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“No, just keep steering for now, and once we get close, I’ll take over.”
“Got it.” Now that we have a plan, I can relax more. “Thisisfun,” I admit, settling back and within his reach again.
“See?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you’d like it.”
Chapter18
True to his word, Sandro takes over when we round the corner, and I settle back in my seat to wait out the rest of the ride.
There are already a few dozen boats, parked somewhat haphazardly in the middle of a large, open area of water. But I can see what he meant about a sand bar—there are people apparently standing in the water up to their waists between the boats. Jet skis zip around the larger craft, and as we slow on approach, I can hear music pumping from the other vessels.
Sandro steers us in and drops anchor so the backside of our ship drifts toward the sandbar. After closing up the roof to help keep the cabin cool, he pulls some towels from a cabinet and grabs the basket.
“Are you ready?” He asks with a grin, yanking off his t-shirt and revealing that impeccably smooth, sculpted body.
I swallow convulsively, then follow him to the door.
When we step outside, it’s as if we have our own balcony to a killer party. Even while we were parking, other boats arrived, unloading passengers onto the sandbar that is getting shallower by the minute.
I glance at the water, but realize I have a problem. “Hey, so I don’t have any sunblock. I’ll get burned to a crisp without it. Is there any chance you have some aboard?”
“Psssh, girl, you think we don’t plan ahead?” he pulls on a cabinet door and drags out a basket filled with several kinds of sunscreen and extra sunglasses, hats, and lip balm.
“Jesus, who are you people? It’s like Martha Stewart met The Home Edit and did a makeover of the mafia ship.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I’m horrified.Is it rude to refer to the Vargas family as the mafia? I don’t even know.
But true to his nature, Sandro just laughs it off. “You’re not wrong,” he chuckles, pulling a bottle from the basket. “Might I do the honors?”
My heart speeds up a little, imagining those hands rubbing lotion over my entire body. “Sure,” I reply, and pull my t-shirt over my head before dropping my denim shorts.
Sandro’s eyes rove over me hungrily, teeth sinking into his lip as he smiles. “Damn, gorgeous, that just never gets old. Come over here.” I approach and turn so he can apply the sunscreen to my back, lifting my hair out of the way.
He takes his time, warming it in his hands and smoothing it over my skin. This is not the quick, perfunctory application of sunblock my friends and I do for each other at the beach. This is a slow, sensual massage. His hands work over my back, arms, shoulders, and neck.
When he says, “Turn,” Sandro’s voice is noticeably huskier. I turn to face him, following his gaze as his eyes follow his work down my body. Now he carefully applies lotion over my chest, grazing my breasts as he works it into the skin between and down across my stomach.
Once he’s got me completely covered from head to hips, I reach for the bottle. “I can get my legs,” I hint, a little flustered by how much he’s enjoying this.
“Oh no, ma’am, this is a full-service flight. Allow me.” Sandro drops to one knee and pulls my leg to set my foot on his raised knee. He’s now eye-level with my crotch, and squeezes a large amount of sunblock into his hands, rubbing them together before slicking it over my leg. He starts at the top and runs down, across my knee, to my calf. Then works his way back up, traveling slowly up my thigh until he reaches the apex and his hand brushes ever so lightly against the fabric of my swimsuit.
If this is some kind of slow, torturous foreplay, it’s definitely working. Despite having spent the night being sexed up by his brother, my pussy clenches and my legs are trembling.
Sandro’s focus is completely on the task at hand, as if every inch of my skin is precious and deserving of his attention. He finishes one leg and places that foot back on the floor, switching his stance so he can repeat the process on the other side. When he lifts my other foot, I don’t fail to notice that I’m now even closer to him. I can feel his breath on the sensitive skin below my belly button, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of self-control to stay still and just allow him to stroke me.
This time, when he finishes his application, he doesn’t set my foot down. Instead, he picks up the sunblock and squirts a bit more into his hand, rubbing both palms together before he reachesbetweenmy legs and starts smoothing it on my cheeks.
I can hardly breathe. The position is so similar to the one I was in with his brother last night and his face is inches from my hallelujah. Sandro’s hands stroke firmly on my ass, squeezing and massaging far more than is necessary, and long after there’s no more lotion to rub in.
My breaths are shuddery and light, and I’m anxiously waiting to find out what he’s going to do next.
Finally, his hands slide down my thighs, and he replaces the propped foot onto the floor. But before standing, he leans forward, ever so slightly, and places a gentle kiss on the triangle of fabric covering my mound. Then he pops up with sparkling eyes and a feral grin. “All ready to swim?”
So we like to tease, do we?
I lunge for him, throwing myself into his body and pressing my mouth to his insistently. Sandro responds with enthusiasm, and I can feel that he’s already rock hard under his swim trunks. His hands rove my body more aggressively now, and I up the intensity of our kissing, then reach between us and stroke him over his shorts. The groan he releases under his breath tells me now is exactly the right time.
Stepping away, I take in his utter confusion with a grin of my own. I wipe the saliva from my lip and slip on my sunglasses. “Yep, I’m ready to swim.”
After a split second, he bursts into another round of deep belly laughs. “Damn, gorgeous, I didn’t think you had it in you.” Moving lightning-fast, he reaches out and captures me in his long arms, pinning me to his hard chest. “I kind of like you naughty,” he growls, before giving me a firm swat on the butt that makes me yelp in surprise. “But I think it’s time to move this party inside.”
