Publisher's Synopsis
The hand was still there when I looked, but now it was pressing my skirt between my thighs, a slight pressure at my front. My gaze followed the arm up, "Becks, you're touching me." I accused. "I know I am, I've been trying to ever since I first saw you. You don't mind, do you?" I tried to think, nothing seemed to make any sense, except the fact that the hand felt good. I lowered my own hand, covering the other, then pressed it into me. It did feel good. It was early morning as I strolled along the beach, sandals carried in my hand. Lazily, I kicked at the sand, it was the finest and .........
