We get back in the car, and it’s not too long before I’ve pulled off the main road and we’re bouncing down a dirt one among a scrub forest of fragrant rosemary and sage until we come to a tiny spot for parking. Luckily, no one else is here.
“Are you sure we’re not on someone’s property?” she asks as we get out of the car.
“Relax. The island has a lot of secrets that tourists don’t know about.”
I grab the towels, and we walk through the scrub, honeybees buzzing around us, until it opens up to a wide expanse of limestone cliff.
I drop the towels on the ground and then proceed to pull off my shirt.
I know I’m giving her a good show, because she’s trying her hardest not to stare blatantly at me.
“You can look, it’s okay,” I tell her with a grin. “If you didn’t, I’d fear all my hours at the gym every week weren’t paying off.”
A flush goes to her cheeks, and she looks away as I start to undo my jeans. I’m just in my black boxer briefs, which sometimes make for a better swimsuit than board shorts do. They’re also a hell of a lot more revealing, which is great at making her uncomfortable in the best way possible.
“Your turn,” I tell her. “Put on your suit.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder and frowns as her eyes rake up and down my body, concentrating on my bulge. “You’re in your underwear,” she says, aghast.
“Have you ever asked yourself what’s the difference between underwear and a swimsuit?”
“The fact that I can see . . . um, everything?”
“Just be glad I’m not in a Speedo.”
“You might as well be.”
She reaches down for a towel, giving another glance at my crotch as she does so, and then attempts to wrap the towel around her chest.
I watch her struggle for a few minutes, trying to get her T-shirt off while still being covered up by the towel. Whatever modest game she’s trying to play, she’s losing at it.
I can’t help but chuckle.
She glares at me, her hair all messy, her face flustered with her shirt half-off. “You could help me.”
“I could,” I tell her. “But this is so much more amusing.”
Her eyes turn to slits, but she doesn’t scare me. I reach over and grab the edge of the towel by her chest.
“Don’t look,” she warns, as if I’m not going to see nearly every inch of her body once that suit is on.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I tell her. “I’m a gentleman, remember?”
“Then close your eyes.”
I sigh and close my eyes, trying to keep the ends of the towel together. “You know, I could just drop the towel, and you could get changed in the open, and it would be so much easier.”
“What if someone comes along? I’d be naked.”
“If I don’t mind, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t mind either.”
I hear her struggle for a few more minutes and then the snap of spandex, and true to my word, I keep my eyes closed, though the temptation to look is beckoning.
Finally she says, “Okay, I’m done.”
I open my eyes and take the towel away from her so I can get a better look.
She’s literally stunning.
Her skin is pale, touched with gold from the sun, her breasts and hips heavenly full with a dip at her slim waist. The bikini she’s wearing is tomato red and leaves very little to the imagination, but I happen to have a huge imagination, and seeing her displayed in front of me like this, vulnerable and strong all at once—achingly beautiful, undeniably sexy—my mind floods with all the things I crave to do to her.
“I feel like I’m naked,” she says quietly.
“I’m glad you’re not,” I tell her. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.”
Her eyes drop down to my crotch, where I know my cock is extremely rigid and extremely visible. I grin.
“Looks like your cock can barely handle it either,” she says.
“Look, if you want to get all handsy with me again, I’m not going to complain,” I tell her. One of her straps on the side of her bikini bottoms is twisted, so I take a step toward her, hands out. She stills, holding her breath, but she doesn’t move as I reach down and slide my fingers against the warmth of her skin, luxuriating in how soft her skin feels on her hip. Ever so slowly,