Bolan was still feeling somewhat mechanical in his actions. His fingers were already at his shirtfront, working the buttons. She moved back to him and went to work on the tie. A moment later she carefully hung shirt and tie on a peg, pushed him onto the bench, and took off his shoes and socks.

"I don't give this service to just everybody," she told him, smiling darkly. Her hands seized his belt "You're different."

He pushed her hands away and got to his feet. "Everybody's different," he grunted, his thinking faculties returning. He was fumbling with the waistband of his trousers. "I'll be out in a minute," he added, giving her a meaningful gaze.

"You don't really mean that," the girl replied. A quick motion of her hands caused the bikini bra to fall away. Glistening cones sprang forward, jiggling tauntingly in the sudden release, the pale pink at the tips highlighting the projection. She cupped them in her hands, gently agitating the nipples with her thumbs, which were already protruding slightly; they grew noticeably under the attention, riveting Bolan's eyes in fascinating inspection. "That net makes them itch," she explained. "Wouldn't you like to scratch them for me?"

Without a word, Bolan reached forward and tugged down the bikini panties. She stepped out of them with a throaty giggle and reached for his trousers, expertly lowering shorts and all in one brief motion and falling against him, moving sensually for calculated effect. Bolan groaned and clasped her to him, luxuriating in the fusion of male and female flesh. Her arms went tightly about him, hands rubbing feverishly at his back, pile-driving hips once again in action. Bolan twisted out of the embrace, his breathing harsh and ragged.