The Color of Her Skin

The afternoon sun blazed through the hotel room's sheer curtains, painting everything in gold. I had my sketchbook open on my lap, but I wasn't drawing. I was watching how the light moved across Lena's body as she stretched on the bed, her skin impossibly tan from three days of lying on the beach.

"You're not working," she said, catching my stare. A lazy smile curved her lips.

"I'm studying my subject."

Lena laughed, rolling onto her back. She wore nothing but a tiny white bikini, the strings loose at her hips. Her skin was the color of honey and caramel, a deep bronze that made my fingers ache to touch it.

"Studying, huh? That's what you call it?"

"Shut up." But I was already moving, dropping my sketchbook on the floor, crawling onto the bed beside her.

She smelled like salt and coconut oil and sun-warmed skin. I traced a finger down her collarbone, across the smooth expanse of her chest. She shivered.

"Your tan lines are perfect," I murmured, hooking my thumb under the edge of her bikini top. White skin peeked out beneath the fabric, a stark contrast to the golden brown everywhere else.

"You like them?"

"I love them." I pulled the top down, freeing her breasts. Her nipples were pale pink against the deep tan, so sensitive they hardened instantly in the warm air. I bent down and took one in my mouth, licking slow circles around the stiff peak.

Lena gasped, her hand tangling in my hair. "God, Mia... you're so..."

I didn't let her finish. I sucked harder, rolling my tongue over the nipple while my hand slid down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She was already wet — soaked, actually — her pussy slick and ready.

"Fuck," she breathed. "I've been thinking about this all day. Watching you draw, your tongue sticking out when you concentrate... I kept imagining what that tongue would feel like on my skin."

"Like this?" I slipped a finger inside her, then two, curling them against her inner walls.

"Yes... oh god, yes..."

I worked her slowly, deliberately, while my mouth moved to her other breast. Her hips bucked against my hand, grinding down on my fingers. The sounds she made — soft, desperate whines — drove me crazy.

"Please," she whimpered. "I need you inside me. I need your cock."

I laughed against her skin. "You need my fingers first."

"No, I need—" She grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away. "I want to ride you. I want to feel you stretch me open."

My body responded instantly, my cock thickening at her words. I'd been so focused on pleasing her that I hadn't noticed my own aching hardness. She sat up, reaching for the waistband of my shorts.

"Let me," she whispered, tugging them down.

Her fingers wrapped around my cock, warm and sure. She stroked me slow, then fast, then slow again, watching my face as I groaned.

"You're so beautiful like this," she said. "All flushed and desperate."

"I'm always desperate when I'm around you."

She smiled and positioned herself over me, her thighs straddling my hips. The sight of her — golden skin, dark hair, that perfectly tan body — made my mouth water. She reached down, guiding my cock to her entrance, and sank onto me inch by inch.

We both moaned. She was so tight, so hot, gripping me like she never wanted to let go.

"God, Mia," she breathed, her head falling back. "You feel amazing."

I grabbed her hips, helping her find a rhythm. She rode me with slow, deliberate movements, each one sending waves of pleasure through my entire body. Her breasts bounced with the motion, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

"Faster," I urged. "Please, Lena."

She leaned forward, her hands on my chest, and started to move faster. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room. I reached up and grabbed her ass, squeezing the firm flesh, feeling the heat of her sun-warmed skin.

"You're so tan," I groaned. "I want to lick every inch of you."

"Do it," she challenged. "But first..."

She leaned down and kissed me, her tongue sliding into my mouth. She tasted like salt and something sweeter, and I couldn't get enough. Her hips moved faster, harder, her clit grinding against my pelvis with every thrust.

"I'm close," she gasped against my lips. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. She was so beautiful like this, all golden skin and wild hair and desperate sounds. I grabbed her ass harder, helping her move, pushing deeper inside her.

"Come for me," I whispered. "Let me feel you."

She cried out, her body clenching around me, her walls rippling as she came. The sensation pushed me over the edge — I buried myself deep inside her and came with a groan, my cum flooding her pussy, mixing with her own wetness.

She collapsed on top of me, both of us panting, sweating, tangled together on the rumpled sheets. The afternoon sun had shifted, painting the room in a softer, more golden light.

"I think we're going to need more sunscreen," she murmured against my chest.

I laughed, stroking her hair. "I think we're going to need a lot of things."

She lifted her head, meeting my eyes. Something soft and serious flickered in her gaze.

"I'm glad we did this," she said quietly. "I'm glad it's you."

I kissed her forehead. "Me too."

We lay there in the silence, listening to the waves crash against the shore outside. Her skin was still warm, still golden, still so impossibly beautiful. I knew I'd be drawing her again tomorrow — but I'd be drawing from memory, from the curves and shadows I'd memorized with my hands.

The next morning, we sat on the balcony drinking coffee. She wore one of my oversized shirts, her legs crossed, her tan skin glowing in the morning light. She caught me staring and smiled.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said. "You'll make me blush."

"Good. I like you blushing."

She laughed, kicking my foot under the table. But she didn't look away, and neither did I. The coffee grew cold in our cups, but neither of us cared.