Marjorie simply laughed, and when she got to the edge of the water, she stripped off her dress. He experienced a moment of shock, then realized she was wearing a bikini.
And . . . damn. When had his modest Marjorie bought a bikini? He stared at the tiny string tied at the center of her back, at the small stripey panties that barely covered her luscious ass.
“Do you want to swim with me?” she asked, easing into the water. Her long legs were gorgeous in the moonlight.
He was glad the beach was empty, because his pants were growing uncomfortably tight across the groin. “If I say no, are you going to get dressed?”
She looked back at him, smiling, and ran her fingers over the surface of the water. “You want to come in here with me. You know you do.”
“This part of me does,” he agreed, pointing at his dick. “This part of me isn’t so sure.” He pointed at his brain.
Her laughter floated up between the crash of the waves. “It’s still warm. You’ll love it, I promise.”
“The last time I went out higher than my ankles, I nearly became worm food,” Rob called out, but he found himself taking off his shoes and socks anyway. Like a dumbass.
“I’ll hold on to you,” she offered enticingly, and then walked further out into the water, until it was up to her breasts. And then she beckoned him. “Come join me.”
Rob sighed. His hands went to his hips and he studied the beach. It was near midnight, the tide high. The moon was shining down on the dark waters of the ocean, and the waves rolled in rhythmically. The beach, normally crowded in the daytime, was completely empty this late at night. It would just be him and Marjorie.
He stalled a moment more. “I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”
“Are you boxers or briefs?” She called out to him, splashing water in his direction.
“Will it bother you if I say neither? I go commando. Always have.”
Her shocked giggle floated through the night air, making his dick even harder. “Really?”
“Really. You still want to swim?”
“I do,” she called out. “I promise not to look.” And she turned her back to him.
Well, dammit, he kind of wanted her to look. Virgin, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he glanced around and then shucked his pants into the sand. This was going to be a huge fucking mistake, he just knew it. But he was drawn toward the frolicking, bikini-clad Marjorie like a moth to flame.
The water was fucking cold and he yelped as it hit his bare nuts. “Jesus, you’re a fucking liar,” he called out. “This is like ice!”
She only giggled, her hands moving through the water as she continued to stare out into the ocean, obediently not looking as he eased into the water. He wished she’d look, though. He wanted her to gaze at him with wondering eyes, to check out his package like she had that morning in the hotel room.
Then again, considering that he was probably shriveling thanks to the cold, it was likely for the best that she didn’t check out his stuff. Yet.
“You’re a horrible, horrible little tease,” he growled under his breath, wading out to her. The water grew deeper, now at his waist, and when the tide rolled back, it sucked and pulled at his legs, and panic stirred in him again. “Come back,” he told her. “Don’t go out so fucking far.”
“This isn’t far,” she said lightly, dancing a few feet away. “I’m barely at chest height.”
“Yes, but I’m shorter than you,” he said. “I might drown if I go out that far.”
She turned around and splashed him, scowling.
He put up his hands to block the icy water, chuckling. “That got your attention.”
“Cruel man,” she said in a tone of voice that implied he was anything but. Hell, just that teasing note in her voice made his dick get all hard again, icy water or not.
“You’re the cruel one—trying to drown me in the water here.” He skated a hand over the surface. “Do sharks swim at night? Do we need to worry about that shit? What about riptides?”
“It’s fine,” she soothed. “Don’t worry. I’m right here with you.”
“I fucking hate the water,” he grumbled. “Fucking hate it. Can’t believe you’re making me come out here.”
“This isn’t so bad, is it?” She moved toward him a few feet, close enough that he could see the amusement shining in her eyes, and the water lapping just below her breasts in that tiny string bikini. His gaze kept traveling downward, and he kept forcing it up again to be polite.
At this rate, he was going to need a medal for sainthood.
Something brushed against his foot, and he yelped and moved toward Marjorie in the water. “What the fuck was that?”
She giggled again. “That was my foot.”
“Christ, don’t do that again.” His heart was hammering in his chest.
“You really are scared, aren’t you?”
“I think I have PTSD from almost drowning last week. It doesn’t bother me too much until I’m out farther than ankle deep. Fuck, I don’t even like baths anymore. Just showers.”
“Poor baby,” she soothed in that teasing voice, and her arms moved to his neck and wrapped around him. “I’m right here. You can lean on me if you need to.”
“That so?” His hands went to her waist, caressing her skin just above the bikini bottom. He didn’t know what had brought out this playful side of Marjorie, but he was liking it. He drew her closer, and his mouth moved toward hers. “If you feel something jab you in the stomach, that’s not the Loch Ness Monster. Just my dick.”
She snorted with laughter a moment before her mouth went to his. Then, they were kissing.
Rob had learned something interesting about Marjorie this week—every kiss with her seemed to get better. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of practice before, but now when their mouths met, she was as eager for him as he was for her. Her tongue swept into his mouth without him having to prompt her, and her lips were open and eager as they kissed and molded and meshed with one another. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue teasing, and he wanted to drown himself in the taste of her. Kissing Marjorie was an exquisite torture. Exquisite because he enjoyed kissing her more than he thought possible . . . and torture because he knew it would not go any further than that. His cock wasn’t listening, though. It was an optimist, and his dick was hard with anticipation, practically pressing against her soft belly under the water. He edged his hips back slightly so he wouldn’t alarm her by prodding her with it.
Tonight, as they kissed, her hands moved from his neck and smoothed down his shoulders, her long fingers caressing his skin. And he shuddered under that light, exploratory touch. “God damn, it feels good when you touch me, Marjorie,” he murmured against her lips.
“I like touching you,” she told him shyly, between little presses of her mouth to his. Her hands slid to his biceps and she squeezed them, testing the muscle there.
He groaned, his brain likening that exploratory little squeeze to her hands doing the same on his cock. Now he was aching with need, his pulse throbbing from her little touches.
“Rob,” she said, voice soft as she pressed her mouth against his upper lip, then the corners of his mouth.
“Hmm?” It was taking all his concentration not to grab her and force her hips against his cock, to have her soft, slippery flesh cradling him. Definitely bound for sainthood.
“How come we never do anything more than kiss?”
Ah, Jesus. “Because you’re a virgin, sweetheart. The last thing I want to do is freak you out or make you feel pressured.”
Her hands skimmed down his sides, up and down, tormenting him with their soft little motions. “What if . . . what if I took the lead on things?”
He stilled, composing himself. “What . . . did you have in mind?”
“I want to touch you,” she murmured against his mouth. “And I want you to touch me. Can we try second base?”
“Sweetheart, we can do anything you want. But you gotta remind me what second base is.” It’d been far too long since he’d dated someone that referred to bases. “And if second base is anal, the answer is unequivocally ‘yes.’”