Lakeside love

He liked taking his father’s boat out at dawn, when the lake lay glassy and empty. New coves, hidden inlets where no one else bothered to land. Later he’d steer the same route with a girl in the passenger seat, skin already prickling under the sun. They’d tie off in those quiet stretches of water and let the afternoon slide. Her bikini bottom peeled down, his swim trunks left in the deck. He’d drop to his knees on the bow cushions, mouth between her thighs while the boat rocked beneath them. Salt and sunscreen on her skin. She’d brace one hand against the windshield and open wider, breath catching as he worked her with tongue and fingers, slow at first, then greedy. Sometimes he’d stand and turn her over the rail, the metal warm from the sun, her hips pushing back to take him in. The water made soft clapping sounds against the hull every time he drove forward. He could hear a distant speedboat on the main channel, but they stayed hidden behind the tree line, just them and the open sky and the slap of skin. When she came she dug her nails into the fiberglass edge and left pale half-moons on his forearm. After, they’d swim naked off the swim platform, rinsing the sweat and stickiness away before the sun dropped too low. Then he’d start the engine, let it idle while she tugged her suit back into place, and point the bow toward the channel again—two damp towels on the deck and the faint taste of her still on his lips.