Endless Blue Seas

by Annie Dyer

  She turned and put her arms around me, standing on tiptoes to pull herself up to press her lips to mine and then any restraint I’d been holding since the beach fell away because Anya was back and even in the thick blanket that night was casting, there was light.

  She tasted of her. I gave her ten seconds of being the one who could make the demands before I started to make my own, holding her body against mine, feeling her warmth, her curves. Her.

  “I can show you the master bedroom first. It has an ensuite.” I managed to pull myself away from her, aware that it was cold outside. I wanted this woman. I didn’t need her; three months of being apart had shown me that I could function as an individual, with her and without Ryan. But I wanted her. And I wanted more than a summer fling by the sea.

  “I spent most of the summer in your barn. I’m hardly going to turn down that offer. Show me the rest of the house in the morning.”

  We walked into the house, shedding clothes as soon as the door was shut and bolted behind us. There was so much to say, but none of it was important right now.

  I carried her up the stairs with her legs wrapped round my waist, her hot centre pressing against my cock, making me ache for the relief of being inside her. It had been too long. I couldn’t be without her for this long again.

  My bed was huge and central to the room, facing the window with a view of the sea. I laid her down and flicked on a lamp, needing to see how she looked. We were down to wearing pretty much nothing, just her pants and bra remained and they weren’t going to be there for much longer.

  “You’ve got more muscle.” Her hands were on me, tracing over my chest and arms. “You feel stronger.”

  “I helped out with some of the construction.” I didn’t have time to talk about my fitness regime, especially as the key part of it that had been missing was about to happen. My mouth went to her neck, finding the spots that made her whimper when I sucked them and my hands got busy, running over her skin, her curves, her hips.

  She undid her bra herself, a hint where she wanted my mouth and I obliged, trailing my lips and tongue down her skin, tasting her, nipping her with my teeth. I felt her shiver, her fingers threading into my hair and I heard a slight moan as I took one nipple in my mouth and gave it the attention she was telling me it needed.

  I was hard and ready; desperate to be in her, to find her release and mine. But this was the last first time and I wanted to savour it, to make the most of every second and not rush anything.

  Anya moved her hips, trying to urge me on. I gave her other nipple a pinch, feeling it harden further.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.” My words were barely audible and I didn’t know how I managed to speak them. I had almost forgotten how she captivated me.

  “Gabe?”

  I paused, my hands stilling. There was a worry in how she said my name. “You want to stop?” I looked up and saw her shaking her head.

  “No. Just – has there been anyone else since I went back to London?” Her words were quick, all in one breath.

  “There’s been no one. I don’t think I’ve even noticed other women existed. What about for you? Did you see anyone when you went back?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry to ask, I had no right…”

  “You had every right.” I moved back up her body, holding myself over her so I could kiss her again, needing to give her reassurance and take my own.

  Her hands dropped to my waist and my underwear, and she cupped my cock in her hand, running her palm up and down it.

  She wrapped a leg over me, bringing us closer. “Lose the underwear. On both of us.”

  There was a scramble, a rush, one that had us both laughing, and then my mouth found a nipple again, my cock pushing against her wet centre. I wanted to plunge into her, to lose myself in her depths but I wanted more than that.

  “You make me ache for you.” She slipped a hand between us and grasped my cock.

  I moved up her body and nibbled her neck, making her groan. “I don’t want to come until you’re in me; hate being so needy.”

  “I need you ready, baby. If it’s been a while…”

  “It’s been a while. But feel me.”

  I traced my fingers along her skin, over the soft patch of curls between her legs and then into her cunt. She was tight and wet, hot. I added a second, gently moving them in and out, nudging her clit with my thumb. I wanted to make her come before I was inside her, needing to nudge her to the edge of losing control.

  In the faint light from the lamp, I could see that she was flushed, her breasts heaving with her breath. She was close and needy, her hands wrapped around me and her nails were digging into my back as I fingered her. Her little cries and the half-sentences she gave me made me want to rush, to get inside her and continue to make her mine, but I kept control.

  “I’m coming.” Her words were a beat of wings through the still air.

  I felt her pussy contract around my fingers and she started to come, her body thrashing against the mattress.

  Without giving her a moment to rest, I removed my fingers and replaced them with my cock. My hands went to her hips and I held her as I found a rhythm that worked for us both. I uttered words, fuck knows what, telling her how beautiful she was, how tight, how much I loved fucking her, making her mine. Bullshit that wasn’t really bullshit but you could only say it under the guise of sex.

  She came again just before me, her orgasm quieter but longer. Her nails in my back would scar me, but taking her mark was like accepting a medal.

  Afterwards, I held her, the sheets rumpled beneath us, our breath stabilising. Whatever my house looked like, however well my career and art might end up, she was what made everything make sense.

  I wasn’t letting her go. I just hoped she wanted to stay.

  Anya

  I woke to a scent that I was familiar with and at first I thought I was dreaming. I associated that scent with a barn and a mattress on a mezzanine floor. The arms around me were familiar in their strength and when I managed to open my eyes I saw intricate ink covering the skin and knew I wasn’t dreaming.

  Only I wasn’t back in the barn. Instead, I was lying in a large bed with fresh sheets and autumn sunlight teetering through the window.

  Gabe.

  I turned in his arms and heard him murmur, possibly something about paint which made me smile. His hair was loose and tangled with mine across the pillows, the sheets strewn across our bodies. I pressed my lips against his chest, his skin warm and firm beneath mine.

  His fingers brushed through my hair and I figured he was waking. The first time in nearly three months since we’d woken together and for today, at least, we had nothing to do except please ourselves. He’d told me the night before that he’d cleared his diary so we could just be, just us together with no need to be anywhere that we didn’t choose.

  “Morning.” The word was honey on my lips.

  “Morning. How’s the view?”

  I sat up to look out of the window, the full length, floor to ceiling glass pane that afforded views down to the sea and across the water to the mountains. It was private enough: we were too far back for anyone to see, and I expected that the windows were tinted.

  Gabe shifted so that his arms were around me, his lips pressing between my shoulder and neck.

  “It’s incredible. I’d never want to get out of bed.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  I leaned back against him, the sheet dropping down to my waist, leaving me naked from the waist up. The house was surprisingly warm given all the glass, but I wasn’t going to mention this, as I knew it would result in an architectural-style conversation that I wasn’t interested in understanding at this moment.

  “Have you been to Llanddwyn Island?” I didn’t know where the thought had come from. He was an artist, and Llanddwyn drew artists like bees to nectar, but given that he hadn’t been driving much until now, I doubted he’d seen it.

  “I’ve seen pictures. Don’
t you want to stay in bed?” The way his hands were toying with my breasts suggested that he wanted to remain in this room. And with what he was doing, my vagina had the same idea. Three months had been a long time.

  “Yes. And we can do that tomorrow too. Let me take you to Llanddwyn.” I stretched backwards, giving him better access to my boobs. He didn’t complain and I figured that in about five minutes he’d have me on my hands and knees and would be taking me from behind. Reading his moods wasn’t a skill I’d lost, it seemed. I also figured that some morning exercise would persuade him to leave the monster bed.

  True to form, approximately seven minutes later he had me on my hands and knees and yelling his name as he made me come from just his cock alone, a talent I reckoned no other man had been born with. I didn’t think I was capable of spending the day in bed, as my poor unused-for-three-month’s muscles were letting me know that they really needed a break, not that I was complaining.

  “I need to show you around the house.” His words were said regretfully as he held me to his chest. It had surprised me in the summer that a tall, muscly man with tats and whole cool as attitude would be a cuddler. I was glad this hadn’t changed.

  His love-making could be rough, hard, taking me to the edge where there could be a hint of pain, but it was too good to be painful, but afterwards he made me feel as if I had given him the most precious gift.

  “You do. There has to be more to it than this bedroom and ensuite.”

  “You like the ensuite?”

  I laughed. “I think you designed it with me in mind.”

  “You did spend most of one evening describing everything you needed in a bathroom, so yeah, I took your advice.”

  “Maybe I should change careers. Start up as an interior designer.”

  Gabe made a noise that was half snort, half laugh. “There’s a whole house here that you can practice on.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. This is your blank canvas. You designed this place. If I was to start suggesting paint families and velvet cushions, I’m pretty sure you’d have something to say about the flow or something.”

  This time he laughed. “Probably. I might let you choose a picture though. Or a new sofa. I need to go furniture shopping at some point.”

  “And for sofas you need to try them out. You can’t just point and click.”

  There was a grumble and he held me a little tighter.

  “We could start looking online this morning though. You know, choose a few things for one or two of the rooms. I love shabby chic…”

  “I thought you wanted to go to Llanddwyn?”

  I smiled and kissed his chest. That was a win.

  He drove. The roads in parts were narrow and tight, some junctions complicated but he didn’t seem overly tense although we didn’t exchange much more than a few words.

  I bought a season ticket for parking when we arrived at Newborough, the long beach that led up to Llanddwyn Island, with the pine forests on one side. As a teenager who’d just learned to drive, this had been my escape. I’d had Friday evenings here with friends, having barbecues on the beach; Christmas Day walks and New Year’s hangovers, letting the inevitable gusts from the wind blow everything away. This was a little piece of heaven, a place where time stood still and magic filtered through the air like it contained the essence of a secret.

  “Sand dunes.” Gabe stretched as he got out of the car. “Lots of gulls. Trees.” He stared at me. “Not sure this is going to be better than spending the day in you.”

  “My bits need a break. Besides, you’ll thank me in approximately three minutes.”

  I led him across the car park and onto a boarded path that led in between two dunes. The sea began to appear, the flat sand now in front of us dark from the outgoing tide. I paused, standing still, Gabe behind me, and I felt him relax as he took in the view.

  Snowdonia could be seen across the Strait. To our right was the island, the route to it now passable due to the low tide. Sky met the horizon, which met the sea, the intermingling of endless blues and a view that had been appreciated for as long as time.

  Gabe said nothing as we walked along the sand towards the island. He took photos and I carried my trainers, wanting to feel the sand on my feet. Occasionally I stopped to pick up the shells, putting them in a bag I’d managed to remember to bring.

  A few people passed us, dog walkers or families out for fresh air. The skeletons of trees and full pines lined the landscape to our right above the dunes. The sand was littered with shells of a few crabs and mussels, treasures from the sea.

  “Tell me about the island.”

  I laughed. “It’s known as Lovers’ Island.”

  “Seriously?” His expression became relaxed as he smiled. “Why’s that?”

  I explained the story of Saint Dwynwen, the Welsh patron saint of lovers and how a potion she’d acquired in order to stop her being married to someone she wasn’t in love with, turned the man she did love into stone. She’d then lived as a hermit on the island, with one of her wishes being that all true lovers found happiness. The island had become a place of pilgrimage, with stories about a holy well there and lovers leaving offerings at her shrine.

  Gabe listened, now captivated by the island with its story and the sheer beauty of its views. We headed upwards, to the top of the slight climb and saw the ruins of Dwynwen’s abbey and then the lighthouse that warned sailors of the treacherous rocks that lay nearby.

  He took photos as we walked round and dropped down to the side of the island to a pebbled beach that was encrusted with shells. We sat down on the rocks, pausing to take in the surroundings, the sea. And us.

  Gabe’s arms wrapped around me, his rucksack with his sketching pad on the ground. I leaned into him, needing his warmth, his scent. Him. Just him.

  He was my north star, my road home, the mooring point for my weathered boat. As much as I could look after myself and survive, life was better with him, however fractured our lives had been, however we had been broken by grief.

  “What do we do?” His words were quiet but their meaning was not.

  “We go forward.”

  “Together?”

  “I’d like that. My feelings haven’t changed. Our situations have, but I feel the same way as I did in summer.”

  “Good.” His grip tightened. “I’m in love with you. I know things will be different: we’re both working, we have real lives and we’ll both always have our issues…”

  “Who doesn’t?” I turned towards him. His hair was kept out of his eyes by his beanie hat, making him look ever more the artist. “I’d rather be in love with a broken you than someone who didn’t have those scars.”

  He gave a barely perceptible nod. “Because scars only add to beauty. Love mingled with grief can grow ever stronger.”

  “That sounds like a quote.”

  “I think it is, but right now, I can’t think who by.”

  I thought of Marcy and Calen and Ryan. I thought of the Welsh saint of lovers and I thought of us.

  And then he kissed me, the endless blue sea in front of us, ever ebbing, ever flowing.

  Constant.

  Like life.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Gabe and Anya’s story. If you’d like to find out how they were one year on, subscribe to my newsletter for the bonus epilogue! You’ll get access to other stories by me too.

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  Endless Blue Seas was started more than a decade ago, focusing on Marcy and the mystery of Julia’s death. Excerpts from her diary were written back then and used to inspire Gabe and Anya’s tale. If you’d like the full version, simply subscribe to the newsletter also.

  Have you met the Callaghans?

  Engagement Rate is the first in the Callaghan Green series by Annie Dyer. If you’re looking for your next binge read, then you’ve found it! Here’s a taster of what you can have…

  Recovering from jet l
ag by watching the most attractive woman I’d seen in a long time doing pull ups hadn’t been something I’d considered before. She was wearing a sports bra that did nothing to hide the shape of perfect breasts and exposed a toned, smooth stomach; her yoga pants outlining long, long legs that would look fucking amazing around me as I thrust into her.

  But sleep deprived, jet-lagged and travel-fresh wasn’t the best way to be caught staring at a dark-haired mystery woman currently working out in the gym. I was a professional: a lawyer and a businessman. Or at least I tried to give that impression at first. Staring at her tits was not the best start.

  I kept a change of gym gear at work: trainers and shorts, but today I hadn’t bothered with a vest as I didn’t think anyone else was likely to be around for an hour or so, unless Seph, my youngest brother turned up to train. Deadlifts, bicep curls, tricep extensions and a chest press too heavy to be doing without a spotter took my focus away from obsessing exactly how her long dark hair would look wrapped around my fist.

  I had missed this space in the past three weeks; it was my retreat, my sanctuary. The place where I could be me and not just the man who ran his family’s law firm. I focused on the music that was blaring out of the speakers, and tried to stop staring at the woman who I should probably know. She was on the other side of the room, my main view of her via a mirror, the perfect place to creep at her, which I gave up trying not to do.

  “Fuck me,” she said, as she half collapsed to the ground from the pull up bar, shaking her arms.

  I managed to bite my tongue, stopping myself from offering to do just that. I watched her as she began another set of pull ups, waiting for her to realise I was there. She was tall, around 5’9, with dark hair pulled into one of those messy bun things; all lean muscle and the best pair of tits I’d seen for years. She was pretty: large blue eyes and high cheekbones.

  I turned my back to head for the showers, needing to escape. I had no idea who she was – Maxwell tore through secretaries like he did girlfriends only with less pleasure – so she could’ve been a temp or equally the marketing woman we’d recently hired. Either way, she didn’t need to know about the tent she’d caused in my shorts.