Her Secret Treasure

She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down to hers. When their lips met, his arms automatically went around her. There was nothing frantic in this embrace and nothing tentative. It was the leisurely kiss of experienced lovers, though perhaps lovers long parted; he couldn’t deny the urgency with which he delved his tongue between her lips, or the strength of his desire as evidenced by the erection that swelled the front of his swim trunks.

In his arms she was pliant and playful, everything about her fascinating. When he began to unbutton her shirt, she stepped away from him, teasing him with the slow unveiling of her body. First the shirt, one button at a time, until he was all but panting to see what lay underneath.

Then the shorts, sliding oh-so-slowly down her shapely legs. She kicked off her sandals, then slid her thumbs in either side of the bikini bottoms. “Should I take them off?” she asked.

“If you don’t, I will.”

She removed her thumbs and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. I think you should go first.”

“Fine by me.” He untied the drawstring of the trunks and shoved them to his ankles, then stood before her, naked and aroused, and feeling only a little like a piece of merchandise on display, waiting to see if he met with her approval.

The way she looked at him was worth any momentary embarrassment, though. He’d never had a woman look at him with such an expression of awe and wonder—as if she’d never seen a naked man before. Which was absurd. And it wasn’t as if he was hung like a horse or something. He was a perfectly average man. Then again, maybe she’d been dating a lot of losers lately.

“What do you want me to do now?” she asked.

At first he thought she was teasing again, then he saw her whole posture had changed. She was standing sideways to him, trying to cover herself with her arms, as if she was truly embarrassed.