by Nina Strych
She gave him a look, glancing backward at the man’s retreating back. Mike grinned and said, “And not be eaten by sharks.”
They bumped arms as they took the little trail and Amy gasped at the blue-green water in the small cove. The already-gentle waves were mere ripples here, the dark spots of the many different corals visible through the clear water.
“Wow,” Mike said. He hefted the bag with their hotel-provided equipment onto his shoulder and didn’t think about what he was doing. He simply reached for her hand.
And she didn’t pull away.
Hand in hand they finished the short walk, then stripped down to their suits and raced to the water. In the shallows, they laughed at each other as both tried to get their fins on without falling and then stayed close together as they got their first looks through the lenses of their swim masks.
It was beautiful. Glorious. Several others were swimming, but there seemed to be an implicit agreement to keep some distance between the various couples. As soon as they got deep enough that they could use their flippers without jabbing into the sand or touching the coral, fish came from everywhere to swarm about them. Amy jerked up, legs pin-wheeling as she tried to get away.
He tugged her up and said, “They’re just seeing if you’ve got food probably. I read that people do that even though they’re not supposed to. They’ll go away. We’re fine.” He hoped he was telling the truth about that one.
She stuck the snorkel back in her mouth and nodded, her expression fierce and face set, as if she were determined to walk into the cage of a known man-eating lion. He laughed and kicked closer to her. “They’ll have to get through me first. You’re fine.”
Amy smiled around her snorkel, which was bright blue so that it made her look like she was wearing blue fake teeth. It was hilarious and he stuck his orange snorkel in and grinned back. She snorted, clearly getting the joke, and back into the water they went.
They stayed close together at first, her nervous of the fish and he simply wanting to be near her. When she grew brave and kicked away, Mike finally got the chance to really look at her without being obvious about it.
She was as glorious as the cove itself. Her suit set off her curves and made her already buoyant breasts almost scream to be touched. Her bottom rounded in exactly the right way and when she bent to dive down, Mike felt a tightening in his swim trunks he had hoped to avoid. It was getting painful, this wanting that was growing into a need. An urgent need to simply touch her.
She waved him over, her head down and her beautiful legs tilted up toward the surface. Her hair waved around her like a fan or a mermaid. He ran his hand along her arm as he came close, anchoring them together.
She pointed and he saw a turtle swimming lazily in a gap in the coral. It was graceful and nothing like the lumbering turtles he saw on land. It glided close, inspecting them with a side-eye, then swam away, flippered legs propelling it with ease.
They both surfaced and laughed, her face transformed by her delight and utterly at ease. She grabbed his arm to keep them close together and said, “That was amazing! He wasn’t afraid at all.”
“Or she,” he replied, unable to resist joining in her joy. He kicked so that they were closer still, her knees bumping his thighs and her hands slippery on him in the water.
Mike felt like this was the moment, the moment to kiss her. The marks of her snorkel made a red line around her lips and she looked amazing, no makeup to hide her freckles or the startling blue of her eyes. He braced himself, every nerve in his body alive with the possibilities of a kiss, then leaned forward and closed his eyes.
And kissed air.
She rose from the water, her hair now out of her eyes and gave him a look. “You alright?”
Should he try again? He was flustered and entirely thrown off base. “Sure, fine. I…”
“I?” she prodded.
Amy had no idea how she looked to him now. The mask lines on her cheeks, the plump rosy lips, her hair snaking around her in the water, the curve of her breasts.
He wanted to tell her, but maybe he could show her instead. He cupped her cheek, this time keeping her in place, and pressed his lips against hers.
Sixteen
He’s kissing me. He’s kissing me, Amy thought, stunned into stillness while the water lapped at their chins.
His lips were soft, the scuff of his unshaven cheek softened by the ocean, and he tasted of salt. The feeling was almost too intense, the heat of his lips and the warmth of the ocean. Her flippers touched nothing but water and she felt like she had come untethered from the Earth. The shock of feeling him touch her like this left her as suddenly as it came and in its place a heat rose in her belly that almost hurt.
She opened her lips and darted her tongue against his lips, the question there for him to answer. Will you?
The answer was evidently yes, because his hand shifted to the back of her neck and he pressed her mouth to his, opening his lips and tilting his head to devour her mouth like that’s all he’d been waiting for. Neither of them thought of the water anymore, and he stopped paddling with his hand to grip her around the waist, pulling her so tightly to him that they could get no closer.
Except they could and Amy gasped at the thought. A low moan escaped her and through their kiss, she felt him accept that moan for what it was. His tongue caressed her mouth, then he pulled back to bite softly at her lips, tracing a line of kisses along her jaw until he reached the soft place beneath her ear.
She felt the evidence of his desire between them, strong and hard. Ready. Ready for her. His hand slid from her back to cup her rear, pressing her even closer to him, his mouth on her neck. The dizzying combination of his mouth and the press of him against her made her forget everything, everything at all.
And then she heard laughter.
“I think someone is in the mood.” The voice was young, happy, delighted with life. Amy wanted to slap whoever it was silly.
They broke apart, at least a little, Mike leaning his head on her shoulder and breathing far too heavily. He groaned and said, “I hate whoever that is.”
Amy turned to look and saw a young couple not too far away, both of them smiling in their direction like they shared a secret. The girl held up her hand, flashing a diamond their direction. “I’m right there with you, sister. Honeymoons are the best.” Then she giggled and slid away, her husband right beside her.
Amy dropped her head onto Mike’s shoulder, unable to even keep upright anymore. She slid off his lap, her legs like jelly when she tried to swoosh her fins and keep herself above water. If that was what a kiss was like with Mike, she didn’t think she’d survive more.
But what a way to go.
“I don’t want to stop,” Mike said softly, his lips puffy from the kiss, redder than just a few minutes ago. Full of promise.
Amy had felt the eagerness in him, but how much of that was bought and paid for? How much of that was simply male need that required no specific woman to fill? The simple truth is that she had no way to know.
With a strong kick, she backed away from him enough that she felt in control once more, though if he was in the same zip code she wouldn’t really be in control. Her desire for him was too strong to be good for her. She’d waited her entire adult life to feel like this and she felt it for the one man she shouldn’t feel it for.
How to smooth this over? He was still looking at her like he was ready to start right back up where they’d left off. The happy couple that had interrupted them were now further away, their fins splashing the surface as they dipped and rose.
Amy looked down into the water and an idea came to her. “Oh, I think I just saw another turtle surface over there.” She waved in a random direction and let her flipper kicks open the distance between them.
Mike glanced over, then back at her. “Really? You want to keep swimming?”
She nodded, splashing a little water his direction. “We’re here to see this place, right?”
Mike heaved a
sigh and gave a strong kick that closed the distance between them before she could do anything. Water beaded on his face and his hair was sticking up in a way that begged for her to smooth it down. “I’d rather go somewhere less public.”
She laughed, though her belly tightened all the same at the thought. “Come on. You need to cool down.”
With that, she stuck her snorkel in her mouth and kicked away, the whole while thinking, And I need to cool down too, because this just got way too complicated.
Seventeen
Mike sucked water through his snorkel twice before giving up on it entirely. He still enjoyed the fish, but who cared about fish when Amy was kicking her legs ahead of him in the water? That view was all he needed.
Even so, he tried to stay engaged until she was ready to leave. They were both worn out when they slung their flippers onto the beach and plopped down onto the sand. When she flopped back with her arms flung wide, he’d fallen back exhausted right along with her. She rolled her head toward him and said, “I’m beat.”
He nodded. “Me too. It was fun though.”
Mike looked for any hint of what she was thinking, especially with respect to their kiss, but there was nothing at all to see. It was as if that moment hadn’t happened at all. Mike tried to contain his disappointment. He didn’t think he’d read her wrong. She’d enjoyed it, returned it, had seemed so eager for more. And then it was over, just like that.
He didn’t know what to think.
She got up from her spot and moved back into the water, waving for him to stay where he was. Mike watched her and had no clue what was going on. She was dipping her head back in the water and messing with her mask. She’d not taken it off and he wondered if there was a problem. Suddenly she smacked the water with the flats of both palms and he sat up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. Her mask was now completely crooked and over her head.
“What’s wrong?” he called out.
She jerked like she’d just been caught peeing in the bushes, then shrugged and trudged back up to the beach. He spread her towel out a little further, and she plopped down next to him.
Her hair was a mess and Mike had an inkling of what the problem might be. She was sitting with her head down, the diving mask cocked sideways and firmly entangled in her hair.
“Do you need help?” he asked as gently as he could.
She looked up, her eyes wet from more than the sea. “It’s completely tangled and I can’t get it out.”
Holding out his hands to show he was harmless, he asked, “Can I take a look?”
She sighed, then nodded, her head still hanging down and clearly embarrassed at her situation. Mike pulled away the knots so he could see to the source and then whistled. The end of the strap, which should be pulled tight and tucked into the clip to keep it from flapping about, had come loose. Her hair floating about underwater—which was delightful to see, but came with drawbacks—had twined around and inside until it was a lump. Her frequent lifting of her mask to clear it hadn’t helped matters either.
He plucked at one spot that looked like it might pull free and she winced. “That hurts?”
“Yeah, pretty much hair pulling and not in a good way.”
He laughed, then let go of the knot and leaned back. “There’s only one thing to do. Cut it out.”
She jerked back and looked at him with horror. “What?”
He laughed. “Just kidding. But I’m going to need a lot of conditioner and a comb. You’ll need a couple of glasses of wine.”
*****
She sat on the ottoman and sipped her wine, her back against his thighs and her elbows resting on his knees. It was a torment, but her hair required all his attention if he didn’t want it to be worse than it already was. He’d never seen a mess like this before.
One of his friends, back in the good old days of college and spring breaks, had gotten into a similar mess when they were diving off Monterey. His friend had possessed longish hair that day, but by the time they left Monterey to drive home, he had a buzz cut. This was not an option for Amy, clearly, so he teased out the massive knot and had already used a quarter bottle of her conditioner in the process.
“This is what we get for using hotel gear,” he said, pulling a strand free.
“It isn’t good gear?” she asked.
“Well, this is a very nice resort so the gear itself is nice, but a lot of people use it. The straps get a bit gummy and soft over time if you don’t care for them properly. That’s what happened here, I think.”
She harumphed and took another sip, lifting the glass to the light and tilting it this way and that. “This is really good. I don’t know much about wine—okay, I know nothing—but this is tasty.”
He smiled then touched the sides of her head to get her back into position. “Glad you approve. It’s not expensive if you buy it from a store either. It’s a myth that the more it costs the better it will taste. Some are just good.”
“Hmm, well, I like it. Nice choice. I’m also half in the tank at this point,” she said, sipping again.
Mike glanced at the bottle on the table. It was still almost half full. “Already?”
Amy leaned back a little, using his legs as a back rest and nearly killing him by being so close. The ends of her hair brushed his inner thighs and he wanted to pick her up and take her to the bed, swim mask and all. Instead, he took a deep breath and bit the inside of his mouth to push away the sensation of her body so close to his.
“I’m a total lightweight. I usually have one martini when I’m out with Marion, and that gets me seriously buzzed for an hour or so. She says I haven’t exercised my liver enough.”
Mike laughed. He had friends like that too. And he wasn’t exactly a party animal. “Well, maybe you should stop there then. Don’t we have dinner plans tonight or did I get the wrong day.”
She eeped and then winced when her head turn pulled her hair. Grabbing her phone, he saw the clock and his stomach rumbled. It was getting late and the clock just reminded him how long it had been since they had eaten. No wonder she was getting tipsy.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“How far are you? Our reservations are in about ninety minutes.”
“Almost there. I’m just unwrapping the clip now.” He put his fingers to her temples again and steadied her head. “But this will hurt if you don’t stay still.”
“Right, gotcha,” she said. She was quiet for a moment then she said, “I feel like my head is covered in grease.”
Mike’s fingers slipped along the over-conditioned strands and he said, “Well, you’ll have very soft hair when it’s done.”
As the last bit came free from the clip, he checked his work then lifted the mask up and away from her head. A few long hairs stayed well glued to it, but the rest of her hair was still firmly attached to her head. “Voila!”
“Ahh,” she said, putting down the glass to run her fingers through her hair. “I felt like I was never going to be free! Yuck, my hair feels disgusting.”
Nudging her forward so he could stand, he walked to her bathroom area with his hands out like a surgeon. His fingertips were wrinkled and he was coated in conditioner. Leaning out so he could see her, he said, “It’s a lovely combination of salt, conditioner, and a little sand for texture.”
She turned on her ottoman, her hands in her hair and her face adorably wrinkled in an expression of disgust. “Eww.”
He nodded, his voice full of mock-seriousness when he said, “Indeed. Very eww.”
She hopped up and tugged the towel around her more tightly closed, tucking the end in so it wouldn’t fall. “Well, it’s shower time and you should go too. Tonight it’s fancy dinner night, so nice clothes, but no suits. They don’t do suits here.”
He dried his hands and looked at the way the towel skimmed the tops of her thighs. Suddenly, he could absolutely understand the allure of a micro-mini skirt. That curve was ridiculously sexy. He wanted to hop in the shower with her, maybe help her
with that hair.
“Skidaddle!” she said, her face flushing and her hand tugging the towel down an extra inch.
He held up his hands in surrender, but he made sure she could see the direction of his thoughts in his smile. As she placed a hand firmly on his back and pushed him to the door, she said, “Forty five minutes! Be ready.”
Eighteen
Amy looked in the mirror in horror. Half her hair was plastered with conditioner and the other half had morphed into a straw-like bird’s nest of salt- and sand-encrusted hair. It just proved that men had nothing on their minds except what was down below or in Mike’s case, her bank account. No one in their right mind would look at her the way he just had if this hair had been remotely visible.
“Whatever,” she said to the mirror and turned on the shower.
As she showered, washing all the salt and sand away, the kiss in the water kept forcing itself back into her thoughts. The feel of him and the way his arm had tightened around her, as if he didn’t want so much as a molecule of water between them. And when he’d cupped her butt and pulled her in, there had been no question that he’d wanted to go further. The hard evidence of that against her belly made what he wanted from her at that moment very clear.
And she’d responded. There had been no thoughts of what she might look like, no awareness of the bright daylight and how that might shadow this or that part of her. Everything had disappeared and it was only them and that need.
That wasn’t faked. It couldn’t have been. Or could it?
The truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure how this thing worked. Men had sex with women they didn’t care about all the time. Hadn’t she heard her share of beer-goggle jokes going all the way back to college? Men didn’t just have sex with strangers, they had sex with strangers they didn’t even find attractive.
Maybe that’s what this was. Who could know? But what she absolutely knew was that for the first time she’d experienced that melting away of the world, that full engagement in the simple—or not at all simple—act of kissing a man. Overwhelming, all-consuming, and very charged.