I stay on my stomach for a minute just to re-orient myself after my nap, and that is when I realize he is there. I don't see him--my head is down--and I hear nothing but the crash of the waves against the shore.
Even so, I am absolutely certain, and I very slowly lift my head and look around.
He's standing perfectly still on the sand, just this side of the rocky barrier, and he is looking at me with such fierce longing that my body trembles from the force of it.
He's wearing a faded blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. Like me, he's barefoot. He looks both casual and confident, a man at home in his own skin. A man who knows what he wants and is used to taking it.
But even so, he doesn't make a move. Doesn't say my name, doesn't walk to me. He just watches me, as if there is no place he'd rather be and nothing he'd rather be doing.
You're going to have to make the first move.
Brody's words fill my head, as if brought to me on the ocean breeze. He's right, of course. I know he is. Isn't that what I did in the cabana when I turned his chaste kiss into something wild and hot? And didn't we come damn close then to what is now my ultimate goal?
My stomach flutters, but those butterflies are inconsequential compared to my wine cooler-induced boldness.
I know what I want. More than that, I know what we need.
But oh, dear god, if he pushes me away again...
He won't, though--I know he won't. I recognize the heat in his eyes. The same heat I feel. That same grinding, consuming desire.
He's just waiting for me to make a move. It would, of course, be rude not to comply.
Slowly, I stand, the bikini top barely covering my nipples as the triangles of material hang loose from the string tied around my neck. I reach up and I pull the bow, then let my top fall free.
Even from this distance, I can see the way his throat moves. Emboldened, I take a step toward him, then another. I look nowhere but at him. At his eyes that are watching me so intently.
"Don't pretend this is a chance encounter," I say. "We both want the same thing."
He doesn't answer, but when I raise my hands to my breasts and tug on my own nipples, I can see the way his cock strains against his khaki shorts, and just knowing that I am making him hard sends a surge of power through me.
I take my hands from my breasts then reach for the ties on either hip that hold the front and back triangles of my very tiny bikini bottom together. Just two simple bows, and I release each in unison, then shift my stance, spreading my legs so that the material falls to the sand, and I am left standing in front of him completely naked--and completely vulnerable.
"You know what I want," I say as I slide my hand down my belly to my pubis. I'm waxed, and so there is nothing at all hidden to him. I go lower still, and my fingers touch wet, swollen flesh. Standing here, exposed like this, has not only set my nerves on fire, it has made me more aroused than I have ever been in my life.
"You want it, too," I say boldly, then bite my lower lip as I slide a finger deep inside.
Dallas's eyes never leave me, but his hand is at his crotch, and I gasp a little as he unzips his fly and pulls out his huge, fully erect cock.
I feel a tightening in my core--a visceral reaction to the sight of Dallas stroking himself. Of Dallas watching me. My pussy throbs and my fingers slide over my too-wet clit.
He's stroking his cock hard and fast, and I can hear the sound of skin against skin, of his low groans, and it just makes me tighter. Closer. I press harder, moving my fingers in small circles, concentrating on my clit. I'm desperate now, and I don't think I could stop if I wanted to.
So help me, I don't want to.
I let my gaze flick from the heat in his eyes to his hand on his cock, stroking and tugging. I see the muscles in his lower abs tighten, and I feel my pussy clench around my fingers.
He's watching me.
The thought is so damned erotic, and I'm close--so close. I know he is, too, and I want to shatter. Hell, I need to, and when the first tremors ricochet through me, marking a coming orgasm, I whisper his name.
That is all it takes. He explodes in front of me, shooting thick streams of come into the sand, as he arches back, his body tense, and his eyes never leaving my face.
I cry out, too, my knees going weak as my own orgasm rips through me, shattering me, and I fall down to the ground, not quite believing we'd just done that, but unable to escape the simple truth that it was one of the hottest, most erotic things I've ever done in my life.
"Dallas, oh, Christ, Dallas. That was fu--"
"Fucked up," he finishes. "Yeah. That was most definitely all fucked up."