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“I don’t think a guy who gives his woman a humungous orgasm first can be accused of that.”
Fuck! Had she just said‘hiswoman’? Like… like she belonged to him, or something? Had her orgasm-numbed brain just made that connection?
Solo had slumped heavy on top of her, but clearly he felt her tense up because he lifted his head. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”
Was he?Could he?
That was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s why she’d frozen. Because Solo was getting right into places he had no right to be, places she never gave a guy permission to go.
Polly shifted, pushed against his chest. “Maybe you should move, you’re getting a bit heavy.”
It was a lie. Of course it was, but a naked girl in the sand dunes who’d just had her brains blown needed to protect her anatomy.
Not her vagina. Not her clit. They were all fine and dandy.
No, it was her heart that she was shit-scared about.
* * *
Some while later as theysat side by side, now partially dressed, and finished the last muesli bar together, a strange little melancholy descended between them.
It felt as if clouds were forming out to sea and rolling in like sea mist.
Except the day was still perfect as the sun dipped lower towards the horizon and the blue of the sky intensified to a deep violet streaked with pink. A lone seabird dived repeatedly into the water, looking for its supper. Somewhere in the distance its mate called for it.
Solo leaned over his knees, jeans loose around his hips, no T-shirt, his freakin’ gorgeous pecs and the perfection of his biceps and forearms still taunting her. He was so artistically put together it made her throat constrict with something almost painful.
“Where’s your dad’s party being held?” he said suddenly.
She turned her head to look at him. “Up in the wheat belt. About two hours inland from here. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing, just realised you won’t be around next weekend, that’s all.”
Her heart leaped but she reined it in sharply. “Why’s that a problem?” Okay, she was fishing. Fishing like that seabird right out in the waves. What did she want him to say? That he’d miss her? And then what?
He’d picked up a smooth piece of driftwood and was passing it around in his fingers. Beautiful, long, sensitive fingers, with slightly bony knuckles. Just how very sensitive, she knew.
As if on cue, her clit spasmed, damn the evil little thing.
She sensed he was smiling. “Despite you looking like a blubbery seal, I find I’m wanting to spend more time with you.”
She whacked him teasingly.
“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “Watch out, I have a weapon here.” She went to swipe the piece of driftwood from him and they landed back down in the sand. Sensing his plan, Polly clapped her hand over her face.
As he tried to prise her fingers away, they rolled around, giggling. He managed to squeeze his lips through her finger and thumb and, when Polly felt the soft pull of his mouth on hers, she gave in, let her hand skim round the back of his head and dove into the sweetness of his kiss.
When they finally surfaced again, she found she was looking into his eyes and he was staring unblinking back, and something way too deep passed between them.
And, as though she had absolutely no say over her brain-to-mouth connection, no censorship left at all, out popped, “Would you like to come to my dad’s seventieth?”
