The Wild Life Miami - Episode 7

The yacht struck ice the moment the deck warmed. Amanda had Christine pinned against the rail before the captain finished his apology. Their mouths crashed together—salt, champagne, a shared hunger—and then Christine’s hand slid under Amanda’s bikini bottom, two fingers sliding inside with practiced ease. Amanda gasped, hips rolling, and the ocean swallowed every sound. They moved like they’d been doing this for years: fast, filthy, exact. Christine’s thumb circled Amanda’s clit while she pumped deeper, the wet slap of skin meeting skin louder than the waves. Amanda came with her teeth sunk in Christine’s shoulder, cunt pulsing around the intrusion, thighs trembling. They barely paused. Christine dropped to her knees, yanked the fabric aside, and buried her tongue where her fingers had been, licking up the mess she’d made. Amanda’s second orgasm rolled in harder; she gripped the rail, knuckles white, and let the pleasure tear through her in one clean wave. Later, in a Miami hotel room with the windows open to the heat, they lay tangled on damp sheets. Christine traced lazy circles around Amanda’s nipple until it tightened, then sucked it into her mouth, teeth grazing. Amanda’s hand found Christine’s cunt—already slick again—and she pushed two fingers inside while her thumb pressed firm against her clit. Christine rode the pressure, hips grinding, breath coming sharp. When she came, she bit down on Amanda’s breast and left a neat crescent of teeth marks. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The night air cooled their skin while their bodies stayed slick with sweat and come, the city humming outside like it knew exactly what they’d done.