Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Have you met our Resort Manager? Ever such a helpful fellow. Fantastic arse too,” I say as she steps in close and slides her arms around my waist. It's then I wonder how I have spent nearly an hour with her this morning and not kissed her yet, not properly.
As if reading my mind, she pushes up and presses her lips to mine, and I am quick to open my mouth, tasting coffee, honey and a little mint too.
I sigh and hum as our kiss deepens and I instinctively rock into her when she grabs my butt.
I am ready to take her right now and I sense she is too, but I'm not going to let that happen. Not yet.
“I'm afraid this is not on the date's itinerary,” I say.
“It's not?”
“I don't see condoms in that bag, do you?” I nod to the snorkel gear.
“Well, knowing my brother, it's entirely possible.”
“Nothing wrong with being prepared,” I add. “But I would like to get wet in other ways first.”
“Oh, that was bad,” she says, and she loosens her grip, stepping back.
“Wordplay doesn't do it for you, eh? And I thought you were a writer.” I chuckle as I bend down and reach for the bag.
“Not that kind of wordplay.” She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, giving me a far too tempting look at her neck and shoulders.
“Come on,” I say handing her a pair of goggles with a snorkel attached. “Let's go find some fish.”
She looks at the gear with a squint in her eye. “Why do I feel like you're trying to make me wear the least attractive headgear possible today? Don't you want me to look remotely sexy?”
“You look plenty sexy enough, trust me.” I peck her on the cheek before pulling my T-shirt over my head. I hear her inhale of breath as the material drops into the sand.
“Now you're just trying to distract me,” she says, her eyes trailing down my torso.
“No, asking you to put some sun cream on my back and chest is how I'm going to really send you to distraction,” I say before realising. “Oh, shit. I didn't bring any.”
She rummages in her bag. “Voila!” She retrieves a bottle and then drops her bag and turns me around. “Don't move.”
“Ah!” I yell out when the cold spray of the lotion smacks into my back, again and again and again. I am practically dancing with the shock of each spray.
“Hold still!” She starts to rub it in.
“It's your turn next,” I warn.
“Shit,” she says in a quieter voice. “I really did a number on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are scratch marks all over your back,” she says. “Must have been from the shower. We didn't even do missionary last night.”
It's almost like she's talking to herself, remembering. I wonder if she’s done lots of remembering. I know I have.
“Is missionary your usual position of torture?” I ask.
She doesn't reply, but then I feel her lips touch down on various places on my back, accompanied occasionally by the wet warmth of her tongue.
“Jenna,” I say as I tilt my head back, so close to surrendering. “I really do want to get in the water.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and it’s suddenly an apology I don’t want. She has nothing to apologise for. I only wish I could see the marks she left on me.
As the scent of coconut fills my nostrils, I watch Jenna walk around to face me.
She sprays my chest and stomach at least five times too many and we laugh again as I jump in shock at each one.
She studies every inch of my skin that her hands rub across, smoothing the lotion in, and I don't understand how this is both so sensual and so caring.
I also don't know why I want to fight the desire I have when I see her eyes dart around my skin like I’m her favourite food and she hasn't eaten for a week.
I just don't want today to be only about sex. And I think I’d like for it to be the same for her.
“Your turn,” I say when her fingers are a little too close to the waistband of my shorts.
She reluctantly hands over the bottle and holding my eyes with hers, she reaches down for the hem of her dress and pulls it up over her head. Allowing myself a long look at her breasts in her bikini top, I then notice the shorts.
“Off with them! Offensive denim!” I insist. She rolls her eyes but goes to undo the buttons and slides them down her thighs. Those thighs. Thighs my head belongs between.
Later, Marty. Later.
I then step back and position the bottle like a gun and spray three times on her stomach. She squeals.
“Fuck! That is cold!”
I start massaging the cream into her skin, marvelling at how warm and smooth she is there. When it comes to applying the lotion to her chest and arms, I spray it into my hands first.
“Now you're making me look like a bully,” she says after spinning around. But I don't put my hands or the cream on her body for a moment, because I'm too busy looking down at the flare of her arse.
“Marty?” she says, as if checking I'm still there.
“Sorry, your butt was talking to me,” I say.
“Oh.” She laughs. “What was it saying?”
“Something about how it has plans for me later.” I start to spread the lotion around her back, feeling hard muscle, soft fat, and the ridges of her ribs and shoulder bones, all wrapped in luscious freckled skin.
“It does? What kind of plans?”
“Oh, it was all a bit vague but there was something about squeezing, something about biting, something about spanking. Your arse is going to keep me very busy.”
Jenna doesn't say anything, but I see her move, her hand disappearing and then her fingers are back and her body is turning. She lifts her middle finger to my lips, which are already opening for her.
I taste her. Her heady musk and the sun cream she just applied and maybe even still a bit of honey from the baklava.
“You make me so wet,” she says in a whisper.
And that's it. I've had just about as much temptation as I can stand. I drop the sun cream to the blanket, scoop up the two snorkel goggles and as I straighten up, I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her up and over my shoulder.
“You need to cool off, woman!” I yell as I run to the water's edge, her body bouncing against mine, her laughter-filled screams the sweetest sound in the world.