The breeze is a welcome comfort from the rather warm Chicago afternoon. Though, I think we both would agree, the balcony view of the sand and water is more than worth any heat. Besides…I’ve lost all worry on the weather…my attention stolen by the heat of your lovely self, laying in leisure on a stretched beach chair…covered in a robe, lazily drawn over you, revealing your bra and thong set underneath…
Even walking over to you, I caught myself biting my lip…taking you in…clenching the glasses of a bit tighter…before sitting them down on the small table next to you…kneeling to your side on one knee…taking your hand…
“If you’re proposing, you’re taking this ‘playing house’ thing a bit too seriously,” you smirked. Your mouth opened for another quip, only to let a small gasp slide out…as you felt my mouth take in each of your fingers…my teeth gently grazing over each one…before I turn your hand over…kissing up your wrist…leaning up…taking your sunglasses off and placing them on the table…your entrancing brown eyes gazing into mine…
“We might not want to do this on the balcony.”
“Sweetie,” I said, smiling deviously, “this isn’t your neighborhood.”