Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
She does an incredibly thorough job of applying the sunscreen and it’s obvious both of us are worked up by the time she’s done. “Ready to go?” I ask. I’m relying on the cool ocean water to help my patience.
As we walk down to the surf, I take her hand and am pleased when she lets me hold it. Once we’re ankle deep in the water, she squeezes my palm as a shiver passes through her.
“We’ll go slow,” I tell her.
We wade in up to our knees, and I wrap Lorraine in my arms, her back to my chest. We stop frequently to adjust to the water temperature, and I enjoy the sweet vanilla fragrance of her hair.
“Doing okay?” I ask when she leans into me. She nods, and I hold her tighter, crossing my arms around her to rub her arms. Looking down from above her, the hollow between her breasts draws my eye, and the rigid points of her nipples make my cock swell, even in the cold water.
As I’m wondering if she feels my erection, she presses her hips back so that my cock nestles in the cleft of her ass. She hinted at sex on the beach; did she mean sex in the ocean?
I push her hair to one side, exposing the back of her neck, and press my lips there, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin. Her body relaxes into mine, and when I kiss her shoulder, she turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my chest, pulling us even closer together.
When she tips her head back to look up at me, I’m ready to meet her lips, gently at first, and then with more pressure, because the way our nearly naked bodies are pressed against each other makes it hard to go slow.
She returns my kiss instantly and tightens her hold on me, and we carry on kissing, the waves lapping at us, the sun shining down.
I could stay here doing this all day and night, but Lorraine starts to shiver again.
“You’re still cold. Would you like to get out?”
“I think I’d better. You can swim if you want. I’ll wait on the beach,” she says, but there’s no way I’m leaving her side.
“Put your arms around my neck,” I tell her, bending down. She does as I ask, and I lift her, cradling her in my arms. There’s no need for her to feel the cold water any longer.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, but she leans into me and rests her head against my chest.
“Do you mind?”
“No, I feel like a princess being rescued by the hero.”
“I didn’t think you needed to be rescued, but if you did, I’d be there for you.”
We’re back to the shore much too quickly, and I don’t have a good excuse for keeping her in my arms. As soon as I set her down, I wrap her in a towel and spread a blanket on the sand so she can sit down.
“Are you hungry?”
Her eyes shift down to my mouth before she answers, and maybe, like me, she’s hungry for something other than food. “What do you have?” she asks. “I have a bottle of wine.”
“That will go perfectly with the cheese and crackers I brought,” I say. “And I have wine too.”
“Can never have too much of that.” She reaches for her bag, and I unpack the food. “I’m not usually like this,” she says as she peels the top from her bottle to reveal the cork.
“Like what?”
“Kissing someone I haven’t known for very long. Touching their body.”
I study her for a moment, and though I can tell she doesn’t regret it, I ask, to be sure. “You don’t feel any pressure, do you?”
She shakes her head immediately. “No, not at all. I’m just surprised by my behavior.”
“If it feels right, you should do whatever you want.”
She’s thoughtful for a minute as I set out the food. Eventually, she says, “It’s hard knowing exactly what feels right. Having been married for so long, it’s all new again.”
“You don’t like to talk about your marriage, do you?”
She gives me a surprised look. “I was thinking I mentioned it too much, and I don’t want to be someone who’s always complaining about their ex.”
“You’re the furthest thing from that. I’ve barely heard you mention him.” As she hands me a glass of wine, I ask, “Was there a lot to complain about?”
Lorraine shrugs, but I can see there’s something behind the gesture. “We married too young,” she says. “We didn’t even know who we were yet, and we grew into different people who didn’t have a lot in common. That’s no one’s fault.”
I watch her take a slow sip of her wine before asking, “How did things come to an end? If you want to answer — you don’t have to.”