Love Boat

Martina steps aboard in a dress cut so tight it clings to her like a second skin. One look at the bulge pressing against Zenza’s trousers is all it takes. She drops to her knees, parts her lips, and takes every inch deep into her throat. Saliva glistens on the shaft as she works him, hungry and unhurried, until he throbs between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She rises, tugs the dress up over her hips, and leans over the rail. He slides inside without hesitation. Every thrust rocks the boat beneath them; the slap of skin echoes across the water. When he’s close, she turns, kneels again, and offers her face. Thick ropes paint her lips, her cheeks, the golden strands of her hair. She smiles, tongue flicking across her bottom lip, tasting what the sea breeze can’t wash away.