Alyssa - Chapter Twenty Six

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Sweat beaded across Alyssa's middle, and a little river ran down her back

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Sweat beaded across Alyssa's middle, and a little river ran down her back. "You ready for the water yet?" She shifted the straps of her bikini top. Tan lines would not go with her dress.

In his lounge chair, Pasha frowned and stuck a bookmark in his book, tossing it aside. "You want to get wet with me?"

She gave him a sultry glance. "I'm always wet when I'm with you." She batted her eyelashes at him and turned on her side, her top tumbling to the soft sand between their chairs.

Hunger entered his gaze as he perused her. "You should always dress like this."

"Most people wouldn't call this dressed."

A smile touched his lips. "I call you perfect." He crawled over to her chaise lounger, and his lips closed over her nipple, his tongue swirling the bud.

Desire zipped down to her core. She sank her hands into the tips of his hair with a sigh, cupping his head as he teased and taunted each nipple. "Is this a good idea?" Her voice was breathy, barely audible.

"Mmm," he muttered into her neck. "I'm not sure I care."

Her laugh was husky. "I know this is a private beach away from the resort, but other people could stumble on us." Paparazzi for one, though Pasha had cleared the resort and surrounding area of anyone who had a whiff of a journalistic or photographic background. Mia and Tyler would be using this beach for their honeymoon in a few days if Tyler had his way. Privacy was key.

"Just tell me to stop." His voice was strained with desire. His hips flexed, pressing his erection against her.

The primal urge to connect raged inside her. He played dirty. He'd come to know all the ways she liked to have sex, all the positions he could get her to climax in, and she loved him for his thoroughness. Having him grind against her core was only bested by his mouth. She moaned. "Don't stop." 

When she wiggled underneath him, one of his hands cupped her ass, securing her against his hardness. The delicious friction caused her judgement to drift away with the tide. "Please." She gripped his ass and wrapped her legs around him, the movement of his hips, even with their clothes as a barrier, driving her wild. "Don't stop." His lips sought hers, and their tongues tangled as he thrust against her. "I want you."

"Here? Now?"

Sometimes desire spiked like this between them—so hot, so quick, so intense—she wanted to come quickly and never wanted the pleasure to end. "Yes. Yes."

He slipped down his swim shorts and tugged her bottoms to the side, sliding inside her with a groan. "You feel so good." The words were in Russian, but he'd said them enough the last few months she'd eventually asked for a translation. The only Russian words she'd come to know were dirty and sexual. The rawness in his voice when he used them, as though he couldn't control himself, wasn't capable of holding the words back, only added to their intimacy. Each word was a note to a song only he could play.

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