Print Friendly, PDF & Email

by templemarker

Notes: For Porn Battle VIII. Eden/Annemarie, salty.


You lose the taste of salt, when you’re a surfer. You spend so much time hacking it out of you, wiping it off your face, scraping it off your board, that you never so much as notice it. Years on the water, training yourself out of that awareness, of an ocean full of stuff that’ll kill you if you make the wrong move, and salt stops being something real.

Annemarie tastes like salt, in the juncture where her thigh meets her hip; you lick there, feel her shiver, and do it again. She makes these soft little moans that you’d sell a thousand boards to hear again, though you don’t have to, because she’ll make them for you when you dance your fingers over her skin, skimming closer to where she’s not quite begging you to be, breathy when you pull your fingers in the other direction. She tastes like salt, and a little bit like sand, and smells of the smoke from the bonfire earlier tonight.

Everyone’s gone home now, Lena dragging Penny back to the house to get some sleep before school; but there’s no one on the beach, and there’s just enough light from the stars and the moon that this hidden little corner will keep them from the rest of the world. The ocean crashes with endless familiarity at the change of low tide, and you time your push into her slick heat with the beat of the wave on the shore. She shudders and groans in counterpoint, and you smile against her knee, licking there for a taste.

“Eden,” she grinds out, clenching against your fingers, and you don’t reply, just push in harder and spread. Your tongue finds its way between, dipping in again and again to catch that high-pitched whine she makes. If you ever forget the taste of salt, you remember it here, in the core of your girl. A wave comes down hard as she crashes around you, struggling around the sound of your name and the seizing of her pleasure.

When she relaxes, you withdraw, and she pulls you up to her, taking your fingers into her mouth and drawing the taste of herself from every inch of your skin until you’re panting too. “Kiss me,” she says, and you do, chasing the taste of her again, and again, and again.


Leave a Reply