It didn’t seem to matter that he was a roamer, that he’d be gone at the end of the summer, that he couldn’t offer her any kind of future. The fact was that she loved him and that she wanted him to be the first man to know, to teach her the secrets of her body.
Wearing nothing but a T-shirt, cutoffs and sandals, she stole out of the house at one-forty-five and ran all the way to the beach. It was an isolated strip just beyond an aging house whose owner visited rarely. As its name suggested, tall pines loomed uncharacteristically close to the shore, giving it a sheltered feeling, a precious one.
Web was propped against the tallest of the pines, and her heart began to thud when he straightened. Out of breath, and now breathless for other reasons, she stopped, then advanced more slowly.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he held out his hand.
“I had to,” was all she said, ignoring his hand and throwing her arms around his neck. His own circled her, lifting her clear off her feet, and he held her tightly as he buried his face in her hair.
Then he set her down and loosened his grip. “Are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want?”
In answer, she reached for the hem of her T-shirt and drew it over her head. She hadn’t worn a bra. Her pert breasts gleamed in the pale moonlight. Less confidently, she reached for one of his hands and put it on her swelling flesh. “Please, Web. Touch me. Teach me.”
He didn’t need any further encouragement. He dipped his head and took her lips while his hands explored the curves of her breasts, palms kneading in circles, fingers moving inexorably toward the tight nubs that puckered for him.
She cried out at the sweet torment he created, and reached for him, needing to touch him, to know him as he was coming to know her. He held her off only long enough for him to whip his own T-shirt over his head, then he hauled her against him and embraced her with arms that trembled.
“Oh, Web!” she gasped when their flesh came together.
“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” His voice held no smugness, only the same awe hers had held. She was running her hands over his back, pressing small kisses to his throat. “Easy, Marni,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let’s just take it slow this first time.”
“I don’t think I can,” she cried. “I feel … I feel …”
He smiled. His own hands had already covered her back and were dipping into the meager space at the back of her shorts. “I know.” He dragged in a shuddering breath, then said more thickly, “Let’s get these off.” He was on his knees then, unsnapping and unzipping her shorts, tugging them down. She hadn’t worn panties. He sucked in his breath. “Marni!”
Her legs were visibly shaking, and she was clutching his sinewed shoulders for support. “Please don’t think I’m awful, Web. I just want you so badly!”
He pressed his face to her naked stomach, then spread kisses even lower. “Not any more so than I want you,” he whispered. Then he was on his feet, tugging at the snaps of his jeans, pushing the denim and his briefs down and off.
Seconds later they were tumbling onto the sand, their greedy bodies straining to feel more of the other’s, hands equally as rapacious. Marni was inflamed by his size, his strength, the manly scent that mixed with that of the pines and the salty sea air to make her drunk. She felt more open than she’d ever been in her life, but more protected.
And more loved. Web didn’t say the words, but his hands gave her a message as they touched her. They were hungry and restless, but ever gentle as they stimulated her, leaving no inch of her body untouched. Her breasts, her back, her belly, thighs and bottom—nothing escaped him, nor did she want it to. If she’d ever thought she’d feel shy at exposing herself this way to a man, the desire, the love she felt ruled that out. There was a rightness to Web’s liberty, a rightness to the feel of his lips on her body, to the feel of his weight settling between her thighs.
Her fingers dug into the lean flesh of his hips, urging him down, crying wordlessly for him to make her his. She felt his fingers between her legs, and she arched against him as he stroked her.
“Marni … Marni,” he whispered as one finger ventured even deeper. “Oh, sunshine, you’re so ready for me … how did I ever deserve this …”
“Please … now … I need you …” When he pulled back, she whimpered, “Web?”
“It’s okay.” He was reaching behind him. “I need to protect you.” He took a small foil packet from the pocket of his jeans and within minutes was back, looming over her, finding that hot, enfolding place between her splayed thighs.
He poised himself, then stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Kiss me, sunshine,” he commanded deeply.
She did, and she felt him begin to enter her. It was the most wonderful, most frustrating experience yet. She thrust her hips upward, not quite realizing that it was her own inner body that resisted him.
He was breathing heavily, his lips against hers. “Sweet … so sweet. A bit of pain … a blaze of glory …” Then he surged forward, forcefully rupturing the membrane that gave proof of her virginity but was no more.
She cried out at the sharp pain, but it eased almost immediately.
“Okay?” he asked, panting as she was, holding himself still inside her while her torn flesh accommodated itself to him. It was all he could do not to climax there and then. She was so tight, so sleek, so hot and new and all his.
“Okay,” she whispered tightly.
“Just relax,” he crooned. He ducked his head and teased the tip of her nipple with his tongue. “I’m inside you now,” he breathed, warm against that knotted bud. “Let’s go for the glory.”
She couldn’t say a word then, for he withdrew partway, gently returned, withdrew a little more, returned with growing ardor, withdrew nearly completely, returned with a slam, and the feel of him inside her, stroking that dark, hidden part was so astonishing, so electric that she could only clutch his shoulders and hang on.
Nothing else mattered at that moment but Web. Marni wasn’t thinking of her parents and how furious they’d be, of her brother and how shocked he’d be, of her friends and how envious they’d be. She wasn’tthinkingof the past or the future, simply the present.
