Forbidden Surrender by Priscilla West

his hands. As he pressed his lips into mine, working my mouth open with his tongue, my knees buckled and I grabbed his bicep to keep myself steady. I could hear his heavy breathing, feel his warm exhales against my cheek as our tongues moved over one another. It was true it had been years since I’d been with a man but I’d never been so consumed by a kiss and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I let it continue.
    “Where are the showers?” I asked, breaking away. I was desperate for a reason to distance myself from him—what would he think of me, better yet what would I think of myself, if I had sex with him when I’d demanded a date to avoid sex? But without a word he lifted me onto his waist, my legs wrapping instinctually around him, and walked us toward the showers.
    “Put me—” I began but he cut me off with another kiss, his mouth pressed so urgently against mine that my lips tingled. I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, as the hard cut of his pelvis rocked against my clit while he walked. I clenched my thighs around his torso to keep myself from grinding shamelessly against him, wanting to feed the desire that had begun pulsing faintly between my legs.
    He put me down as he turned on the shower and before I had time to get my bearings, I felt his hands running down my back and across the waist of my bikini bottom. He reached up and loosened my hair from its ponytail, the heavy, damp locks falling down my back as he rinsed the sand from my body.
    “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to avoid his touch. I immediately berated myself for getting caught up in the moment—I didn’t need casual sex, especially with someone who was used to getting what he wanted from women. I had promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with another man too quickly, and here I was about to strip naked on the first date.
    “I’m cleaning you.”
    “I can do it myself,” I insisted.
    His hands stopped their merciless roaming but lingered in the middle of my back, his fingers batting at the loose strings of my bikini top. He looked at me, the water running over the sharp bridge of his nose and down to his lips.“Why’re you so afraid to ask for help?”
    “Because I don’t need your help.” I tried not to acknowledge the muscled torso, wet and glistening, just mere inches from me.
    “I want to make things easier for you.” He slid his fingers beneath the strings of my bikini top and I could feel him wiping away the coarse sand stuck there, his fingers moving toward the side of my breast. I felt my nipples harden from his touch, barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of my suit.
    “I just think it would be better if we take things slow,” I breathed.
    “Is this slow enough?” His hands creeped toward my chest, the cool tips of his fingers sending goosebumps across my skin. Just as he was about to cup my breast, he shifted quickly, trailing his fingers lightly down my torso. I groaned in a frustrated desire, wanting him to pinch my nipples between his fingers, take them between his teeth and bite gently.
    I reached out to him in spite of myself. My fingers traced the raised edges of a tattoo on his shoulder. “What does this one mean?”
    “It’s sanskrit for ‘balance.’ I’m a hard worker, Kristen, but I believe in rewarding myself.” I could feel the bulge of his stirring package beneath his board shorts as he moved closer to me.
    “And these?” I crooned as I fingered his nipple rings.
    “Something of a souvenir from Fiji.”
    “You couldn’t just get a t-shirt?” I leaned into his chest and took his nipple between my fingers, pinching the cool metal ring lightly.
    “I wanted something a little more interactive,” he moaned as he grabbed a handful of my hair.
    “I knew I felt something hard when I fell on you in South Africa.” The aching throb between my legs had become nearly unbearable and all I wanted to do was pull his board shorts from his hips and