Page 16 of Date and Switch

“Either ass up in the air, or legs spread—which would you prefer? I need to see all of the affected area, angel. I think you did more than just catch the sun, you threw a lasso up there and yanked—taking it prisoner. Your legs and ass are a battle ground of blisters—”

“I know!” I heard from beneath the pillow.

“The quicker I can get the ointment on, the faster we can forget the embarrassment, right?”

I told myself no chuckling allowed. My subconscious is an asshole sometimes though. Her mortification amused me as much as her trust had wrapped me in an odd warmth.

“Real quick. Up on your knees. I’ll slather on the ointment real fast. I won’t even look at anything but the blisters.”

She pushed herself up to her knees, and in two seconds I made a liar out of myself a second time. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be looking. I shouldn’t have tempted myself with a peek at her heaven. Even around her sunburn and its effects, her pussy was beautiful. Whether she regularly waxed bare, or it was a special occasion for the cruise, I had to physically hold my mouth closed to prevent an appreciative groan from escaping.

“Are you done yet?”

Touching her felt wrong. Despite me being the one who convinced her. I also hadn’t expected to go from flaccid to fully erect in a millisecond. I wanted to touch her. But not in a therapeutic way. I wanted to run my fingers along those soft looking lips, listen to her sigh and moan. Take my time teasing the sensitive skin before allowing a gentle finger to skim the clit that peeked out at me from its shell.

“Hey! Are you perving out on me back there? I don’t feel any ointment being applied.”

She jerked her ass back and forth as an exclamation point to her statement. If she wasn’t burned and blistered, she’d get a swift swat from me. Her mouthy little retort did what she intended, threw a bucket of ice water on my stupor, and pushed me into action.

“I’m trying to figure out the least painful route to go about applying this,” I told her, hoping it sounds like a believable reason. “Sugarcoating is not my strong suit. You’re burned pretty bad. It’s a good thing we’re at sea for a spell because I wouldn’t want you out in the sun with this kind of burn.”

I tried to look without looking. Focusing only on the blisters and my fingers. I didn’t want to notice what a beautiful shade of blush her pussy was. Or how wet she was. It was probably just the ointment that made her glisten.

“All right.” I put a cap on her medicine and wiped my hand on the towel I’d brought with me. “I’m going to grab the dinner Paolo brought us, and an ice pack. In the bag you’ll find pain killers, a few flavors of Gatorade, and the nightgown. I’d suggest putting on the nightgown first.”

“I don’t know anything about you.” She giggled while uncapping her Gatorade. “You literally have seen the most private part of my body and other than knowing you have a brother, you’re from Boston, and run a chain of hotels, I know shit-all about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

I ordered a bottle of wine with dinner, forgetting that once she ingested a pain killer, wine was definitely not something she should imbibe in. I was two glasses in and already feeling obnoxiously buoyant. That feeling was preferable to rock hard and counting down the minutes until I could escape to the shower.

“Umm,” she tapped her finger to her lips, pushing them together in mock question, “I’m not really sure. Just about you, you know, in general.”

“I’m a pretty open book, Sera. I feel like we covered all the basics between the time we set up the cruise until the time we stepped foot on the ship.”

“Sure, things like you’re super busy. You could be a fashion model with how elegant you always look. I can count on my hands the number of times you’ve eaten a carb. But those are boring things.”

I ate carbs. While I did run—pushing my body to the point of collapse was really the only way I could ever get my mind to clear—I certainly didn’t obsess over what I ate. I liked that she liked the way I dressed. Or that she took enough time to even notice how I dressed.

“Okay, tell me the kinds of things you want to know then. I’m a Scorpio, my birthday was November the third.”

I knew as soon as I said it she’d be all oh my god and why didn’t you tell me. I placed my finger on her lips to stymie the outburst before she had a chance to give it a voice.

“My birthday is just another day. I’m not really a big birthday party, let’s shout from the rooftops kind of person.”

“Oh gosh. Birthdays are my favorite.” She laughed, adjusting herself on her bed. We spent the entire evening in the same place we’d started it. She on her bed, and me seated between the two beds, leaning against mine so I could look at her. “What’s your middle name?” She asked, though didn’t give me a moment to answer.

“No! Let me guess. You’re Bryce… Hmm it has to be something super stuffy and aristocratic.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask, oddly entertained by her assertion.

“Because everything about you screams uppity east coast family, and I mean that in like a sexy way. Not in an elitist way. Not sexy. Just—you know—not in a bad way.”

She tripped over herself attempting to back-paddle. The pink in her cheeks having absolutely nothing to do with her sunburn this time. I raised my eyebrows over the wineglass I sipped from, not agreeing, or disagreeing.

“Bryce Mountbatten Ellis, that seems to fit.”

“Fit what? Your overblown impression of who I am?” I laughed, a full belly laugh. “I think you’ve been watching too many episodes of The Crown. Bryce Edward Ellis. After my grandfather, Edward Ellis. My mother didn’t want another “E” name in the patrilineage. And I use the word ironically, since you seem to think I’m equivalent to an Earl. Speaking of “E” names. My father is Elias, after my great grandfather of the same name. My mom kept the tradition by giving me his middle name, and Penn’s middle name is Elias.”

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