Seal Team Seven by Keith Douglass Page B

tanned California girl with fantastic long legs, long, sun-blond hair, and a face and body right out of Playboy. His tactical plan for the day called for considerably more than lunch and a swim. So far, their relationship hadn’t passed the heavy petting and fondling stage, though they’d talked about going further often enough. With no other beach-goers closer than half a klick off, Sterling had decided that now was the time to make his move. He might show up for duty tonight without having slept in thirty hours, but what the hell? He’d done worse stints during Motivation Week, and man, this was going to be worth it!
    â€œC’mon, babe,” he told her. They were lying face to face on a beach blanket. Minutes before, he’d coaxed Christine into slipping off her black and red bikini top, and for emphasis now he reached over and delicately kneaded her left nipple until it popped up like a bullet. “SEALs do everything in the water! You know that!”
    â€œDavid,” she said, dimpling. “You are absolutely nuts!”
    â€œThat’s what you love about me, right?”
    â€œBut suppose someone sees us!”
    â€œWho’s to see? The beach is deserted! We’ve got the place to ourselves, at least until school lets out.”
    â€œGee, David, I don’t know . . .”
    Bending his head to her breast, he gave her nipple a long and lingering kiss. Chris moaned, her head back, her mane of long blond hair spilling across the beach blanket.
    â€œOoh, David . . . you are persuasive. . . .”
    â€œCome on, Chris! Let’s get naked and get wet! It’ll be fun!”
    Impulsively, Christine stood up. She stood there for a moment, hesitating, her arms crossed protectively over her bare breasts as she looked first one way up the beach, then the other. Then she stooped, skinned off her bikini briefs, and scampered toward the water, her long brown legs scissoring in the surf.
    â€œYes!” Sterling tugged off his own swimsuit, dropped it on the blanket, then raced into the waves in close pursuit. She squealed as he grabbed her from behind and dragged her down. A wave crashed over them, knocking them together as he encircled her with his arms. Their lips met.
    Clinging to one another, they made their way to a point about one hundred yards off the beach, beyond where the surf was breaking. Each wave lifted them high as it surged beneath them, then sent them plummeting into its trough, a wild and exhilarating ride with Christine shrieking in his arms. It was probably too rough today for any serious seaborne docking operations, but the clinging and grappling were tremendous fun and promised better things for later.
    He was trying to maneuver himself between her thighs despite the ocean surge when Christine gave another scream, this one of a sharply different timbre from the others. “What’s wrong?”
    Eyes wild, her wet hair plastered across her face, she pointed past his shoulder toward the beach. “David, look!”
    Turning, he saw the people winding down the path from the road where they’d parked Sterling’s VW. It was a fair-sized crowd, five or six adults and at least that many children. Some of them carried beach umbrellas, coolers, blankets, and the other paraphernalia of an afternoon’s outing at the beach. A teenager sent a frisbee sailing across the sand, and a small dog yapped after it.
    They were setting up shop less than five yards from the towels, picnic basket, and swimsuits that Sterling and Christine had left on the beach.
    â€œOh, God, David!” She was trembling in his arms. “What are we going to do now?”
    â€œThat’s okay. They can’t see anything but our heads out here.”
    â€œNo! I mean what about our clothes! We can’t go back now!”
    â€œWhy not? We just go ashore, walk over to our stuff, get dressed, and leave. What can they do?”
    â€œDavid!” She pushed back against