Getting head in my office from my stunning new girlfriend was an insane rush. Fucking amazing and terrifying. If someone had found us I'd be fucked, but Chanel was willing to physically please me for the first time in our relationship, and that was all I could think about. Watching her greedily stuff my dick in her mouth after she held back for so long was tantalizing. She's entirely too captivating. One would think that after cumming a lot , right into her mouth, I’d be more relaxed. As necessary to my anatomy as it was, it has painfully backfired. I want more. I want all of her. Need all of her. I need to fuck her harder and longer than I ever have. I need to sink into her tightness and cum with her until our juices drip from her pussy with my dick still buried. And then I want to fall asleep there. Fuck, I need to rein myself in.

All week I’ve been daydreaming in between trying to be on my absolute best behavior for her. Chanel’s happiness is my priority right now. I’m doing everything I can to show her that. I want what we used to have, and I’m trying damn hard to get there. She lets me hold her and kiss her, and though I’ve kept the touching strictly non-sexual, my imagination ruthlessly gets the best of me. She’s mine. My very primal instincts want to physically claim her. To throw her around and roughly pound between her thighs until she can’t walk or think straight. There I go again. I need to chill out. That's going to be difficult. I'm already spinning a web of ways to seduce her as we leave my work, walking hand-in-hand back to my car. I'm distracted when her phone rings.

"It's Jeff," she says surprised and answers it while I begin silently seething. When Chanel told me the photographer she worked with was a guy-- a straight guy, I immediately felt uncomfortable. I'm going to support whatever she wants to do, but that doesn't mean I'll enjoy some other dude taking pictures of her, especially after I witnessed the required attire. Because fuck, I'd come onto her if I were the one behind the camera. When I start to imagine me photographing her naked body, she pulls me back again. "Can I bring someone?" I look at her and she's smiling at me. "...Ok, hold on a second," she says, and puts her phone to her chest. "Jeff’s doing a last minute project before he leaves the state and he wants me to join," she says to me.

“When?”

"Huntington Beach tomorrow...would you care if I went?" I take notice of her willingness to share personal decisions with me, and I’m surprisingly pleased.

"You really like modeling?" I ask earnestly, which seems like the most important question. She grins and shrugs.

"It's fun. It makes me feel like someone else. It's kind of a trip," she admits. "Besides I was gonna say, you should come with me... you can watch," she says, looking far too persuasive without the need. My official plan is forming.

"I'd love to," I say, opening the passenger door for her, and she smiles, finishing her phone call. Thanks to my position at my job it's not easy to always go out of town, but the hour drive to the beach is very doable. There's no way I'm declining this invitation.

"So, what are we doing now?" Chanel asks as I drive.

"What do you want to do?" I ask. She shrugs.

"I don't know. Something fun.”

"I have an idea.”

"What's that?"

"We could go to Huntington now, just you and I," I suggest, pulling to a stop sign on a dead road. I figure if I really want to win her back, we need some serious alone time. I feel like today is different than the past week, there's an undeniable happiness between us. We're young, we're together, the world at our feet. I want to see where it takes us.

Chanel looks at me, amused, the smile not leaving her face.

“And do what?” she asks. Now I shrug.

“We have time to surf. Or we could find live music. I think I remember you talking about zip-lining the beach this summer.” Chanel studies me a moment.

“I guess it would make sense for us to spend the night there, too, huh?” she points out bluntly. I lean closer to her, maintaining eye contact.

“We're not doing anything you don't want to do,” I say matter-of-factly. “I just want us to have a good time.” I layer my sincerity on as palpable as I can. No matter how unreasonably starved I am for every inch of her body, it’s nothing without her mind, too. I want all of her, not to own, but to dominate because she wants me to. Take everything she offers and express my gratitude by making her feel as good as physically possible in return. I want to own her that way, so she’ll always want to come back.

"Let's do it," she says, her big blue eyes playful. We go to her house first and then mine, gathering our things, not bothering to tell anyone we're leaving town. We spend the ride talking about random things, our smiles never letting up. I’m trying exceptionally hard to be charming. It's ironic -- now that Chanel is mine, I'm pursuing her harder than I ever did before.

On our way, we call and reserve a beachfront room. When we get there, we drop off our things and immediately walk to the shore outside. Something about being alone with Chanel in a nice hotel by the beach brings me back to Puerto Rico. I know she can feel it too when she smiles up at me, the salty air caressing her hair. Adding to the nostalgia, my girl quickly decides on surfing, so we find a gear rental shack, then a spot in the sand. Chanel peels off her thin, long-sleeved grey top and drawstring shorts to reveal a simple dark blue bikini. She makes it far from simple though; everything she wears looks like it was tailored to fit her perfect body.

We surf into the late afternoon, throwing tricks and eating water. Just before the sun begins to set and I’m sitting on my board, wading, a million flecks on the water shine before Chanel gracefully rips through them. I am one lucky man. That’s all I can think everytime I look at her today. That’s all I see on every guy’s face when we’re later invited to a sand sculpted beach bonfire by some fellow surfers we met. She’s dried off and redressed in her tight cotton clothes, dancing to music from a large, outdated boombox with the rest of the females. Every bit of her skin is golden tanned bringing out the shocking bright blue of her eyes, her brown hair the darkest chocolate. She looks to me and finds me watching her, then smiles, rolling her hips with purpose now. I shamelessly stare, my eyes only for her. My gaze is projecting very dirty things to her, and when I wink, I can feel her blush around the crackling fire between us. I love that I have that effect on her.

When the sun is down and we’ve thanked our single-serving friends for being hospitable hosts, sharing their BBQ and their beer, we walk back down the beach toward our hotel. Today turned out better than I could have ever planned, our buoyant moods unrelenting. When Chanel facetiously tries to push me back into the water, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, threatening the same.

“Don’t you dare,” she growls through a laugh, fisting the shirt at my back.

“I think I’d rather have you here anyway,” I say, spanking her round ass right next to my face as I walk. Since it’s there and I can’t help myself, I plant a kiss on her thigh right beneath her cheek. I can sense her biting her lip when she doesn’t respond. I put her down when we reach the sliding glass door to our room and unlock it. We immediately agree we both want to wash off the ocean from the day.

“Do you want to take a bath with me?” she says over her shoulder, walking to the large porcelain tub that rests by a window onlooking the beach. The casual way she asks doesn’t diminish the sudden stoke of my inner fire. I automatically gravitate toward her, stopping a few feet away. When the hot water is running she turns to me.

“Are you sure?” I ask. Chanel never brought up the Wednesday incident. She let me touch her for her own pleasure (which I am more than fine with), and when it was over, I knew she still wasn’t ready to go further. That day is the only standing exception to the no-fooling-around rule up to this point.

Chanel pulls off her shirt, followed by her shorts, blue bikini barely covering the rest of her. She is the epitome of physical perfection, every inch of her demanding my attention.

“Can you handle it?” she asks, and my breath escapes me.

“Only if you take it easy on me,” I play along, though I speak nothing but the truth. We both know she has all the power. She pulls the strings to her bikini and both pieces unravel to the floor. I keep the view in my peripheral, my eyes on her face, knowing I’ll lose it if I look down. I pull off my shirt and she licks her lips. She watches me remove every piece of fabric left between us, then I smile and scoop her up, never breaking eye contact.

I step over the side of the tub and lower us into it. Both of us silently stare out at the dark water lapping at the sand, sitting in a steaming tub, her in my arms, head on my shoulder. Chanel eventually pulls away from me, then drops herself completely under the water. She doesn’t hide her breasts when she comes back up, wiping water down the back of her head and from her eyes. I know she knows I’m hungry for her --a gentleman is a patient wolf-- and seeing her slowly open the door to the luscious garden she walled off is fueling my appetite beyond containment. I watch her rest her arms on the rim of the bath opposite me, her nipples intentionally being kissed by the line of the water. This is it. I can see it in her eyes. After a long week of repair this will be a pivotal moment, and I’m anticipating what’s going to come out of her mouth.

“Are you happy with me?” she finally says.

“What do you think?” I say in a low voice.

“I think you need to tell me how happy I make you.” Her tone, her expression and her body language are all gracefully contradicting. She’s assertive and strong, yet unsure of herself. Because of me. She wants to give, but isn’t giving in yet. She wants answers. She wants to know whether or not she’s good enough for me, but knows she’s worth more than how I have treated her. The pain of seeing the repercussions of my careless actions almost floods in. Then suddenly, I can’t stop the smile that spreads on my face.

“It’s funny you should ask me this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about this all day. All week . Maybe even longer.” She waits for more. “You make me so happy it scares me,” I say, letting a hint of my nervousness show in my voice, and she pauses. “I’ve known you for a long time Chanel. In all that time I’ve never seen you intentionally do anyone wrong. After everything we’ve been through, you always try to do the right thing. You’re spontaneous and smart and you’re honest with me. You’re a good person, Chanel, and I like that. I like who I am when I’m with you. And that’s just it; I don’t want to rely on anyone to make me happy. But here you are. Being with you makes me happy, and I will do anything to keep you, and giving you that much power over me terrifies me.” We’re not smiling anymore. I strongly dislike feeling vulnerable, but nothing worth having comes easy. I watch her reaction to my postulation, and am relieved when her subtly shocked face turns to understanding.

“You have power over me too,” she finally says, her reverent voice painting her words with confession. “You have for a while. I should have said something, but I didn’t...I wasn’t...you doing what you did made me realize…” she doesn’t finish, pursing her lips, looking at the water between us.

“Chanel, there aren’t enough ways to tell you how sorry I am,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “I acted out of fear, angry after my first marriage ended . I didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling ever again. I wanted you in my life, but at arm’s length, and that wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. But I’m not afraid to be serious about you anymore. I know how it feels to lose you, and I won’t go through it again.” My words have romantic conviction, and I can tell they are pleasing her. She bites her lip, thinking, her fingers twirling the surface of the water. “I fucked up, and I want to make it right so bad it hurts,” I say, feeling like I need to add that bit. She has to know how important restoring her trust is to me. Chanel raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, eyes suddenly hungry.

“How would you do that?” Her voice is like sex, shoulders pulled back, breasts wet, and my dick gets painfully hard seeing her willingness.

"Oh baby, I'll do whatever you want me to," I say, moving to the middle of the tub, my hands gently taking the back of her ankles beneath the water.

"Be honest with me,” she stipulates with thick seriousness.

“I will. Always,” I promise.

“Tell me I can trust you," she pleads through her seduction, slowly opening her legs. I grab her calves and move between them, keeping some distance from her warm center and my heavy, aching-hard dick. I look down at her with the most open expression I can manage.

"You can trust me, Chanel. It's just you and me now, no one else. You're all I want."

"Prove it," she demands, and I instantly grab the back of her head and grind my mouth against hers. She returns my enthusiasm, and I just became the luckiest man on the planet. I pull her to me and she wraps her legs around my torso, water splashing. I keep her flexible little body tightly against mine and stand up. Soaking wet and not giving a single fuck, I walk us to the bed and come down on top of her. I bite her lip and suck her tongue as I press her into the bed, her pussy against my abdomen. Her tongue liberally massaging mine is rattling my beast’s cage. Oh my god, her nipples are getting hard. She feels much too good, yet much too breakable for the savage way my body wants to handle her. I have to slow down before I inadvertently thrust up and split her open.

“Fuck Chanel, tell me what to do,” I beg, wanting nothing but to please her.

“Fuck me like I know you want to,” she commands, sounding as desperate as I feel. I intended to take this slow. I really did. I wanted to demonstrate every ounce of my respect for her, but those words undo me and I can’t obey fast enough. I put the bare head of my dick against her slippery entrance and force myself inside. I’m lucky she was insanely wet and ready for me. I open her up in one long stride and holy fuck, the feeling is pure nirvana. I growl in my throat and she gasps, her nails digging into my skin, pussy gripping me like a vice.

“Oh fuck,” Chanel chokes out.

“Are you okay?” I manage through gritted teeth. She nods, looking up at me, her ice blue eyes somehow on fire.

“Again, please again,” she pants. That does it. Her silky voice begging for more unleashes the raging monster inside me, and I can no longer hold it back. I pull out of her clingy muscles and slam back into her. She moans in obvious pain tainted pleasure, breaking skin on my back. I grab her wrists and hold them to the bed above her, stretching her out so I can assault her. I fuck her. Lord, I fuck her. I drive her into the bed, my staccato rhythm fast and harsh. I fuck her harder than I ever have, and part of me is terrified I’m hurting her, but she takes it with the same amount of need I’m harboring, and I can’t stop. I roll onto my back and buck under her like a bull. She rides me, perky tits bouncing, hands on my chest, moaning non-stop. I change us again, sitting up to kiss her, then getting to my feet. My forearms are under her thighs, hands on her ass, picking her up and forcing her back down onto my dick as I stand.

“Ethaaaan, fuck,” Chanel gasps, holding onto my neck. Her weight is nothing, I could toss her around all night. I impale her on me over and over, listening to her moan, feeling her stretch for me again and again. I turn us and walk to the nearest wall, pinning her against it.

“God I’ve missed this,” I grunt, burying my face in her neck. She uses the wall to push off of, fucking me back.

“You have no idea,” she coos in my ear, her hands in my hair.

“I’m not fucking this up ever again,” I say, kissing her shoulder, slowing my pelvis.

“Tell me I’m the only girl you’re fucking,” Chanel says between heavy breaths, and satisfactions fills me knowing I can happily comply.

“You are the only woman I’m fucking, Chanel.” I look right in her eyes, then kiss her. “This dick is yours baby.” Chanel smiles and puts her mouth on mine again, holding on when I pick up my pace. I didn’t think I’d last this long. I’ve been a ticking time bomb for days. Her cunt is gripping my thick meat, the week of no sex somehow tightening her to an unforgivable degree, but I keep going. Now that I have her I never want this to end. Her stance at the pedestal I’ve placed her on she still holds, but I’m finally conquering the unattainable goddess, and my molecules can feel it. I want to give her everything she deserves, to show her how grateful I am for letting me back in. And in the spirit of today’s nostalgia, inspiration strikes me.

I lay Chanel back on the edge of the bed and pull my wet cock out of her. She opens her mouth to argue, but I quickly replace it with my hand and start vigorously thrusting against her g-spot. She immediately knows what I’m trying to do, and throws her head back, cursing my name. But her body remembers. I can visibly see her stomach relax, her pussy welcoming the hard intrusion on her pink insides. She wants it, and I become so fucking sick with anticipation I don’t dare blink, unwilling to miss one moment of her pleasure. I watch her perfect body writhe under my touch, her long dark hair sticking to her neck, smooth legs spread. Chanel looks down to my working hand, mouth wide open, and her eyebrows pinch in a way I know very well.

“You want to cum baby? Cum all over me,” I egg her on. She’s not afraid this time, looking me right in the eye with need before hers roll back in her head.

“Oh god Ethan, don’t stop,” she breathes. I fuck her roughly with my fingers and am consumed watching her teetering orgasm morph into the Mr. Hyde version.

I feel her contract around my fingers, and the next second she’s cumming gloriously all over my hand. She screams profanity, and for a second I hope no one else in the hotel can hear what sounds like me exorcising my girlfriend.

“Ethan!” Chanel cries, curling in on herself, her pussy drenching my hand and wrist, and her inner thighs and ass. I put my dick back into her dripping cunt and fuck her through her climax. Though her clenching muscles start to slow, her warm spray soaked us, pooling around my cock inside her, and my balls start to tighten.

“Oh fuck,” I groan, feeling the cum build inside me. I push her thighs farther apart and tilt her hips, trying to fuck her front wall. I know I’m hitting the right spot when Chanel starts swearing again, and it makes me peak, then free fall, my seed angrily seeking her womb. Despite my getting off earlier, I have plenty more sperm to give, and the release is something beyond ecstasy.

“Fuck fuck fuck, it’s coming again,” Chanel groans and tightens around me once more. The moment my cock gives its last drop I pull out of her. I watch her squirt, clear fluid running down her well fucked pussy and tight little ass. We both stare at her stream until it stops, Chanel whimpering like crazy. When it does, I keep her legs open and put my mouth to her sopping flesh, tasting her sweetness.

“Aahhh!” she cries out, trying to get away from me. I hold her down for a moment, forcing her to feel my tongue push on her clit, then show mercy when she starts shaking. Like last time, Chanel turns into a human vibrator, trying to catch her breath, shattered in a million pieces. I lay beside her and pull her petite, shivering frame against me. When she graduates from hyperventilating to ragged panting I loosen my arms a little. I hold onto her as we slowly re-enter reality, replaying her vicious orgasm in my head.

I’ve made women squirt before. None of them compare to Chanel. She fucks like a porn star, looks like a top notch model, and her pussy is like heroin, but it’s more than that. It’s everything about who she is, and her personality ties her beauty together in a way of unexplained exquisiteness. Watching her cum like a fountain because of me is icing on the delicious cake. To join her while she’s her most vulnerable is something I’ll never take lightly again.

I turn my head and she pulls her eyes from the ceiling to look at me. “How’d I do?” I ask with a cocky grin. A pearl-white smile breaks out across her face, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I can’t move,” she replies, then I kiss her until she can’t breathe.