This is a sequel to "Emily: Seduced on the Foredeck", and "Emily: Fingered on the Beach (in that order)
But you don't need to have read those to (I hope) enjoy this story.
*****
We swam out and climbed back aboard the yacht; drying ourselves while standing in the cockpit.
After helping Adam set out the sun awning that spans between the spray dodger and the bimini, I left him sitting on his towel, letting the warm air complete the drying process, while I ducked down to set out the lunch.
It was nothing elaborate. Just the anti-pasta that dad tends to use as his default boat lunch; which in this case consisted of supermarket packets of processed meats, cheeses and sun dried stuff that dad had given me in a bag before we left.
Momentarily alone with my thoughts, I had to wonder at the orgasmic display that I just put on at the beach. I'm not that hard to get to cum and yes, I can be known to lift my hips as I actually cum. But I don't usually squirm about before then and scream and have the orgasm go on for over a minute like Adam had just caused me to. Indeed, until that moment, I'd always thought erotic writing stuff about women bucking about was nonsense.
I wasn't complaining. It, and the one he'd given me on the foredeck at sea earlier, were probably two of the best orgasms I've ever had. The foredeck one I'd explained to myself - and to Adam - as a sort of release of the built up misery from my breakup with Luke.
But Luke hadn't entered my head since Adam had talked about a relationship. I know I'd been emotional for the last week, but something else was at work; something special about Adam. Whether that meant we were somehow meant for each other or he was just a better lover I didn't know. Or maybe I was just being a silly girl and it would all turn to ordinary the next time.
After connecting my MP3 player to the Yacht's sound system and playing it through to the cockpit speakers, I carried and up passed the food and some utensils, where we set it all out on the cockpit table. Then I sat down next to Adam; putting a hand high enough on his thigh to be in intimate contact and leaving me one to eat the finger food with, something he reciprocated.
Adam was still only dressed in Dad's speedo style swimwear. I've always wondered why they were so unpopular with younger guys. Sure they look disgusting on some pot-bellied, wrinkly skinned, older guy, but on someone like Adam they look really hot. But there was one issue with them I could see guys might have. As the hand on his thigh brushed against his ball sack, he grew a half erection. It poked out diagonally, bisecting the angle between his stomach and his thighs, pushing into the material in a really obvious way that left nothing to the imagination.
After a few mouthfuls I stood up to reach across the table for the bottle of mineral water to pour us both a drink. Inevitably I needed to bring my butt across Adam's face.
Suddenly Adam put and hand on both my hips, momentarily freezing me in place. Next thing I know he kissed me on both butt cheeks, pulled down the back of my bikini pants, kissed again the bare flesh and then took great care restoring my pants neatly in place.
"You have no idea how often I've wanted to do that when you were shaking your butt under my nose while you were grinding the winches."
I twisted around to talk to him as he continued to hold my hips.
"I thought my sailing shorts were fairly daggy."
"Your butt would look irresistible in anything; but you're underestimating your shorts. Anyhow, you've forgotten the seasons you were wearing leggings."
Ah yes; the leggings. Normally sailors wear shorts unless it's really cold. But the Australian sun is unrelenting; unlike anything in the Northern hemisphere. Ideally you'd like to wear something to protect yourself. But it needs to be not too hot to wear, to dry quickly without chilling you in the process and offer some bruise protection. That's an impossible list; miracle fabrics notwithstanding.
Dad's nominated crew colours are white pants and a mid-blue crew shirt. In desperation I went looking for a pair of white leggings; something not that easy, if impossible, to find. Leggings, yoga pants, active wear pants, call them what you will. They vary in cut from those that are flat bottomed to those that mould to you and into all your crevasses like they were spray painted on. The ones I eventually found a couple of seasons back were way into the latter category. They also had a tendency to go somewhat transparent when wet.
I satisfied my own level of modesty by wearing a thong bikini bottom underneath them; anything more substantial being almost impossible given the cut of the leggings. But it probably did sometimes show more at the rear than people are used to seeing.
Anyway, after two years they got snagged and torn and I couldn't find a replacement; so went back to shorts. I had to concede a point to Adam.
"Yea, the leggings might have been a bit showy; although if I could replace them I still would. They were very comfortable."
"A bit showy! I needed to go into therapy every time I got off the boat after working behind you while you were wearing them."
"And what sort of therapy would that have been? Might it have involved your girlfriend at the time?"
Adam blushed; revealing I'd hit a bit too close to home in obliquely suggesting the best therapy was a good root with his girlfriend.
Recovering his composure, Adam finally replied.
"I refuse to incriminate myself. Anyway, it might have helped, but it wasn't the same."
That left open the question of - "The same as what?" I suspected what he really wanted to do went well beyond kissing my butt cheeks. It may well have been the case that this morning provided the therapy he'd been needing all along.
