Las Marcas Que Dejamos

The sea breeze couldn't cool the heat under my skin. I'd been photographing Lara for three hours on the hotel balcony, and every shot made my fingers itch for a different kind of contact.

"One more, Marco," she said, pushing damp hair from her forehead. "The light's perfect."

The sunset had painted her skin gold and amber, her white sundress clinging to curves still dewy from our afternoon swim. I'd noticed the way she looked at me during lunch — that slow smile, the way her tongue touched her lips before she bit into the strawberry.

I lowered the camera. "The light's perfect for something else."

"¿Como qué?"

"Like me finding out how you taste."

She didn't blink. "Then stop talking about it."

I crossed the balcony in three steps, dropped the camera on the lounger, and pressed her against the railing. Her back arched, pushing her breasts against my chest, and I buried my face in the curve of her neck.

"God, you smell like salt and vanilla," I murmured against her skin.

—Entonces haz algo al respecto.

My lips found the pulse point below her ear. She gasped when I sucked gently, then harder, feeling the flesh give under my mouth. Her fingers twisted in my hair.

"Mark me," she whispered. "I want to feel it tomorrow."

I obliged, pulling her skin between my teeth, just enough to make her moan. Her hips ground against mine, and I felt the wet heat of her through the thin cotton of her dress.

"That's it," I breathed against the reddening mark. "I'm going to leave a trail of these down your body."

I worked my way down her throat, sucking, biting, tasting. Each mark I left made her tremble harder. By the time I reached her collarbone, she was pulling at my shirt buttons.

"Too slow," she said, voice ragged. "Take it off."

I ripped the shirt open, buttons scattering across the tiles. Her hands found my belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. I pushed her dress straps down her shoulders, watching the fabric fall to her waist.

Her breasts were bare, nipples hard in the cooling air. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard, then biting down just enough to make her cry out.

"Yes," she gasped. "Like that."

My hand slid under her dress, finding her soaking wet through the lace of her panties. I pushed the fabric aside and slipped two fingers inside her. She was hot, tight, dripping.

"Fuck, Marco..."

"Say my name again."

"Marco — please — I need you inside me."

I pulled her panties down her thighs, lifted her onto the railing. The metal was cool against her skin, but she didn't care. She wrapped her legs around my waist, guiding me to her entrance.

I pushed in slowly, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her head fell back, exposing the column of her throat. I leaned in and bit down on the soft flesh just above her collarbone as I thrust deeper.

She was so tight, so wet. I pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in. Her nails dug into my shoulders.

"Harder," she demanded.

I grabbed her hips and fucked her against the railing, each thrust punctuated by a bite — her shoulder, her neck, the swell of her breast. She was covered in my marks now, a constellation of bruises blooming on her golden skin.

"Look at you," I growled. "Everyone's going to see what I did to you."

"I want them to."

I shifted my angle, driving deeper. Her moans turned to broken cries, her body shuddering around me.

"I'm close — don't stop — "

I didn't. I fucked her through her orgasm, feeling her clench and pulse around my cock. The sight of her coming undone, marked and trembling, pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck and came with a groan that was half bite, half kiss.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, her legs still wrapped around me. The sun had fully set, painting the sky in shades of violet and deep blue.

"Your turn," she whispered against my ear.

"¿Qué?"

She pushed me back, slid off the railing, and dropped to her knees on the balcony tiles. Her hand wrapped around my still-hard cock.

"I want to leave marks you can't see," she said, and took me into her mouth.

Her tongue traced the length of me before she deep-throated me, humming with satisfaction. I tangled my fingers in her hair, watching her work. When she bit down gently on the head of my cock, I nearly collapsed.

"Jesus, Lara..."

She pulled off just long enough to say, "I'm not done with you yet."

Later, we lay tangled in the hotel sheets, the balcony door open, the sound of waves filling the room. Every time I moved, I felt the ghost of her teeth on my skin. She traced the marks on my chest with her fingertips.

"How many do you think we left?"

"I lost count after ten."

She smiled, drowsy and satisfied. "Good. I want to wake up sore."

I pulled her closer, feeling her breath even out against my neck. Somewhere outside, the sea kept its rhythm, slow and constant.

Tomorrow we'd have to face the world with our marks on display.

Tonight, neither of us cared.