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molded his hand to the soft, pliable flesh—so big in his hand—and raked
    his thumb across the pebble-hard nipple.
    Without quite planning it, he found himself pinching it then, just lightly, because he liked how damn hard it felt already and had the urge to make it harder still. She whimpered and sighed against his mouth—until she was leaning her head back, until his kisses drifted
    down over her neck, onto the silky skin of her chest. Ah, shit, he loved her cleavage and quickly found himself kissing his way down the inner curve of one soft, ample breast,
    listening to her breath grow labored—and wanting more of her.
    He could have reached behind her neck and untied the dress to let the top part drop down, but he was suddenly too impatient—so he used his hand to push the fabric aside, baring
    one lovely tit in the moonlight. He instantly massaged and caressed, studying the large
    pink areola, the beautifully long, turgid nipple at its center. He lasted only a few seconds before taking it in his mouth to suck.
    Above him, her whimpery moans increased as he licked and sucked that gorgeous tit. He
    ran his tongue around it, simply liking how rigid and pearllike it felt—then he drew it in deep, wanting to make it still longer and harder. Her fingers were in his hair, her breath warmed the back of his neck. He pushed his hand beneath the fabric covering her other
    breast and massaged the flesh firmly in rhythm with his suckling.
    The truth was—Brandon, like most guys, loved breasts! and he could have stood there
    enjoying hers for a long while without complaint. But he sensed that Wendy wanted to go
    faster— not only from the 'Fuck me now,' but from the way her body moved, the
    desperate little cries coming from her throat—and he wanted to give her what she needed.
    Not too fast, though. No, a woman this hot was something to savor, something to be enjoyed.
    So, with some effort, he released her stiffened nipple from his mouth and forced himself to let go of her body and back away a few feet.
    She looked surprised until he said, "Untie it. Let it fall."
    Slowly, without ever taking her eyes from him, she reached up beneath her hair and
    pulled at the fabric. A second later, the top of the dress dropped to her waist.
    The groan he emitted rose from his gut. He had no idea why, given that, at thirty-six, he'd seen plenty of topless women in his life. But something about her... she just looked so
    gorgeous, so vulnerable, so sexual, so many things at once. Her tits were not the kind you saw in Playboy—but they were real. Round. Big. And beautiful. She was beautiful.
    "Lie down," he finally said, firmly, pointing to the lounge chair a few feet away.
    She didn't hesitate, but padded across the sand to recline on the thick padding. She
    propped on her elbows to look at him, fire in her eyes.
    "Now pull up your dress. Slowly," he warned, thinking of the view he'd had of her in the ocean when she'd been wading out to meet him.
    She obeyed the instruction silently, reaching down to pinch a bit of fabric near the hem and delicately beginning to ease it higher, higher.
    "That's right," he said, low, his heart beating so hard that his chest ached. "Keep going."
    She did, lifting the orangy fabric higher still—until revealing her panties. A strip of dark lace circled her hips and a tiny swatch of black descended over her pussy. She looked
    beautifully erotic wearing only the tiny scrap of underwear, her dress in a heap at her
    waist.
    "Now spread your legs for me."
    Again, she obeyed, spreading wide, planting her feet on either side of the chair. And even in the dark, even through black panties, he thought she looked swollen with excitement.
    At the end of the chair, he dropped to his knees in the sand, intent on having more of her.
    Wendy tried to control her breathing, but it was hard. She'd never been so aroused in her life. And she'd never been with a man who told her to spread her legs before, either.
    Something about