The Virginity Mission (9 page)

“You have beautiful breasts.”

I'm sure he's insane. They're tiny, or they were before. They feel bigger now, swollen, tender, needy. To avoid answering, and to stop his hungry stares, I loop my arms around his neck. I intended to kiss him but my nipples rub across his chest and I shudder. A deep strong pulse runs through my whole body. His arms wrap around me and I'm lightly crushed against his chest, my breasts mould to him. I love it. I rub against him, intending only to rub my breasts against his pectoral muscles but, much to my shock, his thick cock rubs against my pussy. Instinctively I rock my hips forward wanting his cock closer. It strengthens, lengthens, becomes even harder than before and I realise—I've done this. Our kissing and touching has caused this to happen. Incredible. I can't quite believe I have the power to make this man want me this much.

He growls for me to sit still and I laugh a throaty husky sound.
Is that me?
It's totally foreign but definitely aroused.

“We've got all night, you know.” His words are laced with laughter. They don't quieten me. Inside, I'm a thrumming mess of emotion. I'm having sex. He wants to do this, with me, all night. I'm going to lose my virginity. Any doubt I had is gone.

His hands stroke lightly over my waist and down to my hips. He holds me still, with the top half of my swimmers bunched beneath his hands. He squeezes before lifting me from his lap. I don't move far, just enough so I float for the moment it takes for him to drag my swimmers over my bottom and down my legs. I float suspended in the spa. He dumps my dripping swimmers at the side.

I'm gloriously naked.

With Jason.

Having sex.

And it's better than I ever imagined.

“Don't forget them.” He nods at my swimmers before his hands circle my waist and I'm hauled against him.

I laugh. At the moment I can't remember my name, much less where he leaves my swimmers.

He has free access to my nakedness. I've longed for someone to touch me and now it's happening. His exploration is a deliciously slow torture. His hands slide over my ribcage and make me shudder. His fingers stroking across my belly make me laugh like a wanton tease. When his hands flare over my hips, I want him to own me. My body sings beneath his caress, as if every cell is his to conduct. When his hands have stroked every centimetre of flesh on my long body, I'm caught in some sort of erotic dream where I'm so aroused I can think of nothing but his touch, yet so languid I can't move.

“Your turn to touch.” His whisper in my ear is so soft it's like my own thought.

His body fascinates me. I love the power of his muscles, the silken skin and the coarse hair. I've explored his chest and shoulders but the rest of him makes me timid. It's foreign territory. Everything below his navel is dominated by his cock. I don't know how to touch one. If I don't do it right, will I hurt him? I bite my lip, almost tempted to ask him how to touch it but I shake myself mentally.
How can touching a naked body hurt?

The first place to touch is his jaw. I do what I dreamed of doing. I cup each palm beneath his jaw and drag them slowly to the point of his chin. Smiling, I repeat it with my fingertips. The rough scratching of stubble not only prickles my fingers but causes the muscles of my stomach to clench, then my pussy squeezes. I feel wet and achy. I'm only rubbing my hands on his jaw.
Lordy.
My thumbs press against his chin, my nails scraping his lower lip as I drag my thumb across his stubbly chin. Quivers spread through my body.
Delicious.

Moving to his shoulders, I cup them and find they fit into the palms of my hands. Balls of rippling muscle. I slide my hands down both his arms. Biceps and triceps flex beneath my fingers causing a grin to sneak across my lips. Love the muscle movement. As I run my hands over his forearms, he dances his fingers over my hips and his muscled forearms ripple. A shiver of joy and a gasp of wonder escape me, causing him to wiggle his fingers more.

“I'm crazy about your muscles.” I grin at my foolishness, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“I have noticed that.” He tightens his hands on my hips and his bicep bulges. I can do nothing else. I lean forwards and run my tongue along the smooth edge and then up over the swell. Strength beneath silk. I nibble kisses and nips along his arms, paying close attention to every bulging muscle.

Feeling a lot more confident, my hands trail across his chest. A chest sparsely dusted with dark hair—a little along his breast bone, a bit around his nipples, then a long soft trail that bisects a washboard stomach and runs into his shorts. My index finger traces the whorls of hair around his nipples, circling while his nipples squeeze tight. Leaning forward, I lap my tongue across the top of each nipple in turn. They pucker more tightly. I take the left one between my lips and suck on it as he did to mine. His head tips back and his cock presses against me even harder than before. I repeat this with the other nipple. His reaction is all I need to give me the confidence to trail my fingers decadently down his stomach. Each ridge is tighter than the one before. The muscle is hard beneath my fingertip, but the hair surprisingly soft. I slip from his lap and float in the water so I can more easily dip my fingertip into his navel, and slip around the indentation. I pause slightly as my fingertip follows the dip out and tracks the hair to the waistband of his shorts. I stroke back and forth slowly, across the top of his shorts, sneaking my finger further inside each time as I push the shorts lower. The softest growl makes me the complete temptress and I slide my fingers inside his shorts and push them down further. He freezes.

His hand captures my wrist, stopping my exploration. I look up. His eyes are dark, luminous pools in the moonlight. Hugely dark pools I can drown in. There's no anger in his expression, or shock, or anything else I recognise. His face looks like it's hewn from steel.

“You said it was my turn. You touched me everywhere. Don't I get to do the same?” I like fair play and to me, the fact that he's wearing his shorts and restricting my hand's journey is not fair play.

He seems to have a war within himself. He looks at me, glances away, then looks at me with such intensity it's like he's trying to scan my mind. “I didn't touch you
everywhere
.”

My face flames and I duck my head. He's right, he didn't. I curl my legs up and move to sit on the seat beside him. This time I'm ashamed at my floating breasts and want to clamp my arms over them.

His hand curls beneath my chin and he gently turns and lifts my face until I'm looking at him. Ours gazes lock. He leans forward and catches my lips in a hot, open mouthed kiss. For a moment I thought I'd done something wrong but his kiss reassures and reignites.

Our lips dance together as if they've moved to each other's rhythm for eternity. The kiss heats as our tongues tango, slipping against each other, sliding from mouth to mouth. We're duelling, searching for possession, both giving, both taking. Such a frantic kiss can't last for long and we pull apart, panting hard. My hands have ended up on his thighs, fingers clinging to the muscles.

“Do you know what you're doing?” he asks.

“No.” There's no point lying. I figure he's probably worked that out by now. “But I'm willing to learn.”

He groans, swears under his breath. “If I lose my shorts, I don't know that I can stop.”

“I haven't asked you to stop.”

“No, but we have to.” His voice is steel. There are no arguments allowed. I want to remind him of his comment not that long ago, about not stopping once we start, but it doesn't seem the right time to mention that. There won't be starting again. He may as well have thrown ice water on us. All the heat's gone. One moment we were an inferno, now only embers.

We stare at each other. It's like a challenge has been laid down. We're sizing up the odds and working out how to go forwards. I'd love to be able to argue with him but I know I won't win. All I can do is ask for a reason.

“Why?” I'm so out of my depth. I want to keep going and can't think of any reason to stop.

He wraps me in a hug and rests his forehead against mine. It's close, intimate but not the arousing passion of moments ago. He takes a deep breath that releases as a huge sigh. “Sweetheart, we can't get caught. I'm not even meant to be with you.” Is that regret?

I raise my eyes to catch his gaze but he won't meet mine. His eyes skitter away. He hasn't left, hasn't moved. I'm still wrapped in his arms. I have a chance of having sex, if I don't make the wrong move again. If I have to bare my soul to take the chance, then I'll rip my soul open.

The pad of my index finger slides against the defined edge of his pectoral muscle while I work up the courage to speak. I study the movement, not having the courage to look up. It's like he's here in the flesh but his mind has wandered away. It won't be long until his body follows.

“Jason, it's the second last night here and…I…umm…I've never done this before and I want to…with you. I won't report you or anything.”

My finger traces circles on his chest while we remain otherwise unmoving. I'm feeling like a bit of a leper. Every silent second my resolve wavers. Maybe he's not interested in me. Have I read everything incorrectly? I thought we were getting it on, everything was good. Now, I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't have told him my problem. I should have just left. I should have taken what I could—the kisses and touches—not wanted more.

He tips his head back and his body tenses around me. “You've never had sex?” His voice is scarcely a whisper against my forehead.

I shake my head. Too mortified to speak.

“Could have fooled me.” He gives the tiniest of snorts from his nose. The air whooshes across my face. “So why me? Why now?” He sounds more confused than I feel.

Oh, hell
. How do I answer that? I pull back from his hug and try to draw on sanity. Honesty seems to be working for me, so I go with that. I don't have anything else to offer.

I rattle off the reasons, pointing to each finger on my raised hand as I list them. “The moment I saw you my body reacted. Twenty-one is far too old to never have had sex. This trip is my chance at breaking free, I want to take advantage of it. I don't know.” I shrug, hands flapping, spraying water across us both. “I like you.” It sounds pathetic. I'm embarrassed I don't have something better, more romantic, to tell him. How was I to know I had to dig into my emotions and make sense of them? I thought sex was purely physical.

Jason pulls back, not enough so I'm rejected but enough so I notice and look up. He looks amused. “You bought me water because you thought I was hot, not sweaty hot?” His lips quirk up into that sexy grin that makes my knees weaken.

I blush. I blush so red he has to be able to see it in the moonlight. I thought he was both, but hot first. I can't believe I've told him. My body wants to shrivel up and disappear, starting from my stomach which is turning itself in knots right now.

His palms lie flat against my flaming cheeks. “Just when I think I've got you figured out.” He's laughing.

I'm not. I'm sitting in a spa, held naked by an almost naked man, completely confused. Is he upset or pleased? Is this going to continue or stop? Have I totally ballsed up my chance of losing my virginity? What am I meant to say? What am I meant to do?

“Is that good?” That's my voice, squeaking out those words, sounding like I'm ready to break into tears or worse.

“I don't know, Chicken Shit.”

His words enlighten me none, but his hands and his lips speak. His hands skim my body, never resting anywhere. His lips meet mine in tiny nibbling touches. At first I'm so confused I can't forget enough to feel. Then my lips soften and his kiss deepens. His tongue flicks against my lips. His teeth nip them, then his lips soothe. He teases until I'm breathless with wanting. His lips catch mine in a deeper kiss but it's not enough. I want that soul shattering passion we had before and it's gone. This is sweeter, more emotionally tearing and I don't know what it means. Is he going to tease me again and stop? Only one way to find out.

I press my hands to his chest, slide them across his stomach before trying to capture his hips. He angles out of my reach. The frustration is never-ending. I want what we had before. I want the hot, mindless, roaring inferno. I don't want this simmering pot of scalding emotion. I don't know what it means. I don't know if it's true. I have too many unanswered questions to give into this sweetness. I need my body to overtake my mind again. My mind is too scrambled to make sense of this sort of kissing.

He must sense my hesitation because he stops, sits me beside him and catches my hand in his. “What's up?”

“I don't understand.”

He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses each knuckle in turn. He pulls our linked hands back into the water and rests them against his thigh.

“Mac, the spa is too exposed, we'll get caught. Plus we need protection.” For the longest time he stares at me, as if willing me to understand. I don't.

How can we be caught? It's dark, no one's around, I'm not going to say anything to anyone. And protection…it should matter to me that he cares but in all honesty, I feel like it's a convenient excuse. I can't look at him. I stare at the water with the moonlight glinting on the surface. My heart's battered. I'm going to be the girl who talks to the guy and doesn't end up getting laid, again. I don't want to sit here any longer and I'm not sure I can hold inside the fat tears of self-pity that are welling.

I stand, dragging my hand out of his grasp. “I have to go. I'm turning into a prune.” We've been in the water so long, our skin is all wrinkled and waterlogged. I haven't worried about it before but it's convenient now.

As I climb out, the cool night air hits my naked flesh.
Shit, no swimmers.
I grab my towel from the fence and wrap it tightly around my body. Picking up my swimmers, I dart for the ladies toilet block. At least there, under a shower, I can give in to my sorrow.