The Bikini Diaries (4 page)

He shrugged and cast a gorgeous smile. 'A little, but I'll be careful and try not to get a ticket." The fluttering in her panties promptly resumed.

Only after the doors slid shut, though, did she inquire, "Um, where does this go?"

He let out a deep, good-natured laugh. "You should be more careful about taking rides with strangers. That's the first thing you should have asked." Then he explained that the elevator led to a quieter bar on the second floor—an idea that immediately appealed,

under the circumstances.

"I had no idea there was another bar here."

"Most people don't. But it's nice."

When the elevator opened, Wendy heard a Phil Collins song and shifted her gaze to a

small band in one corner of the room. Indeed, the mood was more serene here—most of

the tables were occupied, but there was plenty of walking and standing room as compared

to Volcano's first floor. A carved sign near the stage declared this the Lava Room.

"What are you drinking?" he asked, and she realized they were walking to the bar together as if it were the natural thing to do.

"Nothing, yet. What do you recommend?"

"For you?" He drew back and gave her a once-over, which she was pretty sure turned her nipples hard. "Sex on the beach," he said. Which made her pussy moist, too.

She bit her lip playfully, and grew bolder still. "The drink— or the activity?"

His eyes went warm, wholly sexual. "I definitely advocate both, but I was talking about the drink."

Advocate. She was right. Her hot man was smart, and intelligence turned her on as much

as anything else. She leaned her head back with a slight smile. "And exactly why is that the drink for me?"

"Well, it's fruity and light, so girls usually like it. Plus its name allows me to bring up sex mere seconds after meeting you without getting slapped."

She laughed and thought,
You I wouldn't slap for bringing up sex.
But she liked his sense of humor, along with the fact that he was taking the time to flirt with her.

When the bartender arrived, her guy ordered two sex-on-the-beaches. And as they talked

more, Wendy couldn't quite believe
this
guy was in to her. He was everything she'd come out looking for tonight—handsome, sexy as hell, gorgeous eyes, thick hair, and he clearly hid some muscles under that shirt, judging from the way it stretched across his chest. Plus there was that added perk of brains. That quickly, she wanted to be under him so badly

that she could taste it, just as strongly as the fruity—and quickly intoxicating—drink.

She learned that her hot guy actually lived at the resort full-time—he owned one of the

condos and worked locally. "I grew up in Alabama, a few hours north of here, but my family came down to the beach every summer, and I always hated going back home."

Now that he mentioned it, at moments she could hear just a hint of a Southern accent

hidden under his usually clear and direct enunciation, and it somehow made him all the

more
sexy. "So
I worked down here on summer break through college, and it only made sense to come back to stay."

In reply, Wendy explained that she was here on business, but left it at that. Despite that she'd liked hearing a bit about
his
life, it seemed simpler that way

"Hope you're not adverse to mixing your business with a little pleasure," he said with a soft, seductive grin.

Which prompted her to motion down at her dress and be completely blunt. "What does

this dress tell you?"

His gaze swept appreciatively over her breasts and downward, then he gave her another

scintillating smile as he leaned closer. "I hope it says you're a woman who likes pleasure as much as I do."

"Very
much," she assured him, a frisson of it scurrying down her inner thighs.

A moment later, the band began playing a slow song, inviting people to dance. When

several couples moved onto the small dance floor, her man motioned toward it. "Shall we?"

Oh God, this was fun. Just to be with a guy so smooth and sexy. To know he wanted her

just like she wanted him. To know she was good enough, hot enough, to snag him, even

if only for a night. She answered by putting her hand into his as she set her drink on the bar.

The band played Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" as her man pulled her close and molded his hands over her hips. She didn't back away, but instead let her breasts press

into his chest as they began to sway together. Part of her had wondered if, when it came to this part—actual physical contact with a stranger— she'd find it too weird or difficult in some way. But her hot, perfect man with the blue eyes made it incredibly easy. Her

whole body tingled with delight.

"I'm embarrassed," he said deeply, "that I haven't even asked your name yet."

And for some reason, she thought fleetingly about going with her given name—

Gwendolyn. She used it on her business cards and resume because she thought it made

her sound more mature and serious. But then it hit her—why on earth would she want to

sound mature and serious right now? This was a one-night thing and she was White

Bikini Babe. That was what
he
wanted her to be. And that was what
she
wanted to be, too. "I'm Wendy," she said, thanking her lucky stars for a name frivolous enough to belong to any garden-variety stripper or porn star.

"Brandon," he returned easily.

When she skittered off her heel once during the dance, she quickly
chose
not to be embarrassed. Wanton Wendy the stripper/porn star
wouldn't
be. "New shoes," she said instead, managing a giggle.

He glanced down, so she turned her foot sideways to show off her brand-new peek-toe

pumps. "Very hot," he informed her with a heated grin, "and well worth a little stumble."

Together they moved then, the dance creating just enough friction between their bodies

that Wendy found herself beginning to grind slowly against him. She didn't plan it, but

she also didn't stop the urge. And—oh my, Brandon began to grow wonderfully hard in

front, his arousal brushing across her hip, her mound, and making her want to sigh with

the heat it built inside her. She forgot all about her shoes and didn't stumble again.

When the song ended, he leaned to whisper in her ear. "More sex on the beach?"

Biting her lip, and feeling still more daring, she rose on her tiptoes to whisper silkily back into his. "The drink? Or the activity?"

He drew back slightly, parting their bodies just enough to glance lustfully down at her

cleavage. "Why don't we take a walk and see where it goes?"

Oh God. It's ready, really happening now.

"I might be a little overdressed for the beach," she said, the . words coming out saucy, sexy.

He grinned. "It'll be dark—no one will know and your secret's safe with me."

And she knew she was probably crazy to actually be doing this, going off with a total

stranger to have meaningless sex, but she reminded herself again: This could be her one

shot ever at fucking a truly hot guy who made her wet at a glance, and she wanted to

know how that felt—to just drink in the physical sensations, to simply be fucked purely

for the sake of fucking.

As they walked through Bayside Village hand in hand, Wendy felt like a queen. A sex

queen. And she fully expected them to proceed to the shuttle stop since the beach was at least a mile away, but to her surprise, Brandon led her to a group of golf carts, motioning to one. "Your chariot, milady."

She'd forgotten that for an exorbitant price you could rent a golf cart to traverse the resort as well, bypassing the shuttle system. So her hot-man-for-a-night possessed not only

brains, but money. It hardly mattered, given the "a-night" part, but it still pleased her and made for a fun ride across the palm-tree-laden resort in the dark.

Parking near the beach, Brandon led her by the hand to a boardwalk that crossed the

dunes, and when they reached steps leading down to the sand, he motioned to her shoes.

"Might want to leave those here. Sand and heels don't mix."

Good point, and she was glad he'd mentioned it—the vodka and schnapps in her drink

had her feeling giddy and not thinking as clearly as usual. But as she leaned against the wood railing to remove them, Brandon said, "Allow me," stooping down before her.

"Oh ..." she heard herself breathe when he lifted one foot in his hand and gently slid the shoe off, brushing his fingertips across the bottom arch of her foot, a simple move that sent a fluttery ribbon of heat up her leg.

He removed the other pump as well, this time running his index finger lightly over the

top of her foot. She felt
that
caress in her pussy and hoped he didn't notice the lustful sigh she released, even letting her eyes fall shut for a second.

As her bare feet sank into the sand, she noticed the beach was surprisingly empty, and

dark. Bayside Village must provide enough distractions, she decided, to lure away people who might normally enjoy combing the beach after the sun set. A warm sea breeze blew

her hair back from her face as she walked with Brandon over the wide expanse of cool

sand toward the shore.

Moonlight gleamed across the calm waves, which broke only lightly before rolling up

onto the sand, and the June temperatures made the water cool but comfortable as it rushed over Wendy's feet. She immediately liked being alone with Brandon in the dark and it

turned the silk between her thighs even wetter.

He held her hand as they waded into the surf, although it surprised her when she realized he was leading her gradually deeper into the water. When one of the incoming waves

splashed up around her knees, she laughed and said, "Where are on earth are you taking me?" She might not be opposed to a midnight swim, but not in her dress.

"There," Brandon replied. 'A sandbar.
See?”
He pointed out an area slightly offshore where the water flowed smooth in the scant moonlight, no waves breaking at all.

But she only gave another laugh. 'Afraid you're on your own." Even as aroused as she'd been all day, she didn't mind if he wanted to have a little beach fun before sex—but she had no intention of wading out to a hidden sandbar in a brand-new dress that probably

wouldn't like salt water very much.

Her "date" shrugged playfully. "Suit yourself—you don't know what you're missing."

And, releasing her hand, he moved deeper into the surf, stopping to roll up the legs on his long cargo shorts as the water rose higher around him.

"What am I missing?" she couldn't help calling after him with a smile as the distance between them grew. She'd never actually had occasion to wade out to a sandbar before,

so she didn't know what the great appeal was.

"I used to do this when I was a kid," he called back over his shoulder. "It was fun to confuse the hell out of people because it looked like I was walking on water."

just then, he emerged up out of the waves, suddenly standing only ankle deep, even

though he was at least twenty yards off the beach. Indeed, it gave the impression he was standing on the ocean's surface. He flashed an unmistakably boyish grin, confiding, "It's kind of cool even when no one's around. Come on," he added, motioning her toward him from where she still stood watching at the water's edge. "I'm lonely out here."

Ah, hell. Even with his shorts rolled up and acting like a little boy, he was beyond

tempting. And she couldn't resist. If Brandon wanted to hang out on a sandbar with her

for a little while, who was she to argue? Besides, she wanted to be fun, lighthearted— not sensible. If the dress got ruined, the dress got ruined. The memory would last much

longer than the dress anyway.

"You don't have to get in too deep," he assured her as she took the first tentative steps toward him in the surf. "Just go where you see the smoothest water—that's the shallowest path."

Wendy followed his instructions, using both hands to raise her dress around her thighs as she waded deeper. For some reason, as the water rose higher on her legs, she got wetter in her panties.

When she realized she'd made a bad move at some point and, even though she was

hearing the sandbar was also officially going deeper into the water rather than higher, she looked up at Brandon and said, "What now?"

And as he studied her in the moonlight, his eyes changed, his expression going suddenly

darker. She couldn't help imagining what she looked like holding the skirt of her slinky dress up nearly to her crotch.

His smile had faded completely. "What's now is—you wait there and don't move a

muscle because here I come."

His answer confused her. "What?"

But now Brandon was easing toward her through the shallow water, trying to find the

easiest path himself without going deeper, and by walking in a sort of half-circle through the ocean he reached her without getting any more immersed. Peering into her eyes as he

finally reached her and stepped up close, he said, "I must be fucking crazy, screwing around with sandbars when maybe... I can be screwing you instead."

Any other time, any other guy, and Wendy would have found the sentiment crude, but

Brandon's lustful expression turned the words hot and increased her arousal tenfold. Her nipples rubbed against the fabric of her dress, hard as granite, and her swollen cunt felt oh-so-ready for attention.

"Follow me, honey," he said, his voice still deep and seductive, and she let him take one of her hands, still using the other to keep her dress hiked high, as he led her back to shore.

At the water's edge, he turned toward her, bringing their bodies agonizingly close without touching. Then his hands rose to her face and he brought his mouth down on hers. It

wasn't a hard kiss, yet it was firm and controlling—
mmm, yes,
he was dearly a man who knew how to seduce.