Midnight Mooring

The yacht cut through the black water, and I watched her from behind the bar—Lena, in a white dress that clung to every curve. She’d been nursing the same drink for an hour, her eyes dark and fixed on me.

“Another?” I asked, leaning on the polished wood.

“No.” She slid the glass away. “I want something else.”

My pulse kicked. “Like what?”

She came around the bar, slow, her heels clicking on the teak deck. “You’ve been staring at me all night, Leo. Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not.”

She stopped inches from me, close enough I could smell her perfume—salt and something floral. Her hand found my chest. “Then do something about it.”

I kissed her, hard, my hands sliding to her waist, pulling her against me. She bit my lip, a soft gasp escaping her throat. The yacht rocked gently, and I pushed her back against the cabinet, glass clinking behind her.

“I want you to eat my pussy,” she whispered, her voice rough, her eyes locked on mine. “Right here.”

“Fuck yes.”

I sank to my knees on the deck, my hands running up her thighs, pushing the white dress up to her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath—just wet, bare skin, the dark triangle of her trimmed hair. I pressed my mouth against her, and she moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“God, yes,” she breathed.

I licked her, slow at first, tracing her slit with my tongue, tasting her salt and heat. Her hips bucked against my face. “Right there,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

I found her clit, swollen and hard, and sucked gently, flicking my tongue over it. She cried out, her legs trembling, her grip on my hair tightening.

“Faster,” she begged. “Please.”

I obeyed, licking harder, deeper, sliding two fingers inside her. She was soaked, her pussy gripping me as I fucked her with my hand, my mouth never leaving her clit. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her head thrown back against the cabinet.

“I’m gonna come,” she whimpered. “Don’t fucking stop.”

I pushed her over the edge. She came with a sharp cry, her body shuddering, her juices flooding my tongue. I kept licking, slow and gentle, until she slumped against the wood, panting.

She pulled me up, kissing me, tasting herself on my lips. “Now fuck me,” she said. “Hard.”

I lifted her onto the bar, knocking over bottles. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I slid into her, deep and raw. She was tight, hot, and she moaned as I thrust, the yacht swaying with us.

I grabbed her hips, pounding into her, the sound of our bodies slapping against the wood. Her nails dug into my shoulders.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she chanted.

I came inside her, a guttural groan, burying my face in her neck. She held me, trembling, her breath hot against my ear.

“We’re not done,” she whispered.