The day had been as picture-perfect as either of us might have imagined. The previous evening's late clouds had disappeared with a brief yet dramatic after-midnight rain, giving way to a cloudless sky upon waking. The sun-brightened sea had shown off its most dazzling range of turquoise and cerulean, calm for the few hours we'd spent exploring its depths that morning.
Still a little high from two exceptional dives, we pass the afternoon seated at the resort's swim-up bar, relishing the simultaneous luxuries of cool water, warm air and strong drinks. As we enjoy the relaxed passing of this part of the day, our freshly-sunned bodies barely covered by bathing suits, each of us grows increasingly desirous of the other, quietly appreciating an attractively firm line of muscle or a particularly appealing curve. As the afternoon and the beverages progress, we find ourselves torn between a rum-infused desire to retreat to the starched white haven of our bed, or the urge to give in to too many hours without eating and a serious craving for the island's exceptional seafood. Hunger wins out, and despite the mild ache of lust, we wander up the beach in search of a meal.
After a fifteen minute stroll we find an unassuming beach bar promising fresh-caught lobster and good ceviche. Over several mojitos to follow those we'd been drinking for the better part of the afternoon, we slowly immerse ourselves in the heady flavors of briny fish, rich lobster and piquant citrus. As we linger long at the rough wooden table, we give a silent thanks for the evening's sudden breeze and watch the sun slowly fade over the western horizon, listening to the sound of waves gently meeting the shore as the recorded sound of a marimba trickles gently from the bar's speakers. As ever, conversation flows easily, eye contact becoming more direct and lingering with each drink that passes our lips. Looks and affectionate caresses grow more eager, knowing, silently signaling the mutually acknowledged time to go back to the bed that has long since cooled from that morning's lazy, just-woken enjoyment of each other.
As we rise from the table, the effect of all we've had to drink that day hits us both slightly more than anticipated; we weave a somewhat indirect path down the sand in the night, arms around each other, senses on edge as we feel one other's fingers moving on our bodies as we walk. As we round a darkened bend in the beach we smile over some joke or clever quip, and our gaze holds. The weight of desire that has been building for each other over the past hours becomes overwhelming, and we collide into a kiss: urgent, becoming fiercer as it continues. With only the flimsy fabric of shorts and a sundress between us, I feel you harden against me, and I cannot help myself from grasping the hard magnificence of your longing. As I caress you through your clothes with both hands, I feel a sudden rush of my own yearning, wet, starving to be full of you.
As our mouths continue to meet and tongues intertwine, we grasp at each other with growing fervor; still caught in this most exceptional of kisses, you guide me backwards into the dark of the edge of a patch of tropical plants that line this small but desolate stretch of beach. Alone there in the night, you push my back against the rough trunk of a tall, gently arched palm, kissing me harder and more hungrily. Unable to resist, my hand slides past the hem of your shorts, feeling soft skin and hard cock. You gasp, then recover yourself, pulling your mouth away from mine and ensnaring me in an intense look that weakens me from the inside out. As I respond with my own overwhelmed gasp, you drop to your knees in the perfectly sugar-white sand, lifting the hem of my dress and running your tongue along the inside of my thigh, kissing gently as you move slowly higher. Just when I think I cannot stand it any longer, you take me in your mouth, your tongue searching hungrily, a feverish mix of sucking, licking, teasing, kissing. My own brininess, brought forth by the intensity of my attraction to you, rivals that of our earlier meal; you relish the familiarity of the taste you know so well by now, feasting upon me with abandon. My hands tangle up in the curls of your hair as my excitement builds; I could get lost in the feelings you begin to bring forth, but there is more that I want.
Unable to wait for the bed that lies mere meters away up the shore, I raise you to standing and grasp for the opening at your waist, loosing buttons and zippers and bringing you into the coolness of the night air. The beach remains desolate, but we would likely both fail to notice it falling into the sea for we are so consumed by wanting each other. Reaching my hands around your back, I pull you toward me; you bend at the knees and raise to slide yourself upwards into me. We exhale sharply, simultaneous in our relief to finally feel each other in this most intimate of ways. My leg wraps around your lower back to bring you deeper; your hand slides up into my hair, grabbing and pulling gently as our tongues meet again. I can taste myself on you, and I enjoy it, wanting my own mouth full of the taste of you I love so well but unable to stop as you continue to thrust against me, harder, faster, more and more urgent. The coarse bark of the palm upon which I am pressed digs into my back, which is slightly tender from several days of Caribbean sun. The sensation only heightens my excitement, and I pull you closer into me, wanting to feel you as fully as possible. Your movements become more rapid yet, and I feel your pleasure rising higher with my own; I try to quiet myself as the intensity builds, nails digging into your back as I struggle for silence, and suddenly I feel your release in a rush of breath and sweat that seems to be blown in with the power of the sea itself. You shudder against me, both of us satiated. We share a last slow, deep kiss, smile at each other with lust now given over to looks of love, and resume our walk up the beach.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/2cr6va/a_caribbean_vacation_interlude_comments_please_mf