A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  He took a breath. “There’s a reason firefighters have a high rate of divorce and suicide and why so many have drinking problems. It’s not an easy job, and it’s not an easy thing to have your spouse doing.” He paused. “In fact, I was living with a boyfriend when I fucked up my knee, and even though he never said it out loud, I’m pretty sure he was relieved when it happened.”

  “He was relieved you got hurt?”

  “Not that I got hurt, but that it was probably a career-ender.” He shifted a little, resting his elbow below the window and rubbing his neck. “The day I started making noise about going back to work was the day things started going south. I came back from my first shift at the firehouse, and he’d already started packing up to leave.”

  “Wow. Seriously?”

  Aaron gave a slow nod. “He thought I’d finally give in and look into getting an admin job, or even being a scene inspector. Something that didn’t involve running into buildings that were still on fire.”

  “Or jumping into forests that were on fire?”

  “Well.” He laughed softly, a hint of bitterness creeping in. “Those days were over whether I liked it or not. I can hold my own in a structure fire, but not landing on uneven terrain while I’m carrying umpteen pounds of gear.”

  I squirmed, my body aching at the thought of landing on hard ground with all that crap on my back, with or without a compromised knee. “And that killed your relationship?”

  Aaron nodded. “When he realized I wasn’t kidding, and I really was going back to firefighting, that was it.” He thumped the wheel as if for emphasis. “Came home from my first shift and found boxes stacked in the hall. Next day, he was gone.”

  “Whoa. How long were you together?”

  “Three years.” With no small amount of bitterness, he added, “It’s entirely possible we’d still be together if he’d hung on a few more months.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I had to quit anyway. I don’t know how he would’ve felt about the part-time thing I’m doing now, but maybe it would’ve helped. Maybe it wouldn’t have.” He stared out the windshield, eyes distant. “We’ll never know.”

  I stared at him for a moment. He’d seemed like a perma-bachelor. The type who’d declared since day one he’d never be tied down. But he’d lived with a guy and lost that guy. Did he still wonder sometimes where he’d be if things had played out differently? The way I wondered about my exes? Did he regret how things turned out?

  I didn’t ask, though. That wasn’t what this weekend was about. It wasn’t what we were about. Right?

  I quickly banished the thought. “So, anyway. You know, we’re going to have to decide if we can fuck if the Raiders and the Seahawks both make it to the Super Bowl.”

  That made him crack a smile. “If that happens, I guess we’ll have to come up with a friendly wager, now won’t we?”

  “Huh. When you say that, ‘friendly wager’ seems to take on a whole different meaning than it would with one of my coworkers or something.”

  “You think?”

  “So what do you have in mind?”

  “Oh.” He shrugged, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he kept his gaze fixed on the road. “I mean, football’s a pretty rough sport, right?”

  Goose bumps immediately came to life under my shirt. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Kind of seems like any wager we make should involve something that might leave marks.”

  I gulped. “So, like, loser gets fucked so hard they can’t move the next day?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. That sounds more like something for the winner.”

  He glanced at me.

  And that filthy grin made me hope like hell the next Super Bowl was Seattle versus Oakland.

  Chapter 16

  Aaron

  In Seattle, we picked a club I hadn’t been to before. It was a few blocks from the hotel, and the online reviews made it pretty clear it wasn’t overly sleazy, but it was definitely a place people went in search of dick.

  There was no point in showing up until at least nine or ten, so after an early dinner and a leisurely evening in our room, plus some pre-gaming at the hotel bar, we walked into the club at a little past ten.

  And I immediately decided we’d picked the right place. It was dim—lit only by disco lights and the glow of the top-shelf liquor displays behind the bar—and the crowd ranged from hot to way out of our league.

  As I scanned the dance floor, my mouth watered. Oh yes, this was one of the clubs where shirts started coming off before too long. I wasn’t so sure about stripping mine off in a room full of men who were almost a quarter century younger than me, but if the mood struck Shane, I wouldn’t hesitate to help him out of that black button-up. Or anything else he was wearing, for that matter.

  I licked my lips. Patience. He was here to live out a fantasy, and I wasn’t going to rush him back to the room to live out one of mine.

  “Okay, I’m following your lead,” he said. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “How about a couple of shots?” I rested my hand on his ass and kissed his cheek. “Good way to warm up, don’t you think?”

  “We didn’t warm up already?”

  I waved a hand. “Semantics. You want to do shots or not?”

  “I’m down.” He gazed up at the bar. “We probably shouldn’t drink too much right off the bat.” He turned to me. “Still have to be able to get it up, right?”

  I grinned and kissed him. “Just pace yourself. If you can stand, so can your dick.”

  Shane laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

  “You saying you can’t handle your—”

  “I said nothing of the sort.” He gestured at the bar. “Your call. First round’s on you.”

  “Oh, is it now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fine. Next one’s on you.”

  “Deal.”

  We’d been standing at the bar all of thirty seconds when a hand slid over Shane’s ass, and my body reacted like I’d been the one getting felt up. My skin broke out in goose bumps and some blood definitely rushed south.

  That wasn’t the only reaction I had, though. I gripped my drink tighter to keep myself from batting that hand away from him.

  What the hell? We’d come here to find a hookup to share. I’d nearly driven myself crazy the other night, jerking off to fantasies of Shane plowing another man’s ass while I watched. Since when was jealousy a factor?

  I shook the thought away. We were here to find someone to enjoy together. Shane wasn’t my boyfriend. Jealousy was stupid and didn’t belong here.

  Now let’s get some booze and get a man for the night.

  A couple of shots turned into a couple more. Though Shane hadn’t partied much and he’d called himself a lightweight, it sure seemed like he could hold his liquor, so we had the bartender pour us another round.

  Shane threw it back, grimaced, and met my gaze. “Okay. I think I’m ready to party now.”

  “Good. How about we get out on the dance floor and see if we can find someone to join us?”

  Shane looked at the dance floor and licked his lips. “Let’s go.”

  Before I could respond—not that I was going to object—he took my elbow and pulled me out onto the floor with him. I happily followed, my heart pounding and face pleasantly warm from the alcohol. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

  Shane was still steady on his feet, but the booze was definitely soaking into his system. From the beginning back in the hotel, he’d matched me shot for shot, and now that we were on the dance floor, I swore each round had peeled away a set of inhibitions. In the hotel bar, he’d been iffy about making contact out in the open. Now, a few well-paced rounds later, he had no qualms about putting his hands all over me, and I loved it.

  And . . . holy crap. I never would’ve guessed it, but the boy could dance. The beat possessed his hips, and he was apparently blessed with the innate knowledge of what to do with his hands and arms while he moved. Tha
t had taken me longer to figure out than I cared to admit. Maybe it had taken him a while too, but he sure knew now.

  Just like I’d hoped, after a couple of sweaty minutes on the dance floor, the shirt came off.

  Heads turned. Of course they did. What wasn’t to love about Shane’s torso? Muscles. That tattoo.

  Few things gave me more satisfaction than wrapping my arms around his naked, gyrating torso and kissing the side of his neck. He leaned back against me, sliding his hands down my thighs and rubbing his ass against my cock.

  That’s right, gentlemen. He’s with me.

  A gorgeous blond kid who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five gave him a completely conspicuous and very appreciative down-up. I couldn’t help but grin because, if I wasn’t mistaken, those blue eyes stopped to take in the little bite mark I’d left on Shane’s shoulder last night.

  I couldn’t resist. Looking that kid right in the eye, I wrapped my arms around Shane and nipped the side of his neck. Shane, oblivious to his admirer, whimpered loud enough for me to hear over the music and wriggled against me.

  The kid’s lips parted. I winked.

  Yeah, I left that mark. I can leave one on you if you want.

  I kissed the spot I’d bitten. “I’m going to take a breather. That shirtless blond has his eye on you though.”

  Shane turned his head slightly, and I swore I could feel when they locked eyes.

  “Go for it,” I whispered as I let him go. I gave the blond a grin and gave them some room. By the time I’d made it to the bar, one or both of them had already moved in for the kill. They danced close, Shane going from sexy to whoa with this gorgeous stranger pressed up against him. When he moved like that . . . my God . . . that ass. I flagged the bartender down, but not for some booze. I needed some cold water. Stat.

  The blond lifted his chin, Shane tilted his head, and I almost lost my mind. The sight of Shane kissing another man liquefied my knees. If it turned me on this much to watch them make out, watching them fuck would be the death of me for sure. I beckoned to the bartender again. Water. Please. Now.

  Even the water wasn’t enough. It was cold as balls—little chunks of ice floating in it and everything—but not nearly enough to counter the sight of Shane and that gorgeous blond half dancing, half making out.

  The music changed. Shane and the blond pulled back a little. They exchanged a long look and some suggestive grins, then . . . went their separate ways.

  Huh? I lowered my water glass as he came toward me. The blond was gone now. Out of sight completely. What the . . .?

  Shane joined me at the bar, wiping sweat from his brow and breathing hard.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Not him.” Shane’s lips twisted. “Dude can’t kiss without cracking our teeth together.”

  I shuddered. “Oh. Yeah. No thanks.”

  He nudged me playfully. “Your turn. I’m tagging out for a minute.”

  “I’m on it.” I lifted myself up and kissed him quickly. “Get yourself some water.”

  “Will do.”

  He turned to get the bartender’s attention, and I went to the dance floor. God, just being out here was a heady rush. Being on the prowl was one of my favorite things in the world. Searching a crowd for someone I hadn’t met yet. Making eye contact. Making physical contact. Making that primal I want to taste you connection. Just thinking about it turned me on, and being out here in the thick of things, surrounded by gorgeous men, was as mind-blowing as it had been the first time I’d done this decades ago.

  Tonight, it was even hotter because I’d already made that connection with one man. He was on the sidelines, and I didn’t even have to look to know he was watching me. Waiting for me to find someone for both of us to take back to our room and burn up the sheets with.

  Even the booze in my system didn’t stop my cock from getting and staying hard. I was buzzed, but steady . . . and horny as fuck. I swore if we didn’t find someone soon, our threesome was going to go down in the men’s room.

  A goateed redhead with full tattoo sleeves caught my eye. A few dancing men separated us, but we managed to work our way to each other, and the second there was no one left between us, his hands were on my waist. We fell into sync with each other in no time flat. Oh yes, he was a winner. The things he did with his hips rivaled Shane’s. If he could dance like this, he’d be golden when the clothes came off.

  He inched a bit closer and brushed his lips against mine.

  And my stomach flipped.

  Goddamn it.

  Smoke.

  I hadn’t smoked in eleven years, and while the smell didn’t bother me, the taste made me gag. He was hot, but nope. Deal-breaker.

  We kept dancing, but when the song ended, I bowed out as gracefully as I could and made my way back to where Shane was standing.

  He eyed me over his water glass. “Not a winner?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Smoker.”

  “Oh. No thanks.” He paused. “Wait, didn’t you used to smoke?”

  “What? How’d you know?”

  “Your voice.”

  “Oh. Right.” I shrugged and reached for my mostly empty water. “Yeah, I did, but I quit a long time ago. Can’t stand the taste now.”

  “Ugh. I could never stand it to begin with. Especially on someone else.” He shuddered. “So what now? Third time’s the charm, right?”

  “Yep. Should we flip a coin to decide who goes in this time?”

  “Or we both go.” He grinned, teeth gleaming in the disco lights. “Another round first?”

  “You don’t want to slow down?”

  “Slow down?” He laughed. “Do twenty-one-year-olds slow down? Hell no.”

  I arched an eyebrow, wondering if he’d forgotten neither of us had been twenty-one for a while.

  Before I could comment, he inclined his head. “Unless you’re getting tired?”

  I scoffed. “Me? Pfft. I don’t think so.”

  “Then bring it on.”

  That . . . might have been a mistake.

  If that round wasn’t the mistake, the one after it—right after it—was. Pounding those drinks in rapid succession turned the room into a Tilt-a-Whirl. Everything had an extra edge to it, like my vision hadn’t gone double yet, but it was about to. Okay, maybe I didn’t have the tolerance I’d had in the Army or during my smoke-jumping days. Time to slow down.

  Well, he’d probably give me hell for getting too old for this, but pride goeth before the liver or some shit like that. I turned to him, ready to wave the white flag, but paused.

  His lips were tight. He swallowed hard. Harder.

  I touched his shoulder and shouted over the music, “Shane?”

  He gulped again, and this time even the disco lights couldn’t hide the loss of color in his face. His hand went to his mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut. I recognized that slow, deep breathing from a mile away.

  Oh, shit . . .

  “Shane, do you—”

  Just like that, he was gone, shouldering his way through the crowd. I cringed for him. Maybe we shouldn’t have done that last round after all. And the one before that, if I was honest.

  Still somewhat steady on my feet, I followed him. At least, I went the same direction I thought he’d gone—the crowd had swallowed him up and I’d lost sight of him.

  Didn’t take a genius to figure out where he was, though, and in no time, I found him in the men’s room, on his knees in a stall. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t kneeling to do anything fun.

  I waited outside the stall to give him some privacy, not to mention to keep someone else from staggering in and disastrously joining him.

  A minute later, he came out on shaking legs. His eyes were red and his face was pale.

  “Hey.” I touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I—” His eyes widened. “I . . .”

  I winced, knowing exactly what was coming, and when he went back into the stall, I turned away right before h
e heaved again.

  The second time he shuffled out of the stall, he was shaky on his feet, his face still sickly white under the sheen of sweat. In his twenties, he might’ve been able to come back from this and still have a hell of a night, but I doubted he could do that now.

  “I think we’re calling it a night.” I gently took his elbow. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  He didn’t argue.

  Chapter 17

  Shane

  If I didn’t move or open my eyes, the claws in my skull would go away.

  Eventually.

  Hopefully.

  Please?

  They did start loosening up after a while, though, so I cautiously opened my eyes. The room was mercifully dim. Thick curtains covered the windows, and all the lights were off except for one coming from the other side of the bed.

  Slowly, the pieces came together in my mind. This was the hotel room Aaron and I had booked down the street from the club where we’d been last night. I vaguely remembered getting back here, leaning heavily on Aaron as I stumbled in through the door.

  The memory made my stomach turn, which made my head throb harder. Groaning, I covered my eyes with my hand. This sucked. And I really needed to take a piss, but sitting up wasn’t on the menu yet. Standing was out of the question for a minute or two.

  With a little effort, I did manage to roll onto my back.

  Beside me, Aaron was leaning against the headboard. “Hey.” His voice was extra soft, and he ran a gentle hand over my shoulder. “How you feeling?”

  “Like I might’ve been a little too enthusiastic last night.”

  Aaron laughed, still staying almost whisper-quiet. Slowly, my eyes focused, and I realized he was wearing his knee brace. He had some pillows stacked up behind his back and his iPad propped up on his braced leg, which was resting on top of his bag.

  I gestured at his leg. “Knee acting up?”

  “After a night on the dance floor? Oh yeah.”

  “So it’s not from holding my stupid ass up on the way back?”

  Aaron laughed softly and squeezed my shoulder. “Nah. You did all right, all things considered.”