The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(41)

Something brushed against his foot, and he yelped and moved toward Marjorie in the water. “What the f*ck was that?”

She giggled again. “That was my foot.”

“Christ, don’t do that again.” His heart was hammering in his chest.

“You really are scared, aren’t you?”

“I think I have PTSD from almost drowning last week. It doesn’t bother me too much until I’m out farther than ankle deep. Fuck, I don’t even like baths anymore. Just showers.”

“Poor baby,” she soothed in that teasing voice, and her arms moved to his neck and wrapped around him. “I’m right here. You can lean on me if you need to.”

“That so?” His hands went to her waist, caressing her skin just above the bikini bottom. He didn’t know what had brought out this playful side of Marjorie, but he was liking it. He drew her closer, and his mouth moved toward hers. “If you feel something jab you in the stomach, that’s not the Loch Ness Monster. Just my dick.”

She snorted with laughter a moment before her mouth went to his. Then, they were kissing.

Rob had learned something interesting about Marjorie this week—every kiss with her seemed to get better. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of practice before, but now when their mouths met, she was as eager for him as he was for her. Her tongue swept into his mouth without him having to prompt her, and her lips were open and eager as they kissed and molded and meshed with one another. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue teasing, and he wanted to drown himself in the taste of her. Kissing Marjorie was an exquisite torture. Exquisite because he enjoyed kissing her more than he thought possible . . . and torture because he knew it would not go any further than that. His cock wasn’t listening, though. It was an optimist, and his dick was hard with anticipation, practically pressing against her soft belly under the water. He edged his hips back slightly so he wouldn’t alarm her by prodding her with it.

Tonight, as they kissed, her hands moved from his neck and smoothed down his shoulders, her long fingers caressing his skin. And he shuddered under that light, exploratory touch. “God damn, it feels good when you touch me, Marjorie,” he murmured against her lips.

“I like touching you,” she told him shyly, between little presses of her mouth to his. Her hands slid to his biceps and she squeezed them, testing the muscle there.

He groaned, his brain likening that exploratory little squeeze to her hands doing the same on his cock. Now he was aching with need, his pulse throbbing from her little touches.

“Rob,” she said, voice soft as she pressed her mouth against his upper lip, then the corners of his mouth.

“Hmm?” It was taking all his concentration not to grab her and force her hips against his cock, to have her soft, slippery flesh cradling him. Definitely bound for sainthood.

“How come we never do anything more than kiss?”

Ah, Jesus. “Because you’re a virgin, sweetheart. The last thing I want to do is freak you out or make you feel pressured.”

Her hands skimmed down his sides, up and down, tormenting him with their soft little motions. “What if . . . what if I took the lead on things?”

He stilled, composing himself. “What . . . did you have in mind?”

“I want to touch you,” she murmured against his mouth. “And I want you to touch me. Can we try second base?”

“Sweetheart, we can do anything you want. But you gotta remind me what second base is.” It’d been far too long since he’d dated someone that referred to bases. “And if second base is anal, the answer is unequivocally ‘yes.’”

She gasped. “No, not anal!”

“Darn. What is it then?” His hands went to her hair, tugging it free of her ponytail and letting it sweep over her damp shoulders. So soft and lovely, his Marjorie.

“It’s . . . you know. Petting. Above the belt.”

He could practically see the flush on her cheeks. “That so? But you’re already petting me.” Her hands were still gliding over his sides, even though his remained locked in place.

“Rob,” she said in a pleading voice. Her face burrowed against his neck. “You know what I’m asking.”

“You’re asking me to touch you?” Goddamn, it must be Christmas.

She nodded, her nose brushing against his skin, her head still pressed against his shoulder. If she moved one more inch, his dick was going to stab her in the belly.

“I’ll touch you,” he said, gliding his hands up her back. “But you have to tell me if you get freaked out or uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”

“All right.” Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

“You said you’ve been to second base before?”

“Once,” she admitted. Her arms went around him and he felt her hands against his back, a mimic of his own touch. “I think I mentioned the party I went to? I was drunk and so was he. He saw how tall I was the next day and complained to all his friends that he had beer goggles on that night.”

“That f*cking little prick.” His hands clenched into fists. “There’s nothing wrong with your height, Marjorie. It just gives you an extra six inches of long legs, and I f*cking love your legs.”

“You might be the only one,” she said, and snuggled up against him before he could warn her. Then, his cock was pressed against her warm body, and she gasped. But she didn’t move away. “Is . . . that . . .”