Christina's Adventures Part 12 (A Date with Him)

We were sitting in the hot tub, Mom's lips trembled, she turned to me, her eyes half-closed from exhaustion:

Mom: — "You're... a good girl..."

I smirked, feeling myself start to fall asleep from exhaustion.

Me: — I'm going inside, I'm about to pass out...

Mom got up with me, and after entering the house, she lay down in the living room, while I made it to my room and collapsed onto the bed.

All day we lazily savored the aftertaste of last night — the sun caressed our skin, and the warm ocean waves gently embraced our bodies, as if continuing yesterday's caresses.

At lunch, Mom unexpectedly bought tickets for an evening tour of Santo Domingo. From

the very first minutes, the old city enchanted us: narrow streets, saturated with the scents of jasmine and tropical humidity, seemed created not just for photos, but for kisses in the semi-darkness.

At Columbus Square, a guy approached us — tanned, with short light hair and the skin on the sides and back of his head shaved.

— Timur, — he introduced himself, his body had a slight muscular definition and he was about 185 centimeters tall, his gray eyes sparkled in the lantern light. — Let me take a photo of you, and you take one of me?

His voice was low, with a slight huskiness that sent a light shiver down my spine. I nodded, and he handed me his phone. His fingers briefly touched my palm — intentionally or accidentally, but the touch was searing.

The wind suddenly gusted from the sea, lifting the hem of my light skirt. The air slid caressingly over my thighs, revealing pink lace panties and a thin strip of tan above my knees.

— Oh, just in time! — Timur laughed, lowering the phone.

I pressed down my skirt, feeling heat spread across my cheeks, but couldn't tear my gaze away from his smile — confident, slightly predatory. His gaze slid downward, lingering on my legs, and my stomach fluttered.

The guide called us for dinner.

— So, girls, shall we go together? — Timur suggested, and his hand barely touched my waist, as if testing boundaries.

— Yes, let's go, — I exhaled, catching Mom's approving glance.

In the restaurant, I secretly studied him: a bronze tan emphasizing the definition of his shoulders, the moist gleam of his lips against the backdrop of a wine glass. He caught my glances and answered them with a slight squint — as if he knew what I was thinking.

My leg under the table accidentally brushed against his — and didn't pull away.

And what do you do, Timur? — I asked, languidly tracing the rim of the glass along my lips, feeling the wine leave a slight sweet trace on them.

He leaned back in his chair, and the light slid over his cheekbones, emphasizing the confidence in his gaze.

— Owner of small branded clothing stores in Moscow, — his voice sounded deeper, as if he deliberately slowed his words so I could feel each one. — Let's say, just starting my journey.

Under the table, I slowly ran my bare foot along his calf, feeling the hard muscles under my toes. My fingers lingered just above the knee, barely touching the inner thigh...

Timur didn't flinch, only raised an eyebrow, but his gaze grew darker.

— A dangerous game, — he whispered, leaning closer. His hand dropped onto my knee under the tablecloth, his thumb began slowly stroking the tender skin, causing goosebumps. — Especially when you have such... expressive eyes.

Mom was animatedly discussing something with the waiter at that moment, but I was already beyond caring — my pulse pounded rapidly in my temples, and warmth spread between my thighs.

Do you come to the Dominican Republic often? — I asked, lightly biting my fork, while my leg under the table gently slid along his shin.

Timur grinned, taking a sip from his glass. His fingers lazily traced the rim of the glass, leaving wet marks.

— Second time. Last time I came alone... but now I realize — a waste.

His gaze slid over my neck, lower — to the neckline of my dress, and a hot tremor shook my chest.

Mom, meanwhile, was enthusiastically talking about the sights, but her voice seemed to dissolve in the restaurant's hum. I leaned closer, catching the light scent of his cologne — woody, with a bitter note.

— And in Moscow, do you have... many distractions? — I whispered, deliberately slowly licking a spoon from the dessert.

Timur laughed quietly, deeply, and his hand finally covered mine under the tablecloth, his fingers intertwining with mine — warm, slightly rough.

— Before this trip — yes. Now, unlikely.

When dinner ended, he took out his phone, a Tinder notification flashed on the screen. Our mom was already rummaging in her purse, pulling out the guide's business card, and Timur dialed a number... mine.

— Will you text? — he ran his thumb over my palm before letting go.

I just bit my lip in response. Images were already forming in my head: dark streets after the tour, his hands on my waist... and how easily that tan hides bite marks.

All the way home, I couldn't get Timur's image out of my head. His confident smile, that predatory gleam in his eyes when he noticed my panties...

In the morning, Timur and I texted, and he suggested going for a walk. Agreeing, I went to choose an outfit for him.

I settled on ripped denim shorts — they fit as if they were sewn specifically for me: hugging my hips, leaving a bit more skin exposed in the back than was decent. A white crop top emphasized my tan, and the lack of a bra made every movement... special.

Let him try not to notice, — I thought, running my palm over my stomach.

The gray Calvin Klein thong barely covered the most intimate part, but in them I felt confident — they seemed created to be torn off with teeth. The sound of Timur's bike at the gate came just as I tied up my high ponytail.

He stood at the entrance, in a tight-fitting t-shirt that didn't hide his handsome, toned body. His gaze slowly slid down my figure, lingering on my exposed stomach, then on the shorts... I saw his pupils dilate.

I turned my back, slowly bending over to adjust the strap of my sandal. The denim stretched, and I knew he could see — how the narrow Calvin Klein thong literally cut into the curves, leaving very little to the imagination.

I slowly turned to him, deliberately delaying the movement to give him time to examine every curve of my body. My fingers playfully adjusted my ponytail, causing my chest to push forward, emphasizing the roundness under the thin fabric of the top.

I'm ready. Are we going on the motorcycle? — my voice sounded a bit sweeter than usual.

I took two seductive steps forward, feeling his breathing quicken. Thank you! I've never ridden a motorcycle... — my eyelashes languidly lowered, and my lips parted in an enticing half-smile.

— You'll like it. Especially if you... hold on tighter. A new, dangerous note appeared in his voice.

I pressed against his back, wrapping my arms around him so tightly that I felt every ridge of his abs through the t-shirt wet with sweat. The engine vibrated between my thighs, and with every turn, I involuntarily pressed into him harder. One hand slid from his stomach lower, gliding over his belt, and I heard him sharply inhale. The motorcycle jerked as he momentarily slowed down. The road wound along the coast, and with each minute, his movements became more explicit. He deliberately shook the motorcycle over bumps, making me gasp and cling to him tighter.

Arriving at the mountain, a beautiful romantic view opened up to us. I gave him my phone and dragged him to take photos; it was clear he was tired of it. Taking two mojitos, we sat on the swings and enjoyed the view and chatted. His hand rested on my leg; I pretended not to notice.

Mount Redonda opened before us in all its tropical beauty — endless ocean, azure sky, and wind playfully tousling my top. I shoved my phone into his hands and pulled him toward the cliff, where tourists usually took dramatic shots.

— One more! Please! — I deliberately stood on tiptoe, knowing how the shorts ride up, and heard him hold his breath.

Timur smiled wearily, but his eyes told a different story — they darkened with every move I made. When he returned the phone, his fingers lingered on mine longer than necessary, and his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist — barely noticeable, but enough to send shivers down my spine.

We took mojitos and settled on wooden swings swaying over the abyss. Sugar crumbs from the rim of the glass stuck to my lip, and he, without thinking, wiped them away with the pad of his finger.

— Tasty? — his voice sounded hoarse, and his palm dropped onto my thigh, his thumb began slowly stroking the skin just above my knee.

I pretended not to notice, sipping the cocktail, but my thighs themselves treacherously parted a bit wider. His touches grew bolder — now he traced with his fingertips higher, toward the inner thigh hidden under the ripped fabric of the shorts.

— Are you even listening to what I'm saying? — I laughed falsely when his hand finally reached its target, the light pressure of his fingers making me sharply inhale.

I turned to him, the wind lightly blew, pushing my head toward him, our lips met — first uncertainly, then greedily. His hands dug into my thighs, pulling me closer, while the swings still swayed beneath us.

— Are you doing this on purpose? — he broke the kiss to run his tongue over my lower lip. In response, I ran my nails higher up his thigh, feeling the muscles tense under the jeans. My fingers slowly moved toward the inner side of his leg, and his breathing became ragged.

— What if I am? — I whispered, lightly biting his lip.

The wind suddenly picked up, and the swing jerked forward sharply. I gasped and instinctively grabbed the ropes; his gaze was riveted to how my top fluttered in the gusts, exposing my chest even more, my nipples erect from the friction against the fabric.

The sun went behind the clouds, and we ran to the bike and headed home, getting caught in a downpour.

The rain turned my top into a transparent second skin, and the shorts clung tightly to every curve of my body. Water streamed down my legs, leaving wet trails on the floor, but I wasn't in a hurry to dry off — his hot gaze was worth it.

I slowly bent over, unstrapping my sandals, feeling his breathing grow heavier. When I looked up, before me were his wet shorts — the fabric stretched to the limit, outlining every centimeter of his arousal.

— Seems you got wet too... — I whispered, catching his eyes with my gaze.

Timur stepped close, so his hardness was a centimeter from my lips.

I straightened up before him, our heavy, hot breath began to fill the room, his eyes slowly rose from my chest up my neck.

— You're so sexy... And wet... — He said gently, placing his hands on my waist and pulling me to him.

— Yeah, I could use getting undressed. — I said playfully, throwing my arms around his neck and starting to slowly stroke his head.

His lips gently touched mine, and his hands pressed our bodies tighter. Our tongues slowly played, enjoying each other.

— You have such soft lips. — he said with a smile. Guiding me toward the kitchen countertop.

I leaned my hands on it. His hot lips burned my neck, and his hands kneaded my thighs, spreading and squeezing them. My heart beat in a frantic rhythm, he continued sliding his lips lower.

— You're covered in goosebumps — His fingers slid under the elastic of the top and began lifting it up.

My breasts slipped out from under the top's elastic, swaying sexily as if hypnotizing him. His hot lips sank into my nipple, greedily sucking it. I squeezed his neck and wrapped one leg around him.

His body covered me like a wave — heavy, damp with desire. My fingers slid down, feeling under the thin fabric of his shorts a hard, pulsating bulge. At my touch, he sharply inhaled, breaking the kiss, and I felt his cock jerk in response, as if trying to break through the barrier.

He lifted himself up, and in the semi-darkness of the room, I saw how his t-shirt, clinging to his torso from the rain, outlined every muscle. My hands immediately reached for him, grabbing the wet fabric. We tore it off together — I helped him, and he, without taking his burning gaze off me, deliberately slowed his movements, giving me time to examine his body: tense abs, droplets of moisture running down his chest, and that very bulge in his shorts, which now didn't hide at all how much he wanted me.

Timur abruptly pushed me onto the sofa, his strong hands pinned my wrists to the cushions, depriving me of the ability to move. His lips slid over my neck, leaving wet, hot trails, and his breath burned my skin, making goosebumps run down my back. He took his time, as if wanting to memorize every centimeter of my body — his tongue slowly outlined my collarbone, lingered in the hollow between my breasts, and then, finally, reached my nipples.

Oh...

He played with them so skillfully — now lightly biting, now licking with wide, slow circles — that I arched under him, unable to hold back moans. Every touch of his lips made my stomach clench with sweet tension, and between my legs, an insistent, unbearable desire already pulsed.

— Tiiimur... — my voice sounded hoarse, ragged, — I... I want... you...

I bit my lip, trying somehow to control the trembling, but he only smirked in response, feeling how wildly my heart beat under his palm. His fingers slid lower, to the edge of my shorts, and I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating.

Finally, the shorts fell to the floor, and I was left only in soaked panties — the light gray material darkened from the rain, clinging to my skin so tightly that the outline showed through... His fingers ran over the wet fabric, gathering droplets, and I shuddered — from his touch, from how he looked, from the realization that he could see how much I wanted him. — So wet... — he whispered, and his voice held a mix of mockery and admiration. — And not just from the rain, right?

— Timur, please... Don't stop! — my voice broke into a moan when his fingers dug into the panties, pulling them up so that the thin, wet fabric cut into my pussy lips, emphasizing every fold. Air escaped my lungs with a sharp "ah" as the cold wetness of the material mixed with my body's heat — the contrast made my stomach clench, and between my legs pulsed so strongly that I involuntarily arched, offering myself.

His lips, hot even through the soaked fabric, pressed against the most sensitive spot, making me shudder. His tongue slid upward, tracing the wet contour of my clit, and I sharply arched, digging my fingers into the sofa.

— Mmm... Timur... — his name escaped my lips in a moan when his teeth lightly squeezed the tender skin through the fabric.

The panties slowly slid down, as if obeying his unhurried, confident movements. Cool air touched my bare skin, but then his breath warmed me — hot, ragged.

— Mmm so beautiful...— he whispered, and his finger slowly ran between my lips, slightly parting them, making moisture well up even more. Every movement was agonizingly precise — now a light pressure, now a barely noticeable glide, now circular motions around my