Pleasure Beach

Huh? Who is that? Lifting the hat off my face and propping on my elbows, I see a man sitting on the rocky outcrop, ten feet away. He isn’t looking at me. A snorkel mask is pushed high on his forehead, a pair of fins rests beside him, and he’s examining his bleeding foot kicked up on top his knee. He’s wet. Dark hair pokes out in wild clumps beneath the mask’s strap. Water droplets trickle down his tan chest. A bead of water, glistening like a prism in the sun, dangles on his nipple for dear life before letting go and dropping onto his trunks which cling to strong thighs. As if hoping to catch the droplet, my mouth hangs open. Oh God. He’s gorgeous.

“Shit,” he mutters, staring at the boat off in the distance. He takes off his mask, flicks his hair, and with muscled biceps, lifts himself off the rock, catering to his injured foot. He looks in my direction, raises an eyebrow, and lingers with his eyes on mine. “Hey. You’re awake.”
Are those green eyes? Yes. They are the most sensual almond shaped-jewels I’ve ever seen. Biting the inside of my lower lip, my eyes drop toward a thin trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his trunks. Anxiously I shift on the towel. It’s not until my hard nipples threaten to pop and I catch a glimpse of my bathing suit top from the corner of my eye that I remember. Crap! I’m topless.