“You go. I have to make a quick call. I’ll follow you down in a few.”

She grabbed her tote, her towel, and ran across the patio and boardwalk to the soft, footprint-free sand.

Her luscious ass jiggled with every step, and I imagined her ass jiggling as I smacked my palm down while taking her from behind.

When she ran into the rolling surf, the whooping sound of her happiness surged through me like a shock.

My dick wasn’t getting any softer. If I was quick, I could knock one out, and hopefully, that would keep my spiraling lust under control for the rest of the day.

I watched as she dove into the sparkling ocean, and I pictured what my life would be like with someone as feisty and as independent as Willow by my side.

I more than liked the images looping through my mind’s eye. My hand wandered down to my balls, and when I squeezed, a hoarse groan dropped from my lips.

I shoved my fingers down the front of my swim shorts and grabbed my rock-hard dick.

As if drugged, my eyes fell to half-mast, and my lips parted. In the distance, Willow’s arms sliced through the water like the desire slicing through me. The speed of my hand followed her stroke by stroke.

After she got as far as the shark net about five-hundred feet out, she turned and swam towards shore. When she reached the flat sand, she stood, water streaming from her curves.

Willow Sanders was my fantasy woman come to life.

She grabbed the towel from where she’d dropped it on top of her tote and dried herself off, something I ached to do with my tongue.

Once dry, she placed the towel on the sand and positioned herself on her elbows with her back arched. She lifted her head towards the cloudless sky.

What I wouldn’t give to lay my head between her thighs and suck her clit until she screamed my name.

I pumped faster, harder, showing no mercy. My breaths grew choppy. My pulse thundered.

Pressure built at the base of my spine and in my balls. As much as I wanted to keep watching her, I squeezed my eyes shut.

I tugged my balls and stroked my cock with a death grip. When I gave myself over to the pleasure, her name fell from my lips, and my hot cum spurted all over my hand.



I couldn’t believe I was on a private beach the Sunday before Labor Day with Evan James. When he’d asked me to spend the day with him, I hadn’t expected a beach-front mansion and a private stretch of sand.

I’d expected us to go to the public beach, eat the picnic I’d packed, then head home after a few hours.

Going back to the real world after this would suck, but while I was here, I would soak up every luxurious second.

“How was the water?” Evan plopped a cooler onto the sand, then plopped himself down a few inches from me. He wore orange swim shorts decorated with leis, and a pair of Aviator Ray-Bans covered his eyes. He smiled, and my stomach flipped.

“Felt so good.” I shoved on my sunglasses so he wouldn’t see me ogling his bare chest.

I got that there was more to him than physical attractiveness. He was a good man who mentored troubled kids. He loved his family and took care of those less fortunate. Those traits counted for so much more than how he looked, but his nerdy t-shirts sure hid a whole lotta nice.

I’d always thought Evan was seductively handsome with his clothes on—broad shoulders, thick, floppy hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes—but with his clothes off, more than my mouth watered.

What would it be like to run my fingernails down every rise and dip off his stomach until I reached the waistband of his swim shorts? And what kind of deliciousness would I find if my fingers went lower?

My eyes wandered to the significant bulge in his crotch. Wow! If he was that big when soft, how big would he be when fully hard? My breath hitched, and I covered it with a spluttering cough.

“You okay?” He sounded concerned.

“Fine. Swallowed the wrong way is all.” I reached into the cooler he brought and pulled out a beer.

“Want to go for another swim?” he asked, grabbing a beer for himself. “You looked like you were having fun out there.”

“I was. Swimming brings back good memories.” Using the opener on the side of the cooler, I flicked off the beer bottle lid and took a swig to cool down. “I swim when I have time. When I was a kid, neighborhoods would compete against each other in swim meets. Every summer, as soon as school ended, we would start training. From the age of five until about eleven, I swam every summer.” Nostalgia washed over me. In my mind, I heard parents cheering, the shrill sound of the start whistle, and I could even smell the flame-grilled burgers and hotdogs gramps cooked to sell at the concession stand.

Tags: Jamie Knight Billionaire Romance
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