Just A Beach Ch. 02

After the last interlude, she'd made up her mind. Boundaries would have to be set firmly. There was no way they could live like this.

Two couples sharing one home had enough potential for tension. They didn't need sexual dalliances making things more confused. It was time to lay down the law.

She knew where the lines were. Harmless flirting. Innocent touch. Maybe a little less innocent, just slightly inappropriate petting when intoxicating substances came into the equation.

But nothing more.

Sex was definitely off the table. And the couch. And the chair. And the bed. And the floor.

She shook her head. She was getting all the wrong ideas again. No sex. No sex anywhere. At least, not between them.

Besides, they both had partners who were important to them, and neither partner was likely to be agreeable to any sort of unconventional arrangements.

Oh, she had a friend, Kim, who was into poly stuff, and was always telling her the advantages. Kim spoke of having someone to cuddle with even when your work schedule clashed with one partner's schedule, of sharing diverse interests with different partners, of an extended and deepened kind of sharing.

But Kim had the sort of social energy that takes one out to different events with different friends every night and the sort of people skills that kept one invested in the hard work parts of relationships. Kim didn't ever seem to wear out.

Not everyone could be that way, and she didn't think she was. She had always found Kim's exhortations exhausting, and thought she not only preferred just one partner, but appreciated that their schedules didn't always coincide, leaving her with hours alone each week.

And yet, since the younger couple had moved in, she had enjoyed their company immensely. She loved then both, and found their company less an intrusion on solitude than a joyous addition to her small social circle.

Still, that had to be it. There could be no more secret trips, no more trysts, no more private interludes. That had to be the rule.

She told herself that, but there was something she desperately needed to know.

Had that really been his left hand?

Had he made her cum so fast and hard, with his left hand? Not many men could boast such skill with their dominant hand, even, and she knew he wasn't left-handed.

She replayed the moment in her mind again, certain she must have mentally reversed their positions. But no. She remembered how he had been holding her, face to the ocean, skin bare. It was his left hand.

She slid her own left hand between her legs, trying to recreate the sensation, but it was no use. Nothing felt like his hands, with those long fingers...long. Everything about him was long. His legs, as she tangled in them when they cuddled after. His shaft, as her body rocked the length of it, seeming to stretch into the distance, rolling in waves of ecstasy.

No. It wasn't an option. She mustn't even test the theory. Even a simple text asking, "Are you left-handed?" would be too much, too close to the subject.

Still, when he told her she should come for a ride in his new car, she couldn't help but wonder...still, no. It wasn't an option. No matter how much the very image made her thighs clench in anticipation.

She told him she couldn't possibly go. Obligations. Things to do. Work, kids, an appointment out of town, catching up on some sleep maybe. All kinds of obligations.

But he knew her weakness, and offered to drive her to the store that sold that hard-to-find dessert she couldn't get enough of. Not only was it over an hour away, it was at the beach. The weather for a drive there was perfect, with summer finally starting to fade. In the evening, he'd be able to open his sunroof, drive a little slower on the beach road, and they'd take in the smell of the salt and sand. They'd talk about innocuous things, from pets to literature to politics. Maybe they'd have a little argument about religion, science, or socialism - the sort of debate they'd still both be able to smile after.

And they'd turn around and come back. It would be that easy. No stops at the beach, where they surely shouldn't be alone together. No pulling over anywhere. Besides, his car had a massive center console.

And that's how she found herself cruising along, listening to his favorite CDs and making faces at the lyrics, closing her eyes to fully absorb the atmosphere now that the heat wasn't strong enough to make you dizzy and some of the tourists had packed up and left the road a little more open.

With her eyes closed, she wondered if he would touch her. A hand on her leg, an arm around her shoulders. But no, not here, in the car, where the center console made them feel miles apart.

And then there was the store. The sun setting, a shopping cart, bags of junk food, lines. By the time they were outside, it was really starting to get dark.

"You wanna stop at the beach, just for a minute?" he asked, and she felt her heart thudding in her chest. She knew. It was the moment of truth. The time to lay down all those boundaries she had set in her mind.

"Maybe a few minutes," she heard herself saying.

He took her to a different place this time. They sat under the pier, in a deeper darkness than their last visit, listening to the waves, but less able to see them.

This time, there was no long hesitation, no lead-up with sips of wine cooler. As soon as they positioned their bodies on the soft sand, his arm was around her, and she was leaning into him, placing her own hand on his hip, where it felt so naturally right.

Still, she could set boundaries. She would tell him, as soon as he leaned in to kiss her, or as soon as his hand touched skin - well, maybe not if he was kissing her, because that would feel too nice. And she hadn't known she craved it until this moment. And actually, just a little skin contact could hardly hurt anything.

She waited, and he didn't move. Wasn't he going to do something? How could she tell him it was time to stop, if he didn't start? She wanted his hand under her shirt, his mouth on hers. She wanted him to press her back into the sand and push her thighs apart with his knee - again she shook her head.

They frequently had whole conversations without exchanging a word, and now he looked at her, shifting an eyebrow ever so slightly. He was asking why the vigorous head-shake. She barely moved her shoulders, but like always, he read not only the intended statement (I don't know) but the true one (it's too much to try to talk about).

He just waited.

Instead of speaking, she turned her face to his, and again he read her, loud and clear. He leaned closer, slowly, until their lips barely touched, a soft tease of warmth, leaving her body pleading for more. He knew her, knew she couldn't stop there. She moved against him, tasting, sampling his soft lips, feeling his body shift against her. She was on top of him again, like that first night. She had imagined it differently this time, him pressing his body on top of hers, holding her in the sand, as she gently submitted to his touch.

But no, she was starving for him, and even with their clothes on, she rocked her hips hard against him, desperate for contact.

And he pulled away. "I want to take you somewhere else."

What was this? They had the privacy, the dark. Their bodies had made contact. She had done the work, made the move. And he wanted to leave.

She slipped off of him, and he stood and pulled her up. She tried to keep the hurt and rejection out of her eyes as they moved out into the moonlight, then the light of the parking lot. He saw, though, and stopped her. He wrapped both his arms around her, arms so long it felt like she could be wrapped in them around and around, and kissed the top of her head.

"You'll like it."

He held the car door - something she wasn't supposed to like, but found flattering and a little thrilling anyway. His face didn't give much away, but she watched him anyway, partly for clues and partly because the line of his jaw was so strong, the way his lips moved was so sweet, his eyes were so warm and gorgeous she couldn't help but look.

Perhaps she should have watched the road, if she really wanted a clue, because already he had his turn signal on. She knew the place. A shopping center, but also where one parked if going across the dunes after hours.

He looked over at her and asked, "Have you ever been skinny-dipping?"

She felt her face grow hot, and his grin was that dangerous one, the one that might split his face and break hearts.

"Okay. I can see you have. Damn."

"Okay, but like in a kiddie pool in the back yard and I was like 14. It doesn't really count. It's not the same."

He shook his head, ducking it forward in that way that made his hair shake with it, rolling his eyes, his hand on his chin.

She could feel the heat in her face, but she couldn't make her lips stop smiling. She opened the car door for an escape from her embarrassment, and he followed her out. Crossing the road, he twined his fingers in hers, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

What kind of hot, impetuous infatuation was this? She was too old to be getting silly because a guy looked at her that way, with the gorgeous eyes and the sexy smile...that wasn't supposed to be how this went. Not now.

But bodies don't listen to logic. Hormones and emotions don't listen to logic. She was burning to be touched, and the merest interaction of flesh, palms and fingers, was like an appetizer, waking her need to feel the heat of another body. She slipped her hand free and put it on his hip, drawing him to her. He complied, draping his own arm over her shoulders, bare skin in a tank top inviting his hand, those fingers. She almost stopped walking, thinking about those fingers.

On the dunes, trying to walk holding each other was too much, and the feel of the sand under her feet made her want to stretch her legs, so she took his hand and pulled, and they ran, up the first hill. Letting go, she raced him down the other side, where gravity made running feel magical and fast, legs moving without effort. At the bottom, his arms were around her again, and his hands moving on her back, settling at her waist like a question, and she looked up at him to welcome lips and touch.

But it was the briefest of kisses before he took her hand and led her up the next sand hill, and to the tree line. Through the branches he led her, to the place she'd known they were going from the moment he mentioned skinny-dipping.

A little bit of beach, a strip of sand opening on the sound, where the water moved more gently and nothing else moved at all, aside from the occasional wildlife. This was the nearest thing to a private beach, if you couldn't buy one.

He was holding her again, his hands on her waist, then, as he kissed her gently, so lightly, his hands were under her shirt and stroking her back, touching her skin and waking her senses. Then he was lifting her shirt and she was stepping back to help him. His shirt followed and there was enough light for her to feel exposed. She moved to him and hugged her body to his again, feeling his skin hide her from the night air.

But he wasn't waiting. He was unfastening his own shorts, pushing them and his boxers down in a single movement, leaving her to choose between staring and catching up. She turned just slightly away, and began to unfasten the pink denim cut-offs, trying to decide if she should make this a single move or draw it out. She tried to remember if she was wearing cute panties. Yeah. The stretchy black ones she'd chosen to go under that dress. They would be okay. She pushed the shorts down, keeping her body at an angle to him. She wondered if he was looking at her but couldn't bear to check.

Then she felt him wrapping around her, his chest against her back, his arms wrapped around her chest, covering her. She understood without words. He thought she was hesitating, that she wasn't sure she wanted this. He wanted her to know it was okay. She could dress and they'd go back to the car. Nothing hurt. Nothing changed.

She took his hand in hers and kissed his fingers, then pushed her panties below her waist. He took over then, kneeling before her and sliding them to her ankles, kissing her bare skin when he saw where she had shaved before dressing this morning.

She thought the kiss might undo her, and she drew in a hot breath and tangled her fingers in his hair. But he pulled away, standing to kiss her face.

"Let's swim first," he said.

It wasn't really swimming so much as wading and splashing, because the water here grew deeper so gradually that they only went out as far as his waist, and they stood, in the lights from the bridge and the town, bodies pressed together in the hot air and cooling water, her face lying against his chest as his hands stroked her back.

Sliding a hand between them, she found his cock, semi-hard even in the cold water, and brought it against her body, squeezing and sliding her thumb over the smooth skin of the head, thinking again of how the length of him moved against her clit last time, so that she couldn't get enough until he had pulled her to him in that final stroke, that hot embrace, bodily surrender.

She placed the head of his cock against her clit now, wanting to feel that contact again. He moved against her and she knew he wanted to go to the shore, where no doubt his pants pocket would prove that he had been prepared for this moment, but she couldn't go yet. She needed touch. She gripped his cock like a sex toy, moving him back and forth over her clit under the water. He understood - this wasn't the moment for penetration, the condom could wait a minute more.

Jilling her own clit with his cock as the tool, she moved her hips to facilitate the friction, his hands moving under her ass to support her and keep her upright as she gasped and felt her body go limp against him. The pause lasted a moment before she caught her breath and they both moved for the sand, no words necessary.

There, he sat on his shorts, as some minimal protection from the sand, made quick work of the more urgent protection, and pulled her into his lap, entering her as he found her clit with his thumb, so that even with the first stroke her body convulsed, squeezing him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into her as they rocked, her hip motion falling into a figure 8 - infinity, infinity, infinity - as she rode a series of hot climaxes of her own.

Then she remembered. It wasn't supposed to be this way this time. This time, she had intended to pull him on top of her, hold him to her, feel him gazing down at her as he took her. She moved accordingly, rolling to her back in the sand, his hands carrying her so that she descended to the ground gently, his mouth following to her neck, kissing so that she rolled her head back to feel more of him while her hips raised to meet his.

She locked her ankles behind his back, holding and pulling him into her, her fingers stroking his chest while her other hand reached for his hip, needing to feel the motion of him. For a second he pulled back, letting her feel the cool wind blowing across their mingled sweat, chilling the line of wet kisses he'd left along her throat, and the ache of needing to be filled. She stretched for him, trying to pull him back into her, but when he drove his cock back into her waiting body, long, lonely seconds later, it was with a vigor and hunger she hadn't known in him before.

He was, indeed, not just making love to her, but *taking* her, possessing her with his body, the length of him so deep and hot and hard inside her she felt her hand drift to her stomach, as though to find him there. She wrapped her legs around him again, moving her hands to grip his ass and pull him into her ever harder, feeling his balls slapping against her as they moved. One of his hands found her clit and pinched gently as their bodies closed together, and the touch sent her over the edge, her orgasm clenching the muscles of her thighs, and that one hot wet muscle that would squeeze him so hard, finishing him so that they both vocalized softly in the empty night, drawing him to her as they rolled together onto their sides in the sand, bodies still entwined.

His hands couldn't seem to stop moving, stroking every inch of her body, and as he withdrew from her, he rolled her so that her back was against him, his hand, yes, his left, slipping again between her legs, the long fingers stroking her bare skin, sliding into her folds, finding the one spot that pled still for his touch. She cried out again as her hips bucked against his body, and he wrapped one leg over hers, and his other arm around her torso, immobilizing her as he stroked her to yet another climax, before relaxing into the sand with her.

She thought she could have lain forever there with him, but time moved and eventually, it was necessary to stand and walk, bare, into the water to rinse off as much sand as possible. She couldn't get enough of having his arms around her, and he pulled her to him again, in knee-deep water. His arms felt like strength and gentleness personified, like he might never let go and it would be the safest place she'd ever been.

If only the moon wouldn't creep across the sky, if only the sun wouldn't come up. If only this tiny beach could cut off from time and feel this way forever.

But something had changed, this time, without question. This was no longer a single dalliance, one night that could be pushed into the past, ancient history. This was hot and current. She knew there would be more nights, now. She knew there would be more embraces, more touches, more kisses, more secret trips. Tonight was ending, but they were beginning.