Page 43 of The Plus Ones
The expression of shock and horror on her face do nothing to make her look any less gorgeous and sexy, but at least I’m getting some kind of a reaction from her. She covers her mouth. “Shut up.”
“I wish you could have.”
“Oh my God! There must be something wrong with me!”
Not that I can see.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
I turn it off.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry. Keaton! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You should have woken me up.”
“You would have murdered me.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t try to smother me with a pillow.”
“I don’t think it would have helped. Maybe don’t drink so much alcohol today. See if that changes things.”
She laughs. “I’ll do my best to abstain. Oh my God. Keaton, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Actually, it’s so much worse now that she’s actually being nice about it.
She finishes drying herself off, then arranges her towel on top of the chaise lounge, and then arranges herself on top of the towel. She puts her sunglasses on and looks around at Aimee and Bernie, who are snuggling up to their husbands. Finally, she reaches down into her beach bag, pulls out a bottle of sunscreen, and glances up at me. “Um, would you mind getting my back?” she asks almost apologetically.
I take the sunscreen from her. If this is her way of apologizing for last night, then I accept. Ohhhhh, I accept. I can’t form words right now, butyes.
She scooches forward to make room for me on the chaise lounge behind her. I take in a deep breath and situate myself so that I have full access to the backside of her upper body. I sweep the ends of her damp hair over one shoulder. She reaches back to hold her hair up, and our fingers touch for a brief electric moment. I use my fingertip to swipe a few stray hairs away, and I can’t help but note the way she shivers.
She clears her throat. “If you could get to it before the sun goes down, that would be great.”
“You want this done right or not?”
“There’s no wrong way to apply sunscreen to someone’s back.”
“There’s a right way to do it when the right guy is doing it.”
She guffaws. “Okay, let’s not turn this into a thing.”
I squeeze a quarter-size amount of the lotion onto the palm of my hand. It smells like cocoa butter and sex and being slowly castrated by my best friend, who’s watching me from twenty feet away.Fuck him—I would gladly sacrifice both balls for this woman. I place my hand flat on her back between her shoulder blades and stroke slowly in an upward circular motion. Her skin is smooth and warm and alive beneath my hand, and I just need three hours alone with her in our cottage and then I’m done.
I apply more lotion to her shoulders and the back of her neck, almost up to her hairline, and then I drag my fingers down her spine to unhook the bra hook closure, quickly, before she can protest. She gasps and lets her hair drop back down, using her hands to hold the front of her bikini in place.
“No one’s lookin’ but me, darlin’, and I can only see your back.”
She shifts around, stretches her legs out straight in front of her, and I can’t see it, but I know she’s squeezing her thighs together.
There’s a right way to do this, Roxy Carter, and I’m doing it to you right now.
I use both hands to massage the sunscreen into her lower back and hips until she groans quietly, realizes she just groaned, straightens up, and says, “Okay, I think I’m good.” She swallows hard.
“You need me to get the backs of your legs?”
“Nope. Thanks.”
