The water is cold, but it feels soothing against my skin. Washing my truck in the middle of October isn't as pleasant as a day in July, but the excitement is a live wire thrumming through me. The thought of tonight has my anticipation at its peak; the thought of her is my sole drive.
The high midday sun overhead gleams off the dark, wet paint. Sudsy water washes away the caked dirt, the miles, the memory of that last off-roading trip. Every bit of energy I pour into this detail work—polishing and perfecting—shines like a diamond in the finished result.
After hours of work, the truck is ready. I am ready. She is ready.
I drive to her place and park just outside. I gather the deep red roses I bought just for her and walk to the door. My heart pounds a rhythm against my ribs, my blood races, and my mind is a kaleidoscope of her face.
She answers the door. Her face is all smiles, her eyes alight with a fluttery joy. She takes the bouquet from me, burying her face deep into the velvety aroma of summer. She takes a long, slow breath, filling her lungs with the sweet, pleasant perfume of the flowers.
Then, she throws her arm around my neck and kisses me. Electricity electrocutes me as she lifts her foot, leaning into the contact, her soft lips pressed firmly against mine.
"Thank you," she whispers, her eyes—a deep, thrilling blue—telegraphing the pleasures to come.
She takes the flowers into the kitchen to place them in a vase. I stand at the threshold, watching her scantily dressed body move away from me. My mouth goes dry, my mind recalling the dozens of times my tongue and lips have caressed her warm, smooth skin.
I wait, patient yet intent, watching her every move. The swing of her hips, the way her light cotton clothes cling to her figure. I notice how underneath her simple top, she wears nothing. The thought of her nipples raising against the fine cotton, two small dimples yearning to be seen, sends a hot pulse of desire through me.
When she finishes, we walk out to the truck. I open her door, a small, chivalrous gesture, and help her inside. She gives me a slow, knowing smile as my hand lingers on her skin, then I raise her hand to my lips for a brief, warm press. My eyes lock with hers, and in that moment, the rest of the world fades.
The trip to the beach isn't long, but it's a fun, intimate blur. As always, she immediately takes control of the radio. She searches her phone for the perfect song—something a little soulful and driving—then she moves close to me as the music plays. She holds my arm, squeezing it tightly to her side, and rests her head on my shoulder. I inhale the faint scent of rose oil, coconut, and tropical flowers that is her signature perfume.
We drive along the very edge of the waves for a long time. We go far past the main entrance, past the other vacationers, all the way to the isolated Jetty where no one is around. I park in the corner, nestled where the wind is broken by the massive rocks and the body of the truck.
She watches with girlish interest as I take the seasoned wood from the back and start a fire. The sharp, smoky smell of the first burning logs fills the air. In no time at all, she is sitting closely beside me, and we are warming ourselves next to the dancing flames.
We watch as the sun moves toward its dramatic exit. We talk about nothing and everything, the lovely simplicity of the evening. I caress her hair, running my fingers along her soft cheek. I use my strength to pull her close to me. As the sunset explodes in color, I fight the encroaching chill to prevent her from feeling cold. This allows me to be cheek to cheek with her, enveloped in her unique scent.
Then, I engage part two of my evening. I pull out her favorite sweatshirt: my old college sweatshirt, the one that smells like me, feels like me, and has been with me for decades. I help her pull it on, and she snuggles herself inside it like a giddy girl receiving a treasured gift.
I open the ice chest and begin making dinner over the fire.
I impress her with my skills as I cook fresh, live crab, corn on the cob, potatoes, and carrots in a spicy Cajun broth. The smell of burning cedar and saltwater mixes with the steam from the cooking pot, the savory spice fighting for attention, each aroma wanting to be the star of the show.
As everything cooks, I feed her sweet strawberries, cool blueberries, sharp cheese, and a glass of chilled white wine. I spend the entire meal hand-feeding her, making sure she is more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey.
When the night is deep, we bury the last few glowing embers. I help her into the back of the truck, where I unroll a thick, padded mattress. I take pillows and blankets from the backseat of the cab and pile them up against the back wall, building a soft, cocooning nest. I take extra care to cover her up, to cuddle her close as we listen to the deep, rhythmic crashing waves of the sea.
We talk until I can't help myself, until my hands begin to explore under the soft fabric of her shirt. We talk as I fondle, as I caress her torso and the curve of her waist. We talk all the way up to the moment I begin gently squeezing her nipples, and she answers me with a deep, breathless kiss.
We let passion run wild all night in the back of my truck. Deep, breathy moans fill my ears as I pleasure her body. She lets herself be ravaged. She lets herself be pleasured. She lets me take my desires. She doesn't stop me as I take advantage of her submission. We don't stop as we seize an entire night together.
Then, as the sun begins to rise and the sky turns from black to a soft, bruised purple, we throw off our covers and run naked into the waves. The cold water bites and teases our bodies. It touches us in ways we only wish we could touch each other. We make love on the edge of the water as waves wash over us.
I taste the salt on her skin, feel the tightness of her muscles, the grittiness of the sand. She breathes out passion, exhales lust, and takes in every desire I offer. We continue until the bright light and sheer exhaustion send us running back to the bed of the truck, diving under the blankets to warm ourselves with shared heat.
We feel excited. We feel free. We feel lucky to have experiences that we know we'll remember for the rest of our lives.