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“Fine.” The word is a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “Fine. Just dropped the bottle.” I take a steadying breath, making sure I keep a good grip on the tube as I squeeze a healthy dose into my palm. Rubbing my hands together, I stare at the expanse of skin in front of me.
Then I rub them together a little longer. I’ve never touched a man like this and I’m caught somewhere between terror and excitement.
And horniness. Definitely horniness.
Making it this far as a virgin was purely by accident. None of the guys I dated stuck around long, so I was eighteen before I even had my first kiss. I’ve always struggled to feel comfortable around people. To relax enough to be myself instead of trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be. It resulted in an inability to portray myself as flirtatious or sexy, and is to blame for—
Wait.
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. What if my awkwardness wasn’t the real reason I struggled to form any sort of relationships, physical or otherwise?
What if my virginity was actually by design? What if my father thought I’d be more marketable if I was untouched?
It takes me all of two seconds to know that’s exactly what happened. I was just too naïve to see it before. To imagine another person, especially a parent, would do something so terrible. Now I know that wouldn’t be much of a stretch for him. He’s done way worse.
The reminder has me grinding my molars and pressing my hands to Fynn’s warm skin, even more determined to find a way to make this work. Fuck everyone who treated me like a puppet. Choreographed my whole life for their own benefit. They can all kiss my ass. An ass that will hopefully be in the air soon as Fynn pounds away the virginity everyone found so fucking valuable.
I slide my lotioned-up hands down his spine, spreading the white cream as I go. I can feel every freaking muscle on him as I work my way up again, smoothing the sunscreen over his delectable back.
Twice. Just to be sure.
I’m at his shoulders, gliding my fingers higher to stroke over his neck when Fynn grabs my wrists, stopping my movements. He uses his hold to tug me closer, reeling me in until my front is pressed tight against him. I’m sure all the sunscreen I smeared on his skin is sinking into my T-shirt, but I can’t find it in me to care.
Especially when he tips his head and his navy gaze meets mine. “My turn.”
My stomach flips as he twists to face me, and I swear I forget how to breathe. “You want to put sunscreen on me?” It’s a cliché—something I’m sure I’ve seen in any number of movies and television shows—but who needs originality in a time like this?
Not me.
Fynn moves close, his voice low, breath ghosting across my skin as he leans into my ear. “Val, I would commit unconscionable crimes for the opportunity to put sunscreen on you.”
I whip off my shirt embarrassingly fast. So fast one boob threatens to go rogue and nearly springs from its side of my halter style bikini top. To hide the near malfunction I flop to my stomach, presenting him with my back. I nearly choke when he squeezes out some of the lotion, works it between his palms, and then puts his palms on my body.
He starts at my lower back—a perfectly appropriate spot—but I’m so wound up he might as well have his hands on my tits. Every slide of his strong hands against my skin curls my insides tighter. By the time my back and shoulders are protected from the sun, I’m ready to snap.
When he leans down and says, “We can’t forget your bottom half, Val,” I nearly pass out.
Sweet Baby Spice. I think this might be foreplay. If it’s not, it should be.
I’m such a quivering mess that unbuttoning my cutoffs to give him access is an ordeal, but I finally manage to get them undone and then wiggle around, trying to work them down. It would have made a whole lot more sense to stand up to remove them, but I doubt my abilities to stay upright, so I keep wrestling with them.
And failing.
“Here. Let me help.” Fynn grips the waistband. “Ass up, Val.”
I’m so affected by the demand I automatically obey, curving my spine to lift my hips off the towel.
"Good girl. Just like that." Fynn works the shorts down my legs, but I don’t even notice because my brain is still stumbling over the hushed words that just came out of his mouth.
I’m not completely naïve. I know about the whole ‘good girl’ thing. I just never expected to like something like that. And boy oh boy do I like it. A lot.
Once Fynn has the shorts folded and tucked into our bag, he goes back to the sunscreen. “Can I put this on your legs?”
I think I’m going to melt and become one with the lava sand. Turn into a pile of quivering goo Sharon and Sylvia will have to step around when they pack up. “Please do.”
“So polite.” There’s a pause as he squeezes out another dose, and then Fynn’s hands are on me again, starting at my calves. They’re so large they practically wrap around each one as he works the cream over my skin. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”
I’m floating along on a happy little cloud as he skims higher, kneading my thighs a little as he goes. “I don’t think you could do anything I wouldn’t like.” My eyes snap open wide because I can’t believe I said that. I also can’t believe how low and sultry my voice sounded. Almost sexy, which is very unlike me.
