She gasped. “No, not anal!”
“Darn. What is it then?” His hands went to her hair, tugging it free of her ponytail and letting it sweep over her damp shoulders. So soft and lovely, his Marjorie.
“It’s . . . you know. Petting. Above the belt.”
He could practically see the flush on her cheeks. “That so? But you’re already petting me.” Her hands were still gliding over his sides, even though his remained locked in place.
“Rob,” she said in a pleading voice. Her face burrowed against his neck. “You know what I’m asking.”
“You’re asking me to touch you?” Goddamn, it must be Christmas.
She nodded, her nose brushing against his skin, her head still pressed against his shoulder. If she moved one more inch, his dick was going to stab her in the belly.
“I’ll touch you,” he said, gliding his hands up her back. “But you have to tell me if you get freaked out or uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”
“All right.” Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.
“You said you’ve been to second base before?”
“Once,” she admitted. Her arms went around him and he felt her hands against his back, a mimic of his own touch. “I think I mentioned the party I went to? I was drunk and so was he. He saw how tall I was the next day and complained to all his friends that he had beer goggles on that night.”
“That fucking little prick.” His hands clenched into fists. “There’s nothing wrong with your height, Marjorie. It just gives you an extra six inches of long legs, and I fucking love your legs.”
“You might be the only one,” she said, and snuggled up against him before he could warn her. Then, his cock was pressed against her warm body, and she gasped. But she didn’t move away. “Is . . . that . . .”
“Yep.” He stroked his fingers down the curve of her spine. “I was trying to keep it off of you, but it looks like that failed. Want me to go put my jeans on?”
“I . . . no . . .” she breathed, and pressed her body a little closer to his. “I like it.”
Dear sweet fucking god. She was pressing her hips up against him. It was like she was reading his filthy mind. “Christ. You’re perfection, you know that?”
“I like it when you say things like that,” she told him in a soft voice, and then pressed her lips against his neck.
He could feel his dick jerk in response, and he had to fight to keep his breathing even. If Marjorie was as unexperienced as she claimed, he was going to have to move slow as fuck to not freak her out. “I’m going to move my hands over your back,” he told her in a low voice. “Just exploring.”
In response, her mouth pressed against his neck again, and he felt her tongue flick against his skin. Jesus, his virgin wasn’t very good with the meaning of slow, was she? His hands moved up and down her back, carefully avoiding the string-tie of her bikini top. Her skin felt deliciously warm in the cool water, and when she pressed her mouth to his neck again and began to kiss, he forgot to be slow and courteous, and grasped her ass in his hands, pressing her hips forward so she pushed even harder against his cock.
Her gasp rang in his ear, followed by a softly shuddering breath.
“Too much?” he asked in a low voice. If he turned his head, his lips would move against her small ear. So close, and yet he wanted her to be closer. Hell, he wanted her under him, her legs wrapped around him, screaming his name.
“Feels good.”
“Damn, you are absolutely my favorite virgin, sweetheart.” He noticed she didn’t protest when he used the nickname on her. Not anymore. That made him feel . . . fucking fantastic, actually. Almost as good as his cock cradled against her sex. She was tall enough that their bodies met up at all the right places, and where he’d normally stab a girl in the stomach with his cock, it was at just the right spot with Marjorie.
From now on, he was only dating tall women.
Fuck that. From now on, he only wanted Marjorie.
Her own hands fluttered down his back, and then she grabbed his ass. Just as quickly, her hands pulled away again, and she gave another little shocked gasp. “I forgot you weren’t wearing underwear.”
“Did all that skin startle you?” He chuckled. “I liked your hands. Feel free to grope me wherever and whenever.” Maybe she’d get bold enough to decide to experience his front, too. A guy’s dick could hope.
Marjorie’s hands hesitated, and then she put them back on his ass. Her mouth went back to his for another hot kiss, and they remained wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, the kiss going on endlessly as they tasted each other, tongues intertwining, hands gripping each other’s asses.
His hands began to slowly knead her curvy buttocks, flexing and moving in what he hoped wasn’t an alarming sort of massage. She took the cue, her hands mimicking his motions on her skin, and she clenched at his ass and rubbed, and Christ Almighty, it felt so good that he nearly blew his load right there in the water. Needing a moment, he pulled away from her hungry mouth, ignoring her small whimper of protest.
“How are you feeling, Marjorie?” His voice was husky with desire. One hand reached up to cup her cheek, and he brushed a thumb over one of her tiny earlobes. Were her ears sensitive? He intended to find out.
“Good,” she said breathlessly. “Can we . . . can we keep going?”
He’d go until she told him to stop. “Absolutely.”
“Are you still wigged out about the water? Do we need to go in?”