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Only when she turns so I’m looking at her heels instead of her pretty pink -painted toes, do I let my gaze roam up.
Her pink silk robe is belted tightly around her body. Before I can appreciate the way it hugs her still wet skin, she loosens the belt and shrugs it off. It slides down her lean, graceful back in a torturously slow unveiling of her delectable figure.
It molds to the curve of her hips and ass, right below then the twin dimples at the base of her spine and the tattoo that sits in between them. It hangs there for a few seconds before gravity flexes its muscle and the rest of her body is revealed.
When she bends over to pick up a bottle of lotion from her bed, I want to howl from the effort it’s taking not to reach for her.
And, as addled as my brain may be, I know better than to even try it. So, I close my eyes.
But it’s no good. The scent of lemon fills the tent. The whisper of her hands sliding over her bare skin only makes the torrid images in my mind more vivid. I imagine her fingers gliding over her jutting dark nipples, cupping her supple round breasts, sliding between her thighs, running over her shoulders, smoothing the rest of the lotion over the curve of her neck… By the time my fevered imagination has worked its way over her body, my balls are aching.
I open my eyes just as she steps into a pair of white lace panties and pulls a white tank top over her head.
She turns around, and I look back at my book, staring unseeingly while I pretend not to feel her eyes on me.
“Thank you for today. It’s the best day I can remember having, ever,” she says quietly before she dims her lamp and climbs into her bed.
I lay in the dark, hard as a rock and confused as hell. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I know that I’m blowing this, badly.
“Uh, you know… I-- I’m going for a swim,” I say, hop up, and hustle out of the tent. I pretend not to hear her call my name and ignore my impulse to answer her. I need distance and I need to get rid of this erection so that I can fucking think.
I wade until the water reaches my waist, and then dive, headfirst, into the waves. The water is cool and calm, and I cut through it quickly, pushing myself until my shoulders ache before I turn back to swim for shore. When the water is shallow enough, I stand and face the horizon and try to catch my breath.
The exercise didn’t do a thing about the boner in my shorts. I slip my hand past my waist band, fist my aching dick, and groan at the first stroke. It feels good, but there’s no relief in it. This should be Regan’s hand, or mouth or pussy. I don’t know how I managed to blow things so badly.
“Stone!” Her shout carries over the wind and my heart nearly jumps out my chest. I yank my hand out of my shorts before I turn toward the beach.
She’s right at the water’s edge, sitting close enough that the tide laps at her shins. She’s resting her chin on her knees, her head cocked to the side. From this distance, I can’t make out her face, and I hope she couldn’t tell what I was doing.
The thought is humiliating enough to do what my swim couldn’t. By the time I reach the shore, my dick is as limp as the clumps of seaweed that dot the beach.
I drop down on the sand next to her, prop my body up on my elbows and drop my head back to stare up at the dark purple sky and try to order my thoughts.
Neither of us say anything as we sit, stuck in whatever quagmire of misunderstanding we’ve found ourselves in.
“The moon looks like a pearl sitting on a throne of diamonds, doesn’t it?” She says, her pensive voice breaking the silence after a few minutes.
I follow her gaze to the horizon. The moon is low and glowing and the glittering stars that spangle the sky around it, do look like a congregation of courtiers paying homage to their sovereign. But if we’re going to talk, it’s not going to be about the fucking sky.
“You called me back, are you okay?” I ask, my patience fraying badly.
“Why did you ask me to come with you?” There’s a gravity in her husky voice that belies her casual tone and matter of fact inflection.
“Why are you asking me a
question you know the answer to?”
“Humor me,” her voice is clipped.
I sit up, but keep my eyes facing forward. “Because, you needed to get away.”
“I see.” Her voice is barely audible, but the hurt in it resounds.
I turn to look at her.
Her jaw is clenched tight and her throat works as if she’s swallowing down something thick and dry.
“Regan, what’s wrong?”
