Rogue Wave

by Isabel Jolie

  * * *

  “Tell me about Greenpeace.”

  The moonlight lit the way along the beach, reflecting on the dark, swirling ocean. We were only a few days away from a full moon.

  “What do you want to know? You’re a marine biologist. Surely they’ve already canvassed the University of Florida with information.”

  “Obviously. I know about the organization. But you worked for them. And you went abroad. What was it like?” I squeezed his fingers, and he lifted our linked hands. He ran a thumb along a vein on the back of my hand, then flipped my hand over and traced the long lines. I thought he might tell me something about my lifeline.

  “Greenpeace is a mammoth, worldwide organization. There’s so much going on, so many projects, sometimes from the lower levels, it can feel a bit like there’s a shotgun approach, so many issues and not enough resources to do anything effectively. So, that can be frustrating. But it’s filled with people who genuinely want to make the world a better place. Many volunteer, work for free.”

  “Were you one of those people who stood outside on the street with clipboards?” My question earned a grin.

  “I did that in college. Those are usually volunteers.”

  He stopped walking and pulled me to him. He took a loose strand of hair, flying sideways in the ocean breeze, and tucked it behind my ear. His fingers traced my neckline and curved around my chin, tilting my head up to his.

  “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

  In the night sky, his eyes were dark. I stroked along the strong outline of his jaw. I never thought of myself as beautiful, but hearing him say the words warmed me on the inside. College boys didn’t use words like that, or at least, none had ever with me. Brandon and I had started dating in second grade, so it hadn’t been a word in our relationship vocabulary. I inched closer, wanting a kiss.

  “You’re too beautiful for me. Too full of hope. You’d be one of the people standing on the street all day with a smile on her face, even when someone cursed at you or shouted for you to stop vandalizing property.”

  “Did people shout at you?” His lips met mine in answer, my question no longer important. He drew back and dropped a kiss on my nose then tugged my hand to continue our walk.

  “I didn’t encounter many haters in Rhode Island.”

  “But in other parts of the world?”

  “I wasn’t looking for donations. We were tracking ships that were egregious violators.”

  “Was it dangerous?” His thumb caressed my knuckles as we walked, the sensation a buoy in the dark, but there was something about the movement that made me think it comforted him more.

  “It could be. But mostly it felt futile. We’d spend a year tracking one boat. Meanwhile, a hundred new boats launched doing the exact same thing. Without government interference, it’s not going to end. And it’s not really in the government’s interest to interfere. I mean, sure, in the long term, many countries will be hit hard by a depleted ocean. Hell, the entire planet will be. But governments tend to be short-term thinkers. It’s all about today’s money.” He stopped and pointed at one of the cages nestled against a dune and pointed. “That’s one of yours, right?”

  I nodded. The nest had hatched two nights ago. I’d planned to come along on Monday and pack up the materials, clean them, and store them for next summer. “The last nest is down the beach this way.”

  “So, all these questions about Greenpeace. Is that your goal? Do you want to work for them?”

  “No. I’ve been researching opportunities in Central America. Potentially researching coral reefs. Maybe pursue my doctorate later on. I’d like to find a program that couples research with advocacy. You know, maybe something with a camp element that strives to get the community, or at least kids, as enthused about environmentalism and science as I am. And work on programs to save the manatee. I’m partial to manatee. Keeping the marshes clean. Initiatives along those lines.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. Do you think you need your PhD?”

  I smiled. He sounded like my parents asking that question. “No. But maybe I’ll teach. I don’t know. It feels like a natural next step. It’s a lot of time and money, and if I don’t need it…” I kicked at a shell as I trailed off. “We’ll see.”

  We arrived at the last remaining nest, and I pulled him down with me. In truth, we didn’t have to watch the nest. But in case any of the turtles were misguided by some of the lights onshore, I liked to be here. During the season, I’d have people paying to come out and watch the nest, hoping to witness tiny baby turtles clawing through the top layer of sand and scurrying toward the ocean, guided by instinct.

  He situated me between his legs, my back to his chest, and his arms wrapped around me. He looped my hair and twisted it, presumably to keep it from whipping his face. He cupped my breast and ran his thumb across my nipple as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The intimate gesture felt warm and uninhibited as I leaned back against him. Any intimidation I felt from his being older had drifted away.

  “Tell me, Luna. What does a young, beautiful girl with a bright future saving the world want with an old washout like me?” He nipped at my earlobe, and tingles traveled down my spine.

  “A washout? Who called you a washout?” To me, he was anything but a washout. He’d gone out into the world and made a difference.

  The sound that escaped from his chest wasn’t quite a groan but rather a garbled noise, as if he couldn’t bring himself to mumble the words or complete the thought.

  I twisted around and climbed on his lap, one leg on each side of him, my crotch settled on his groin, so I could better see him. I fingered the scruff along his jaw, loving the prickling sensation across the pads of my fingers.

  “Don’t call yourself a washout. For one, you’re way too young.”

  “Feels old as fuck to me.”

  “But you’re not. You’re still young. You have so much left to live and to do. I feel like maybe you came here to recover from whatever happened.”

  “What makes you think something happened?” His brow creased, and his tone deepened.

  “You have that look. And you don’t need to tell me. If you want, you can. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you heal. And I think this island is good for that.”

  “See, an optimist. Always seeing the possibility. Determined we’re on a course for improvement. For things to get better.” He nibbled on my neck, and goosebumps rose all along my arms.

  “If we each do our part. That’s all it takes,” I said, angling my head to expose my neck.

  He leaned back on his arms, creating space between us, and chuckled.

  “What?”

  He turned his head to the right and left while sucking on his lower lip. “I used to be so much like you. God. It’s like looking in a mirror from ten years ago.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, it’s just…don’t change. And you should probably stay the hell away from me to make sure I don’t rub off on you.”

  “But I like you rubbing on me,” I teased, ready to let the serious conversation go and do fun things in the sand.

  “Why? What’re you looking for, beautiful girl?”

  “Looking for? I’m twenty-two. Why do I have to be looking for anything? Can’t it just be about experiencing life? Living?” Jesus, that was what I tried to tell my parents when they were devastated about my breakup. Dating Brandon didn’t equate to a lifelong commitment. Life was too short.

  “I wish I’d met you when I was twenty-two.” He brushed a kiss across my forehead and along my cheek, and my insides melted around him. If he’d been in my grad program, we could’ve been inseparable.

  I tugged on the neck of his t-shirt, exposing the top portion of his chest, and I dipped to place a kiss. The fresh soap smell from our recent shower lingered, but he tasted faintly of salt.

  “Did you have a girlfriend then?” The question popped into my mind as I tried to envision a younger Tate, the guy Gabe desc
ribed as irreverent and carefree.

  “I did.”

  “What happened? Did she break your heart?”

  “No. When I set sail, she broke up with me. Lots of couples broke up around graduation, headed down different paths.” He sounded wistful.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Some relationships might not last forever, but that doesn’t mean they are any less important. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes, and all levels of magnitude.” I no longer loved Brandon, but our relationship shaped me. If anything, it scared me, because I fell out of love, and I didn’t understand why. And maybe that wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but it hurt my parents, my sister, and Brandon.

  He pulled me down for a deep kiss, and our tongues tangled. I ground my hips against him, and he groaned. He broke the kiss and cradled my face.

  “All shapes and sizes, huh? Is that the voice of experience?”

  “Sort of?” I asked.

  “Lots of boyfriends, Luna?” He pulled back, putting more room between our chests. I prepared to explain, but his next question derailed me. “Do you work with Poppy?”

  I grinned, instantly understanding his question, since I avoided answering the last time he asked it. “No. I don’t work for the site she works for.”

  “Good.”

  “That would bother you? If I made some extra money on the side?”

  He pushed me back, and sand spilled down the top of my t-shirt and into the waistband of my shorts, but I ignored the scratchy sensation and focused on the warm weight above me. He kissed me again, and when he pulled away, I repeated my question.

  He raised up on his forearms, his chest hovering above me.

  “I don’t like the idea of any human being using their body for income.”

  “But it’s her right.”

  “Yes, and I know that. And I don’t have any rights over you. I can’t tell you no. But you asked. I wouldn’t like it if you did it.”

  “I kind of like that you wouldn’t like it.” And I did. His possessiveness, or protectiveness, it infused a warmth around me. I lifted the bottom of his t-shirt, but his hand wrapped around mine, stopping it.

  “We can go back to my cottage.”

  “But why not out here? Under the moonlight and the stars, with the ocean breeze blowing? It’s a fantasy of mine.”

  “Hmmm,” he hummed as he kissed my chin. “Fantasy. I like the sound of that. But sex on the beach is one fantasy I’ve tried, and I can tell you it’s definitely better as fantasy than reality.”

  “No one’s going to come around. Even if they did, we’re so far up toward the dunes no one would see.” I reached for his crotch, hoping to convince him. “My name is Luna. Making love under the moon feels natural. Like it’s meant to be.”

  “Sand gets everywhere. We don’t even have a blanket.”

  “Now you sound old,” I complained. Then I had an idea. I positioned him on the sand on his knees. He had no idea what I was doing, but when I lowered his shorts and his erection jutted out into the night air, he quickly got the picture.

  I took him in my mouth, working him with my tongue and every now and then grazing his silky crown with my teeth, listening intently for his moans and groans as his hand gripped my hair, both holding it away from my mouth and guiding me up and down.

  “Fuck, Luna. You have no idea how good that feels. So tight. So fucking good.” His cock widened in my mouth, and his hips flexed several times with increasing urgency.

  Voices carried over in the wind, and I snapped up, looking up and down the beach. A bright yellow flashlight shone, and the shadows of two bodies could be seen in the distance. Locals would use a red light, so as not to confuse any hatching turtles. I considered going to explain why their flashlight was a bad idea, but Tate’s groan brought me back to the moment and the sand digging into my knees.

  Tate’s abandoned dick stood out like a flagpole, and I pulled his shorts back up, giggling at his frustrated expression.

  “Are you kidding me?” he growled.

  “Wait. I’ve got to go talk to them.” I ran down the beach to the couple. I explained there might be a hatching, and we’d appreciate it so much if they didn’t use the yellow light, which might confuse the hatchlings. The older couple was gracious and turned off the enormous flashlight they’d been carrying. The whole thing took less than two minutes, and I scurried back to Tate as quickly as I could.

  “Let’s go back to your place.”

  He pointedly looked down at his tented board shorts.

  “You can do it,” I teased.

  “Fuck, Luna,” he whined while I giggled like a schoolgirl the entire way back to his cottage.

  He rushed me down the boardwalk, pinching my ass or my nipple as I squealed while we made our way home.

  I stopped to pick up the hose to spray the sand off our feet, and he scooped me up and carried me inside.

  “But the sand.”

  Before the screen door slammed shut, his shorts hit the floor, and then his fingers tugged on mine, delivering them the same fate. Within seconds, he had me against the wall, my legs wrapped around him, his hard, needy cock filling me.

  “Fuck, you feel so good.”

  “This what you needed?” I gasped as he stroked up and down.

  “Yes. This. It’s exactly where I fucking. Need. To. Be.”

  Chapter 15

  Tate

  * * *

  In the morning, I woke as the sun seeped into the bedroom. Luna’s long, tangled hair fanned out across the bed, as did her arms and legs. Somehow, the girl laid claim to the entire bed. I took up my one portion on the right side. Her head lay below the crook of my arm, one arm draped over my stomach. Her naked body flailed out wildly, unencumbered and unashamed.

  My college self would have fallen madly in love with her. Not necessarily because she was the epitome of a free spirit, because there were plenty of those in college. Not even because we shared a major and the same passions and causes. The marine biology department was a niche, but not that niche. And we were all environmentalists. All of us were idealists, yet to be burned by life’s reality. But no, Luna had that heart of gold that Neil Young endlessly searched for. An idealistic dreamer, yes, but an energy and a zest for life and a willingness to risk and go for what she wanted that appealed to me…or back then, when I was younger, I would have been a shark to blood.

  At thirty-five, oddly enough, I still couldn’t stay away from her. At twenty-two, I knew what I wanted from life. I wanted to make a difference in the world. As a teacher, she made a difference in our community, in individual lives. I thought I could be like her, only do more. I thought I could take up a cause and right wrongs.

  At thirty-five, I knew nothing. I lay in bed with Luna, clueless. She didn’t seem to have any expectations, not for us. I had forgotten how free it felt to be twenty-two. Your entire life in front of you. Why would she be worried about tomorrow? Or where the relationship was going? She just wanted experience. She had a steadfast optimism that everything would work out, that she’d achieve her dreams. At her age, I had been the same.

  I should have been okay with that. Happy to have this gorgeous young woman sprawled out naked in my bed, for me to do as I pleased. But my older brain worked differently. Now that I’d allowed myself a taste, I didn’t want to let her go. But go, she would. And my thoughts circled reality nonstop.

  She’d finish her assignment here and move on to Belize or to the Galapagos. Somewhere tropical and exotic. And then after that, she’d accept a new gig. Maybe she’d end up in a doctoral program, or maybe she wouldn’t. But she’d go years bouncing from one exciting opportunity to another. Doing field research in safe locations. Exactly as she should.

  For my part, I had a commitment on the horizon. One I wouldn’t back away from. My opportunity to make a real, indisputable difference.

  She rolled over onto her back and spread out like a starfish. Her nipples peaked, exposed to the breeze of the overhead fan. I considered taking one i
n my mouth, but instead positioned myself between her legs and dipped my tongue, tasting her, while watching for her to awaken. She wanted experiences. I aimed to give her many.

  She moaned, and her thighs tightened around my head and her hips gyrated ever so slightly against my mouth. As she squirmed, she mewled. Undecipherable sounds of pleasure. “Tate.” She whimpered my name. And my cock grew painfully hard at the thought of being in her dreams. I found her pearl and circled my tongue, then grazed my teeth over it just the way I knew she liked. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head snapped up as her body quivered.

  “Good morning.” I smiled from between her thighs.

  “Yes. It is.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Now, I want you.” Damn this girl. A dream.

  After a rather fantastic wake-up routine, I stumbled downstairs and searched the refrigerator for breakfast options. The coffee pot dripped, and the faint sound of the upstairs shower mixed in with the hazy sound of waves. A strong paint odor replaced the mildew stench. Covering the drywall and ceiling water stains had done wonders for brightening the place. Day by day, I replaced rusted vents and fixtures. One of Luna’s recommended contractors replaced the windows and the shingles on the roof.

  I leaned against the counter and contemplated shower design options that could better accommodate us both. Five loud knocks shook the kitchen wall. I closed the refrigerator door, confused. The knocking continued, demanding and urgent.

  I swung the front door open. A burly man pushed inside. I focused on the pistol hanging off his belt. I didn’t know the man, but his heavy work boots, dusty jeans, and angry, forceful persona all added up. I’d been expecting someone like him.

  The shower turned off overhead, a reminder we weren’t alone.

  “I didn’t invite you in.” I balled my hands into fists.

  “Don’t need an invitation.” He twisted his head and glared down at me. Then he scanned the room, pausing on the coffee pot. “I’ll take some of that. Black is fine.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I’ll give you three guesses.”