Page 18 of Whimsical Ink
We need to do our backs.
“Will you do my back for me?” Daniel asks.
“Sure.” I turn to him and fumble the bottle. “Turn around.”
He turns, and I’m faced with miles of bare skin to touch. I take a handful of sunscreen and rub my hands on his shoulders.
His skin’s warm and he tensed when my hands landed on him, but now he’s relaxing into my touch, shoulders dropping. My hands drift from his shoulders down his back and brush the sides of his stomach to make sure he’s covered.
I pour more cream on my hands and do his lower back, tucking my fingers past his board shorts slightly and rearranging them again to make sure everything is rubbed in before I turn him.
His face is flushed.
“Thanks.” He scans me, following the deep V. “Shall I do your front?”
I swat him. “No. Just my back.” I hand him the bottle and turn.
His hands land on my shoulders, the cream cool on my skin as he drags it across me. Hands drift lower and lower, and his fingers slide to the edge of the one-piece, right above my ass, and sweeps past the fabric, rubbing cream across the dip of my back. I suck in a breath and hold it until his fingers retreat to safer territory.
“Don’t want you getting sunburnt if the fabric shifts.”
I clear the thickness in my throat. “You’re right.”
He’s doing the same thing I did, but having his hands on me, getting to the edge of the fabric when I know it wouldn’t take much to remove it… It’s hard to concentrate on anything.
His hands glide up my back and nudge the sides of the fabric near my chest, closer and closer to my breasts. My cheeks heat and my palms sweat, and I can’t blame it on the sun.
It’s all him.
The heat pooling between my legs. He wouldn’t need to do much. Just drift his hand down and move the edges of the fabric.
Daniel squeezes my shoulders. “All done.”
Except we’re on a public beach with his family a few metres away.
“Thanks.”
I turn around and face his flushed cheeks and accept the bucket hat handed to me and slam it on my head. At least I’m not the only one struggling with having hands on me. Do we need to play the game? Can’t we return to the house and strip each other instead?
“Do the string up.”
My nose scrunches. “Really? It looks ridiculous.”
“Yes, but it means it won’t fly off during the game and will keep your precious skin protected.” He fixes his and steps closer to me until the ruffles on my one-piece brush his chest and my toes nudge his. Hands reach up and push the toggle until it sits under my chin, stopping the wind from dragging it away. He steps back and analyses me. “There. Adorable.”
I huff and move to take it off, but he grabs my hands and stops me. He ducks his head under the brim of my hat and kisses my cheek, bumping his hat on my forehead in the process, but I don’t care.
“I’m wearing mine the same way. It’s a couple’s look.” He links his hand with mine and drags me down the beach to the water where the others have set everything up.
“Fine. But I’m winning this thing.”
“We’ll see, birthday girl. If I’m losing, I’ll make sure you don’t get sunburnt and help you win.”
A shiver runs through me.
Can’t believe his sun safety is getting me hot.
What happened to me?