Page 30 of The Last Special Thing

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Her throat constricted in anticipation, and she nodded.

His hand moved behind her back and unhooked her bra. For a guy without relationship experience, the ease of the maneuver gave away that he had other expertise.

He leaned her further back until she lay mainly on the jacket, her blouse partially in the sand. His kisses trailed along her neck as he reached for her shorts. Her body tensed, and his thumb waited, pressed against the button of her shorts.

Amelia squeaked out, “Yes,” and he continued.

He helped her slide out of her shorts. His cool fingers in the summer evening raised a trail of goosebumps against her upper thigh, and he pulled off her pink thong.

He unbuttoned his shorts and shimmied them down. When he climbed on top of her, her mind was hazy even though she was stone-cold sober. He fished a condom out of the pocket of the jacket and tore the top off with his teeth.

“Do you want to do this?” His voice was low but clear.

If she said no, they would stop and revert to how things were before. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would be mad, which made her only want him more.

“Yes.” Her body grew warm as her desire for him intensified. She could barely speak, could hardly breathe, waiting for him.

When he pushed himself into her, and his lips travelled across her body, she didn’t think of the public beach or how late it had become. She didn’t think about the sand surrounding them. She could only think of bringing them closer and closer together. A moan escaped from her lips, only to be swept up in the crash of the tide.

She learned from movies that the first time is supposed to be special. She hadn’t known if losing her virginity to Weston was special until that moment. Now she knew it wasn’t. Sex with Art was the most special thing.

He ran his hands through her hair and gently pulled, exposing her neck. He slid his teeth along the skin, and she reached her perfect nails over his back, dragging them over his shoulder. With each thrust into her, her nails dug deeper. Gripping her hip, he pulled her close, his ragged breath against her ear.

They enjoyed each other as long as they could. Until they were panting and the chill of the night overpowered the heat between them. When they finished, Amelia hurried to reach for her underwear, a bashful reddening on her cheeks.

Art cupped her arm. “Wait.”

He dragged a finger from her collarbone, between her exposed breasts, nipples perked in the evening chill.

She swallowed.

He pulled away his finger, but she could still feel the lingering touch as his eyes trailed every curve of her body.

“I want to make sure I remember every part of this night.”

Her heartbeat raced. She put her hand to his cheek and drew him in for another kiss.

“I’m going to put on my clothes now,” she said, leaning her forehead against his.

“If you must.” His eyes darkened in yearning.

She gave a coy smile as she grabbed her shorts and shook off the loose sand. Art dressed next to her. He was reaching for the used condom as Amelia shoved her underwear into her shorts pocket. Going commando was better than chaffing due to sandy panties. She tugged on her shorts, then her shirt and cardigan.

“There’s sand everywhere,” she whined.

The wet spots from their splash fight on her cardigan were now plastered with sand.

Art raised his hands with a devilish look.

“Don’t you dare.”

He quickly tousled her hair as she shrieked.

“It’s going to take a lot of washing to get that out.” He didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

She swatted him away, and he kissed her.