And my body was doing its fair share of answering her. It had been one thing when I’d just been touching her; my dick hardened, straining at the bonds of my swimsuit even then. Now, though, as I felt her arousal climbing in response to my touch—it was almost unbearable. My cock was pressed so hard and tight against my trunks that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it’d come busting out of the fabric like a penis version of the Incredible Hulk. I wouldn’t have been all that upset about it either, truthfully. Any excuse to be a little more naked with Sandy.
A moan escaped from her throat, and it obviously surprised her, because her eyes flew open and she quickly sat up. “That’s good!” she chirped, her voice way too loud and way too high.
I smirked. “Yeah, I could tell that it was.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she didn’t even bother to retort. She sprang to her feet, grabbing her towel and beach bag. “Yeah, uh… We gotta go get ready for the bonfire now. We’re gonna be late. We gotta go.”
With that, she scurried away and I hurried to follow. I didn’t mind though. You couldn’t beat the view.
*
Sandy
As I stood under the powerful spray from the shower nozzle, I didn’t think I’d ever felt more confused in my life. I didn’t love Hunter. Not in that way. I didn’t want Hunter. I mean physically, maybe. Okay, definitely. But not in the do-you-take-this-man kind of way. How could I? He was the exact opposite, in every single way, of what I’d always daydreamed my perfect mate would be like.
When I fantasized and planned and dreamed about the perfect man coming into my life, it was never of the I-wonder-what-he’s-gonna-be-like daydreaming variety. Nope. Not at all. Not even close. It was more like the someday-my-prince-will-come-and-I’ll-recognize-him-because-I-know-exactly-what-he’s-like type of dream.
I’d never been the kind of girl who daydreams in vain. I didn’t sit around playing stupid fantasies in my head for the sheer entertainment value. They weren’t like Hollywood blockbusters I could only see on the screen of my own mind, present for enjoyment and time-killing purposes. Hell no. When I dreamed about my future, I pictured what really was going to happen.
That’s how I knew all about what my perfect guy would be like—and how I knew that Hunter was the polar opposite in every way, shape, and form.
My dream man was exotic. Hunter was a hometown boy.
My dream man was from a wealthy and powerful family. Hunter’s dad was a mechanic and his mom worked the front desk at a local hotel.
My dream man was cultured. Hunter had never traveled farther than Montana and didn’t speak any other languages but Pig Latin.
My dream man was going to see me for the first time and be bowled over by my sophistication and grace. Hunter had seen me for the first time when we were both in first grade, and he’d seen me fall on my ass on more than one occasion.
However you sliced it, Hunter was not my dream man.
But…this was where the confusion part of things came into play.
If I didn’t want Hunter, why did every cell in my body hum with erotic energy every time he was in the same room with me now?
If I didn’t love Hunter, why did it feel like my heart had been torn out of my chest when he’d walked out of my life, and why had it been beating like crazy ever since he’d walked back in?
If I wasn’t meant to be with Hunter, why did I only truly feel whole when he was around, like he was the missing piece that made my life complete?
Damn confusion!
Like earlier that day on the beach; I’d asked him to rub the suntan lotion on my back as a funny little joke, a way to show him that he wasn’t as in control of our situation as he thought he was. It was supposed to get to him. Not me!
But holy hotness, it had. As soon as I’d felt his strong hands moving over my body with such confident assurance, my senses had sprung to life. Every inch of my skin had tingled, but especially where he’d touched me. I was like clay under his fingers. He was kneading me and molding me into whatever he wanted me to be.
As the hot, pulsing water cascaded over my body, the memory of Hunter’s touch filled me. I was seized by the thought of him stepping into the shower with me, right there, right then, and finishing what he’d started out there on the sand. This time, though, he wouldn’t just touch my back. No. And his fingers wouldn’t just graze the edge of my breasts and then slide away.
This time would be different.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the fantasy of Hunter joining me under the powerful spray. I pictured him wrapping his arms around me from behind and slipping his hands up my belly and onto my breasts, and I slid my own hands up my slippery belly and onto my soapy breasts as I imagined it. I used my own hands to tweak my nipples as I imagined Hunter doing it to me, and they hardened from the powerful combination of my thoughts and my touches.
I imagined Hunter’s hands slipping down my body and between my legs as my back pressed firmly against his rock-hard chest and my ass pressed just as firmly against his rock-hard cock. I pushed my own fingers between my legs as my mind played this fantasy, rubbing my clit in fast circles, feeling the pleasure mount with each desperate movement. My knees weakened, and I grabbed the washcloth bar for support as my orgasm rocked through me, water pouring over my head, steam puffing and rising all around me, thoughts of Hunter running his hands all over my naked body still vividly running in my brain.
After my breathing slowed to normal and my muscles stopped trembling, I had to stand still for a moment, letting the hot water pound into my shoulders, relaxing them and bringing me back to myself.
When I came to my senses, I shook my head.
What. Precisely. In. The. Ever-loving. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing?
I couldn’t wrap my head around why I was doing this. Why was I indulging in these fantasies? Why was I giving in to them when, in my head, I knew that Hunter was not my dream man?
I turned the water off in the shower, determined to put all thoughts of Hunter out of my mind. But before I’d even stepped out of the rectangular tiled space, I’d failed at my task. A tiny voice piped up in my mind asking, If Hunter isn’t my dream man…then why do I keep dreaming about him?
Damn me and my tiny voices.
Chapter 13
Hunter
I’d been finding out over the course of our trip that the whole “it’s so quick and easy to get ready when you’re a guy” thing was a double-edged sword. Sure, it was great to hop in and out of the shower in five minutes. And it was convenient to be done putting on my clothes and styling my hair in roughly the amount of time it took for Sandy to adjust the water temperature in her shower. But the downside was that, day-um—it left me a lot of time to sit around and try not to think about her naked body, all wet and soapy in the shower.
Fuck. My brain was on a running loop, and it consisted of pretty much every slow-motion movie montage cliché of girls in the shower—and this one starred Sandy. I thought about her seductively leaning back into the spray of water, wetting her hair down, and sexily running her fingers through it as she moved her head from side to side. I pictured her running her soapy shower puff all over her naked skin, paying special attention to her magnificent tits, all shiny and slick with shower water.
Yes, I understood that this wasn’t what real showers were like, and what I was picturing probably had little to no relationship to the beauty and cleanliness routines that were actually going on in the shower at that moment. But it was my fantasy, and if I wanted to think about her showers as glorified masturbation sessions that used soap and water for little more than lube, then that was my right as a red-blooded American male.
Except for one little problem.
As she was in the shower getting ready for the bonfire and I was filling my abundant free time by sitting around thinking about her naked, I’d developed a pretty noticeable hard-on that was going to be difficult to get rid of before she came walking out of the bathroom. In her towel. With water beadin
g on her soft skin. And her hair curling up with moisture…
Awww…fuck. That certainly wasn’t helping matters.
I tried to run through a mental list of the un-sexiest things I could imagine. Cancer…Vietnam…Old people in their underwear.
Should’ve helped. Didn’t.
I was just starting to mentally calculate my options for escaping the room before she emerged from the shower when the door opened and out she came. God. All thoughts about controlling my boner flew out of my head.
She was wrapped in one of the hotel towels, which wasn’t quite big enough to provide modest coverage. For which my dick thanked it. Sure, it covered all the critical parts, but was fitted so tight that it pushed her breasts up and together, creating spectacular cleavage I could’ve stared at for hours and never gotten bored of.
It hit her thighs a mere inch or two below her hips, putting her gorgeous, long legs on full display and drawing my imagination—and memory—straight to the perfect pussy that lay just above the hemline.
It was hard to concentrate on anything but the knowledge that, with one quick flick of the wrist, that towel could be tossed across the room and my beautiful, amazing girl would be standing there completely and gloriously naked.
Fuuuuuuuck.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my tablet from the nightstand, and sat on the edge of the bed, positioning it so that it covered my bulge. There was no way this hard-on was going away any time soon.
Sandy sat at the desk she’d turned into a vanity—and looked at herself in the mirror as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I think I’m just going to leave it curly tonight. Then I won’t have to spend all that time flat-ironing it. If I just put a little spray gel in and dry it on low, I could get some body, at least, if not full-on beach waves.” She made eye contact with me in the mirror. “What do you think?”
Images of her golden hair flashing in the sunlight, her curls cascading over her shoulders as she danced or threw her head back in laughter, flooded into my mind. God. All of my best memories were with Sandy, and there was almost nothing on earth that didn’t bring them tumbling back into my brain.
“I think that sounds fine. But I think you’ll be beautiful no matter how you wear your hair because you’re beautiful.”
She blushed, and we maintained eye contact for a moment before she went back to messing with her hair in the mirror, a little secret smile on her lips. “Curly it is, then. Beach waves. Appropriate, right?”
“Right.”
She gave me a bright smile, which I returned. It was about so much more than just her hairstyle. With that shared smile, we took one more small step nearer to regaining our closeness. Our Hunter-and-Gatherer-ness. It was going to take time and effort to fully rebuild, but I was willing to put in the work.
When it came to Sandy, I had a years-long track record that proved I was nothing if not fucking patient.
Chapter 14
Hunter
“Holy shit. This is their house?” Sandy’s voice was filled with awe as we walked up the steps of what should’ve been more accurately called a mansion.
Neither one of us had ever been inside—or even near—a house that massive and grand. The entire house was raised up on pilings, which had been designed to look like carved columns. A sweeping marble staircase led up to the front door, which included wrought-iron decorations supporting the handrail. The house itself was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows on every wall and a wraparound porch. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the number of bedrooms was in the double digits.
“It’s…wow.” It was rare for me to find myself at a loss for words, but I had been stunned into silence by the house—or, rather, by the implied wealth it represented.
I’d never been very comfortable around money. Or people who had money. In Arcata, that had never been much of an issue. While there were always families that had more and families that had less, we didn’t really have an ultra-wealthy section of town. Certainly, there was nothing like this.
“Do you think we should just, you know, walk up to the door? Ring the doorbell?” Sandy sounded unsure of herself, which was also very unlike her.
This world was pushing both of us outside our comfort zones.
I nodded. I mean, what else are you supposed to do when you’ve been invited to someone’s house? But when we stepped onto the first tread of the stairway, it didn’t feel right.
“It’s like… It’s like it’s too pretty to step on or something,” she said.
“Right. Exactly.”
We were saved from the uncertainty of wondering what to do next by a friendly voice breaking the silence. I recognized it right away.
“Hey, y’all made it!” Acacia said. “I’m so glad! Come on around. We’re all out back.”
She glided up to me and threaded her arm through mine seamlessly. I glanced over at Sandy to see if she had a reaction to it, and saw that she was holding her face in the very blank, very flat, very tight way that meant she was beyond pissed.
Good. I liked that she got jealous. I shouldn’t have to be the only one.
“Sandy, girl, Avery’s gonna be so happy to see you here! That boy is infatuated.” Acacia’s happy voice was conspiratorial.
Fuck. Speaking of getting jealous…
We rounded the corner of the house and moved right onto the beach. Damn, there wasn’t even a path or a walkway. Sandy and I exchanged surreptitious looks. I knew we were thinking the same thing.
These people have money!
“So, do you and Avery live here full time, or are you here on spring break, too?” Sandy asked.
“Well, we did grow up here. In a way, anyway. This is our summer home. But, right now, we’re here on spring break, just like the rest of the world. So, where are you two from?”
“California,” Sandy and I answered in unison.
Acacia laughed, and the sound was musical. “Y’all could take that act on the road. Where in California?”
I jumped in. “A small town called Arcata. It’s near Eureka.”
“Eureka!” Acacia was clearly delighted at the word. “As in: Eureka, I have found it! Speaking of which, here. We’ve found the gang. Let me introduce you.”
As the three of us reached the group of kids who were sitting around the crackling bonfire in a semicircle, Acacia rattled off names and interesting biographical facts about each person present. I probably should’ve been paying attention, but I wasn’t. First of all, I knew I’d never remember any of it. Second of all, I was distracted by the way Avery was staring at Sandy as if she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
I knew that look. It was the same look that was probably on my face half the times she had walked into the room since I’d known her. And, hell, she was beautiful. Exquisite, actually. It was a perfectly reasonable, perfectly logical response to being a male within fifty feet of her.
That didn’t stop me from wanting to take that smitten gaze he couldn’t seem to tear away from her and rip it right off his face.
“Hey, dude. Good to meet you,” said one of Avery’s friends to me. “We were just about to go toss the football around. Sound good?”
I nodded and headed off with the group of guys that stood up from the sand and wandered off down the beach a little ways. Avery fell into step beside me. Great. I knew where this was going. I’d been through this conversation with a hundred other guys before him. This was the hey-are-you-guys-together-is-it-cool-if-I-make-a-move conversation.
Avery looked over at me and—very casually, as if it’d just occurred to him that second—said, “Hey, by the way… You and Sandy aren’t together, right? I was thinking of seeing where things go, if it’s all good with you.”
I shrugged and gave him the same line I’d given a hundred times in the past. “If it’s all good with her, it’s all good with me. Knock yourself out.”
Just as I did, every time I had to give my blessing to some idiot to hit on the love of my life, I felt like a m
oron. Why didn’t I just say, No, actually, it’s not cool, and be done with it? Shit. It was because of the question that preceded it. The “are you and Sandy together?” question.
Because, shit, as much as I wished that it weren’t true, the reality of the situation was that Sandy and I were not together, and we never had been. The one night—that one beautiful, special, earth-shattering, magical-fucking-unicorn of a night—when I had thought we were going to get together, that idea had been shattered almost as soon as it had entered my mind.
It’s not like this meant anything. It’s not like this meant anything. It’s not like this meant anything.
Those words were burned into my brain forever, and they played on a loop at times like this. As much as I wished I could tell people that Sandy was off-damn-limits, I didn’t have that right.
“So, what’s her story?”
Fuck, what exactly was I supposed to say to a question like that?
I shrugged. “She’s great. We’ve been friends forever. She’s just a great person. A great girl.”
Avery grinned. “So, are we saying she’s great, then?”
I didn’t feel like getting my balls busted, so I ignored the joking. Instead, I took it to a more serious place. “Don’t fuck around with her, dude. I mean, make a move, whatever. But don’t play with her. Don’t be a dick.”
He nodded. “I didn’t plan to be. But, good lookin’ out. She’s lucky to have somebody like you.”
I shook my head. It was really the other way around, but I didn’t need to get into that with this guy.
“So, she’s a twin, too, huh? That’s probably what I’ll use as my in.”
“Yeah. She has a twin sister. Identical. Her name’s Brandy.”
“Good intel. Thanks, man. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Chasing Perfect (Someday#4) Page 9