Colour of the Sun, part 2

"Dude, what is that smell?"

I look up from crimping weights to the rim of the net and break into a fit of giggling at Cosima's expression. Her hand is clamped over her nose. "This is a chicken neck that has been sitting out in the sun all day. The crabs should find it irresistible."

"So that's why you bought that. Crabs, huh?"

"Yes, there should be plenty of blue crabs off the shore. Don't worry, I won't make you eat them."

"Never been so glad to be a vegetarian, if you're going to eat something that eats something that stinks like that." She frowns. "I think my dad tried to catch some once but he didn't have any luck. Don't remember his using zombie chicken parts as bait, though."

"That's probably why he didn't catch any. Crabs are scavengers. Scavengers... scavenge. There!" I hold up the simple trap to show her the chicken neck firmly tied to the center of the smaller inner ring with a series of butcher's knots. The aluminum mesh is still in good shape but the cotton strings had been rotting, so I'd replaced them with braided nylon cord I'd found on a shelf in the carport beneath the house. Holding the trap away from Cosima, I pull her hand from her face so I can kiss her. "I'll be back soon."

"Wait, you're gonna catch some now?"

"It's almost low tide according to the weather chart, so yes. Come with me if you like."

"Hang on, babe." Picking up a bottle of sunscreen and giving it a shake, she pours out a handful and slathers it all over my back and shoulders, then my chest and belly, paying special attention to my breasts.

I can't help laughing. "It's late afternoon, chérie, the sun's going to be setting soon."

She gives me a naughty grin. "Can't have you getting skin cancer."

Taking the bottle from her, I roll my eyes and return the favor, smoothing extra sunscreen over the firm rounds of her buttocks and up the insides of her thighs until she is undulating against me. "Can't have you getting skin cancer," I say. Kissing her again, I pinch her on the bottom, pick up the trap and then turn on my heel to walk toward the beach.

"Hey!"

I look over my shoulder and stick out my tongue at her. "Coming?"

"Not yet, apparently."

Standing in chest-high water, shivering a little, I carefully drop the trap at arm's length so that it sinks away from my feet. I sneak a glance toward the beach, where Cosima is lying back propped up on her elbows next to the blazing driftwood fire I'd built in a hole dug well above the high tidewater mark but far from the stand of sea oats growing over the dunes. Loosely holding the line until I feel a subtle tug, I quickly pull up the trap and find two nicely plump crabs busily picking at the chicken neck; both of them are well over 15 cm across at the carapace. Preoccupied by their prize, they are easy to snag by the backsides of their shells, claws snapping and waving menacingly but futilely. I slip them into the floating bait bucket tethered to my wrist, letting them keep a bit of chicken to nibble on, then drop the trap again. Even after releasing all but the biggest crabs, my bucket is soon full. Warm now from the activity and happy with anticipation, I wade back to shore, leaving the trap and the bucket submerged with their lines tied to a stick sunk deep into the sand to keep them from washing away.

Cosima sits up, applauding and whistling as I approach. Kneeling beside her on her towel, I kiss her soundly. "Hungry? Dinner will take about an hour and a half to cook."

She winds a hand into my hair, pulling me closer. "Mm, yes, but mostly I'm like totally thirsty. Watching you do your naked French Grizzly Adams thing is hot as fuck."

"Dinner first," I murmur, deepening our kiss. "Then we can take care of all of your other needs. However and as many times as you like."

"Cocktease."

I nip her on the tip of her nose. "It's not a tease if I follow through." Getting to my feet, I stroll the couple hundred meters to the house, stopping at the outdoor shower to rinse the sand off my feet and legs before entering. In the kitchen I grab the cooler and the equipment I'd prepared earlier, hauling it back out to the fire.

While Cosima watches, I use a large piece of driftwood as a rake, spreading cherry-red coals evenly among the rocks I'd used to line the hole in the sand. Dumping a thick layer of rockweed on top of the coals produces a fragrant cloud of hissing steam. I fetch the bucket of angrily clacking crabs, emptying them out onto a disposable aluminum pan I'd perforated with a screwdriver; into another pan goes a big pile of scrubbed red potatoes, halved peeled onions and ears of corn that have been soaking in their husks all afternoon. I dust everything liberally with a spice mix called Old Bay, which the seafood clerk at the grocery store had assured me was a critical component to the success of my endeavor. Carefully I arrange the pans over the steaming rockweed. Covering each with an inverted empty pan and then with another thick layer of rockweed, I place a folded canvas tarp and some heavy stones over the whole thing to hold in the steam. Finally I unwrap a couple sticks of butter and place them in a small saucepan on top of the tarp to slowly melt.

"What now?"

I smile. She is wide-eyed, like a child anticipating a magician's next trick. "Now we wait."

"Wait?" Her mouth purses into a moue. "How long?"

I check my watch. "About an hour."

Even in the descending darkness I can see her pout tilt sideways into a grin. "Gee, I wonder how we could possibly pass the time for a whole hour."

Bending to kiss her, I smile against her lips. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Maaaaaybe."

Cosima swims like a fish, I am surprised and somewhat dismayed to discover as I labor to catch up. Or maybe a dolphin, gliding and diving playfully, stopping frequently and circling around to tread water while she waits for me to follow. "How far are we — " A wave slaps over me, making me cough and sputter. I shake my hair out of my face, get my bearings and strike out once more toward the outline of her head.

"Almost there," she calls. "Come on, Delphine."

Grimly I flail on. I don't see it at first, but finally I glimpse something dark looming behind her. Panting, I finally reach her side, resting my hand on the edge of a large, wide, nearly flat rock. "I didn't realize this was here," I manage to say between gasps.

"Lot of people don't. It's mapped on the nautical charts but you can't see it except at low tide, so some idiot's always gunning their boat into it. Here," she says, towing me around to a set of steps roughly hewn into the beach-facing side.

Finding equally crude handholds cut on either side of the steps, I haul myself out of the water and flop wheezing onto my back, ignoring the faintly sulfurous smell of the slimy surface. My skin goose-pimples in the cool air, but the rock is still sun-warmed beneath me and I am more than warm enough after my exertions. I hold out my hand to Cosima as she scrambles up to join me.

She squints down, absently wringing water out of her dreads. "Shit, babe." Moving carefully over the slippery rock, she settles next to me, running her hand up and down the inside of my thigh. "Sorry, I should have warned you about the rip currents — they can be unpredictable along the sandbar. I think you were trying to swim directly against one."

"Is that what happened?" I recover my breath after a moment's rest. "Thank goodness. I thought I was just really out of shape."

Her teeth flash whitely in the darkness. "Not from where I'm sitting." Moving higher, her fingers tease lightly through my folds, making my breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

My hips twitch in pleasure, my body vibrant with expectation. Letting my thighs part in invitation, I smile up at her.

"So fucking beautiful," Cosima says softly, lying on her side half draped over me. Her hand cups the length and breadth of my sex protectively, reveling in the pulse of my desire against her palm.

Moving a hand to the deep indent of her waist, feeling the little tremors skirmishing under my touch, I press my hips against hers. A puff of warm breath ghosts against my ear when her head dips briefly to my shoulder to taste the salt on my skin. I smile to myself as her fingers drift lower through the heat I can feel even now emanating from my sex.

"Up," she whispers, urging me to bend one leg. Sitting up, smoothly she slips her leg beneath the crook of my knee, sliding her hips forward to close the small space that separates us. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Quickly losing myself in the sensation of the slick warm wetness of her sex gliding against mine, my hips circling and grinding in perfect synch with hers in a pattern that has no beginning and no end, I have to agree. The lapping of waves against the rock is gentler and far less frantic than the peel and slap of our bodies as we desperately flex together, settling quickly into a rhythm that sends us gasping and moaning and hurtling toward a seemingly endless series of juddering convulsions that in turn create more eddying tides of want, need and molten gratification through us both.

I have no idea how long we lie sprawled together, but eventually I feel her stir, feel soft lips unerringly finding the tender spot below my ear. Kissing her temple, I breathe in the scent of her, of us, of the sea.

The spell is broken by the loud, almost musical rumbling of our stomachs. Laughing helplessly, Cosima rolls on top of me, bracing on her elbows as she leans in for a kiss. "Race you back to the beach, babe."

"Bring it, chérie."