Day 2 at the beach:

We settled in for a late afternoon snack after a long morning playing in the surf, tanning, and taking a dip in the outdoor pool that is part of the amenities at the condo where we’re staying. I mention my writing about our previous night’s lovemaking and how it has me “hot and bothered.”

“Good,” he purs. I swallow hard. Bedroom timbre. My eyes flicker to our son to see what he’s up to. Oh, good. He’s engrossed in an educational TV program and telling his toy Buzz about the beach escapades.

My husband sidles up to me, a knowing look in his eyes as he peels off his shirt. I’m disconcerted, though, when he plops the after-sun cream into my hands and turns his back, asking me to apply some “everywhere.” I oblige, making sure to drop his pants just for the excuse to get a few handfuls of his perfectly round ass. Yum.

I trust there’s a good time to be had later, so I turn to put up the cream and prepare to settle in for a relaxing afternoon. It’s therefore a surprise when he suddenly plucks the after-sun cream from my hands and drags me into the kitchen just out of sight of our son. He pushes my front up against the sink and yanks the shirt I’d changed into over my head. The window here is small and high – unlikely for anyone to see us. The cold cream startles a gasp out of me as it hits my shoulders and the back of my neck. He’s quick to gently rub it in. He tugs down my shorts and gets a few butt squeezes of his own in as he applies cream to the upper back of my thighs.

He kicks my feet apart, and that’s when I can feel his hard length pressing against me. Ooooo. He left his shorts off. Are we about to have a quickie over the sink? I’ll have to be super quiet with our kid literally just around the corner. I can be quiet … Maybe … Sometimes …

Andrew’s pressing between my legs from behind. His hands blaze trails over my hips, up to knead my breasts, caressing downwards over my throat. I want him to bite my neck. Yes! He’s read my mind. He’s sucking on that perfect spot between my neck and shoulder as I press back against him. Suddenly he’s stepping back.

“Pull your shorts up and get to the bedroom.” His “bedroom voice” has me scampering down the hall.

My husband excels at everything he puts his mind to, so he’s very good at just about anything. And sex is something he is absolutely fantastic at. If there were gold medals for sex, he’d probably have lots. I’m not exaggerating. Bonus: he respects my body and my boundaries, and always takes care of me, even when he cums first.

Andrew rarely makes demands, but today is one of those days. He’s kneeling on the end of the bed, his erection grasped in his right hand.

“Show it some love.” I love that rasp in his voice when he’s like this.

I settle on the little settee at the foot of the bed and engulf him with my mouth. His guttural moan has me whimpering with need. I want him inside me so badly, but this will have to do. I don’t dislike giving him oral. As part of foreplay, I actually prefer it. Feeling him getting wound up to the point of losing control is a huge turn on, but if it takes a while, my neck and jaw inevitably start cramping. I bring him close to the edge then back off several times. simultaneously ratcheting up his pleasure and easing the aches in my neck and jaw.

Andrew tries to return the favor, but my clitoris still feels a bit battered from last night, so I protest before diving back down his length. He tastes salty and primal, and I am enjoying myself—but damn, this hurts.

He’s noticed my dilemma and pulls me off him with his left hand tangled in my hair and his right replacing my mouth with long tugs on his penis. He crashes his lips to mine, tongue tasting his own precum. Our mouths are mating.

I’m mewling with need for release. I scratch my nails down his chest and delight in the shudder I receive. I brush my hand down his stomach to the one he’s working himself with and join its rhythm for a moment. Andrew moans. I slip my hand further down to cup his balls, gently massaging them and stroking along his taint.

He breaks our kiss. “Get on the bed.” He positions me on my knees facing away from him, and pushes inside with a satisfied sigh.

This angle is one of my favorites. Several minutes pass as we climb higher and higher together before he has me turn onto my side while he remains upright.

Andrew groans as we settle back together. It must be truly good for him as his hips start snapping into me from the new angle.

I’ve heard the French supposedly call climax “la petite mort.” All I know is I float away on a haze of pleasure only to return when his pace falters and he cums with a stifled shout.

We spend a couple moments just catching our breath. I do love a good afternoon romp. Maybe we’ll even get the chance for another round tonight.

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