny as possible, as far as starting this off on the right foot, fucking goddamn, we did pretty damn good.
Hey, when you had years and years of unfulfilled tension, it would take more than just one debaucherous night to make up for it. You might even say it would take a fucking lifetime of experiences to do just that.
When the evening came and it was time to return back to reality, I parked the boat at the dock, packed up everything in the limo, and finally let myself look at my phone now that I was back in a place with reception.
And, fuck me, everyone wanted to know how things were.
Work, at least, knew I wouldn’t be in. But that didn’t stop people from emailing and texting me, asking if I would make an exception on my vacation to reach them. I didn’t understand what part of “holiday” they did not get. But, then again, most people were stupid and had no sense of why I would not want to respond.
Of greater concern, though, was my mother constantly messaging me, asking me why I was still in Vegas—and why I wasn’t communicating with her. On the way over, I had texted a few people to let my family know I would be unavailable, but ignoring my work was a hell of a lot easier than ignoring my family.
