Hooked (WET, #1)

by K. C. Falls

"Why don't you get a job?"

  "Because I don’t hate my life enough. I hate it just enough to hold myself in contempt, but not enough to do something about it. I think that's exactly what Jackson Wolf intends."

  "Why would your father want that?"

  "Because deep down inside he hopes I . . . he wishes I . . ."

  "What, Morgan? What does your father want?"

  "He wants to know I'm not my mother's son." It slipped out quietly. I hadn't intended to take it this far; hadn't intended to reveal that much of the crazy that made me who I was. "They had issues," I added lightly. "But that's way too much darkness for this sunny day."

  She smiled a little confused smile, but thankfully she didn't pry. I pushed myself off the side and glided to a recessed cooler at the pools edge. There was a chilled bottle of Chardonnay waiting for us.

  "Wine?" I asked as I held up the bottle.

  To my surprise, she didn’t crab about having to do dinner or anything like that. She slipped into the water and swam up beside me. "Sure, that sounds perfect." She seemed to understand a barrier had been breached but she also had the good sense not to press the edges of the envelope just then.

  We killed the bottle of wine quickly and started on another. Lara sat next to me on the underwater seat, our nearly naked bodies simmering in the tepid water.

  I managed to turn the conversation toward her life. She told me about the high school years. Those painful, awkward, find-yourself-years when she felt her intellect was tattooed on her forehead for all to see.

  "I don't know how it was where you went to high school, but in my neck of the woods there was nothing cool about being smart or making good grades."

  There would be time later to tell her that I was virtually cloistered in a tiny prep school for those all-important years. It was my turn to listen.

  "I know I let my parents down. They try so hard not to express their disappointment, but it's there, all the same. They had one shot at producing a prodigy and they wound up with a friggin' cook. And I couldn't even manage to succeed at that."

  "What makes you think you aren't successful?"

  "The least I could have done for them is turn out to be a modern-day Alice Waters or at least a household name like Rachel Ray."

  "Good God, you're only twenty years old . . ."

  "Almost twenty-one," she amended.

  "How almost?"

  "I turn twenty-one on Thursday."

  "Your birthday in three days? We'll have a party!" I poured two more glasses of wine from a fresh bottle and clinked my glass against hers. "To your almost being twenty-one."

  She smiled up at me and moved just close enough to me for me to feel the barest brush of her flesh against mine. A mellow wave of desire washed over me as we let the next hour or so burn over us with the afternoon. It was no longer about just fucking her. It was about doing it right.

  ***

  By the time Thursday rolled around my balls were as tight as a line with a three hundred pound tuna at the end of it. I felt like I was dragging a Volkswagen around between my thighs. For three days we'd met at the pool in the shank of the afternoon. For three days I'd played it cool and she'd played it cautious. The tension between us needed release.

  It was an entirely new feeling for me. I couldn't actually recall a time when I had tried to win a girl. I found a new respect for the guys back in the day with their painfully wrought first, second and third bases. That kind of mating dance didn't exist in my world. The girls I knew were all home runs waiting to be hit. Even the models and the trust fund babies fell into my arms with no more preamble than ordering a round of drinks. Fucking was the expected end of even the most casual bar hook-up. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been with a woman where doing the nasty wasn't a foregone conclusion.

  I had learned, in our trio of taut afternoons, how she'd been burned and what scars had been left behind. I learned a lot about why she had that streak of distrust in her. She told me that she thought her life had crippled her in intimate ways. It wasn't hard to pull it out of her. She'd been waiting all her young life just to have some guy give her the time to tell her tale. No chick's ever asked me to really listen to her. Not to the real story, warts and all. I found out I had a talent for it.

  Chapter 15—Lara

  Hey Rache,

  Happy Birthday to me!

  It's been a few since I wrote. Sorry. Wow. Where to start? I've found out there's a lot of time to kill on board a big yacht crossing the ocean—even when you're the chef. And, guess who I've been killing it with? Yep. Hot boss himself. Only he's not technically my boss. But that's not important. Long story that can wait.

  After the whole screw up I told you about before, I took your advice and played it cool. Almost too cool. I was actually kind of a bitch. One afternoon he convinced me to join him at the pool and we spent the afternoon just talking. Well, he did put some sunscreen on me, but that was the extent of any contact that day. But OMG Rache, when he touched me I was ready to jump his bones then and there. But I didn't. Yay me. Cool me. Freakin’ horny me.

  We repeated the process yesterday and today. Yesterday he kissed me. Real soft and gentle. You know how they say in books that the girl feels like she's melting? I understand that now. When he touches me I just feel gooey, like I'm going to wind up a puddle of 'feelings' at his feet. I've never tried to put this in words before. 'Course, I've never felt this way before, either.

  We were sitting on this seat in the pool. We just chill there and talk. He's always got a bottle (or two) of wine in the cooler but we sip it slowly. I've never felt the least bit out of control—well not from the wine anyway. But with him? Holy shit. There's like this energy between our bodies. I'm so totally aware of every inch of his skin being close to every inch of mine. I've memorized every feature of his face. You should see his eyes! They’re absolutely gorgeous. Deep, dark blue like the ocean. I've never seen eyes like that. He's got one of those jaws we used to call the soap opera dude jaw. Remember? We used to wonder if all those guys had some kind of implant? That's the way his jaw is only it isn't any implant. He strikes me as totally not the type to go in for anything fake.

  The first day we went to the pool he wore this Euro bathing suit. A bikini. I nearly laughed out loud when I saw it. Not that he didn’t look hotter than hell in it. But really, a Speedo? I guess he didn’t get the fashion memo. When he was putting the lotion on me, I think he got a hard-on 'cause he suddenly jumped into the pool and kind of hid his crotch against the wall. Yesterday and today he went back to a regular bathing suit. It suits him better. The skimpy one is just too gay. I can still see the erection (and yeah baby there have been a couple of 'em) but at least it's not staring me in the face.

  Anyway, back to that kiss. We were talking about fishing. Sounds utterly boring but you’d be surprised. It's something he's really passionate about. It's like he has this special relationship with the sea and everything in it. He told me how we're going to take a little detour at the Azores to hunt some blue marlin. He wants me to see what it's all about and maybe hook me up with a fish too. So I was just watching him talk, seeing the way his face lit up and his eyes just danced when he told me about how exciting it was.

  "The thrill is in the hunt. It's not about catching the fish. It's about finding the fish and fighting the fish. Then it's about letting her go to swim another day." That’s more or less what he said. Reading it back makes me realize you had to be there.

  But I’m telling you he made me want to know what that was like just to get that much closer to knowing what makes him tick. Have you ever had that feeling? I mean I've never even thought about catching a big game fish. But the way he made it sound and the way it affected him just drew me in. I told him I wanted to see him in action. He took my face in his hands and just kind of brushed my forehead with his lips and I closed my eyes . . . just waiting for it, you know? And he brought his mouth very close to my ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. In a really sexy voi
ce he said, "I want to see us in action."

  Then he kissed me. Long and slow.

  I stopped writing for a minute just to relive it. He had started with the barest glance of his lips against mine. The softness of the touch was almost a tickle. We both took deep breaths. He ran the tip of his tongue around my lips before he brought his mouth against mine. He found my tongue with his and played with it, sucking and teasing with restrained urgency. My hands found the back of his neck and my fingers twined into the damp curls on the back of his neck. My whole body responded to that kiss. It went through me to the tips of my finger and the ends of my toes. When he leaned down to nibble at my neck I moaned at the pleasure of his nibbling and suckling of my tender skin. He made desire throb like a beast between my legs.

  God all friggin mighty, Rache! That kiss was better than any actual sex I've ever had. It was mind-blowing. I wouldn't have been surprised to see fireworks exploding over us and some symphony playing. Why the fuck didn't someone tell me what I was missing?

  We kissed for a while. Long enough for me to be totally ready for anything he wanted to do. But something in me didn't want to rush. I guess he felt the same way bcuz we just kissed and talked and kissed and talked some more.

  Somewhere in all that kissing and talking I confessed that I'd never come with a guy. It just sort of seemed natural to tell him. He pulled me closer to him so my head rested on his shoulder and he told me that was all going to change. The next afternoon it did.

  I was surprised that he didn't make a big deal out of it. We spent a long time in a lazy haze of making out in the afternoon sun under the big umbrella that he had positioned by the side of the pool so we wouldn't fry. It seemed right. The ocean lent an endless quality to everything. The infinite blue water seemed to say: "Take it slow, you've got all the time in the world." It was a message I needed to hear. Morgan brought me to a place inside myself that I'd never been. It was exciting and frightening at the same time.

  The fear had changed from a simple desire not to be a fool again to something deeper and way more dangerous. I needed time to accept the risk that went with the kind of passion I discovered in his arms. Maybe he felt the same way. Maybe it was as new to him as it was to me.

  After dinner had been served and Angelo had cleaned up and gone downstairs, Morgan walked me to my door and kissed me one last time.

  "Thank you for a perfect afternoon," I told him.

  He smiled wickedly and ran his hands down my back until they reached the globes of my ass. He pulled me into his body. "Sweetheart, tomorrow I'm going to teach you what perfect really means."

  So we met at the usual hour. We started off talking about his life. Well, I started off trying to find out about his life. He's mentioned a few things about his parents that are disturbing. Like there's a deep dark horror buried somewhere. But I can't seem to get it out of him. He's real good at changing the subject and bringing the focus back to me. And wowee oh wow was the focus all about me. I won't give you TMI but let me just tell you. It. Finally. Happened.

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Lara Lamb, on the eve of her twenty-first birthday has finally achieved the Big-O with only the use of one perfect, hot, yummy, talented, gorgeous, sexy man. No batteries were included.

  I was being cute with my bestie; I didn't want to make more of it than she would have. Rachel wasn't a drama queen. I held that title. Rachel would have let it just happen and chalked it up to one of life's happy little surprises.

  For me, the fact that Morgan Wolf was able to touch me in a way that made my body do something it had never done before amazed me. It bonded me to him in ways that sex had never bonded me to a man. And the fact that he brought me to that place without even fucking me was more amazing still.

  We were lying on a double chaise under the umbrella. He traced the outline of my face with one perfect tan finger. Anticipation crackled through the air. I was so ready to have him, so utterly and completely wide open with desire for his body inside mine I nearly shook with the power of it. There was nothing in my world except the man. He vanquished all other thoughts until he became the universe and everything in it.

  His touch meandered down my chest until his finger found its way under the top of my bikini. He shoved the material to one side so that my breast could joyfully greet his hand. My nipple tightened into a tender peak that he twisted between his thumb and forefinger. The jolt went straight through me and landed on my clit. My pussy swelled and pulsed in solidarity with its sister parts.

  When he had both of my breasts exposed he lavished attention on one with his mouth and the other with his hand, switching back and forth and driving me crazy with pleasure. I couldn't stop myself from arching into him, my body begging him to go further, suck harder, pinch tighter. He kept saying ‘perfect’ when his mouth moved from one erect peak to the other.

  I said his name to the bright blue sky and he hummed his answer, lips pressed against my beating heart. Mouth. Skin. Pulse. Breath. Heat.

  His hand found my mound and massaged me through the thin fabric of my bathing suit. It had long since dried in the sunshine, but was wet again with the liquid of my arousal. Morgan tugged at the bows that tied the bottom together and released me.

  "Oh my beauty," he murmured. "Beautiful dove, beautiful rose."

  I was delirious with need. I reached blindly for his body, seeking his cock. I wanted him so much. Needed him to be inside me, occupying me, owning me, knowing me. He slid his body out of my reach and started to explore my swollen sex with knowing fingers. He slid down the wet folds of my pussy with excruciatingly languid strokes. I wanted to hurry him, but I had lost the power to do anything more than simply submit to his touch. I let him take my body in his hand and push it where he wanted it to go.

  His thumb circled my clit with gentle pressure until the arch of my pelvis told him to press harder. I felt the pressure of his fingers as they entered my channel and stroked a rhythm inside me. He found that undiscovered place inside me that I'd only half believed existed. They call it a 'G' spot but I think it should be called the 'W' spot for the wild it made me.

  The pleasure overwhelmed me. It unleashed me and released me. I became someone else; someone I had never been before. Lost in the utter pleasure of my body's awakening, I cried out the surprise of it all.

  "Yes," he encouraged me, "let go, give it to me."

  I pressed harder, bucking my sex against his hand; willing his fingers to hasten me over the edge. My climax rose from somewhere deep in my brain and I squeezed my eyes tight against any distraction. I had to have it; I needed to finally know this ecstasy at another's touch.

  Tears slipped from my clenched eyes as the pleasure coursed through me. My womb contracted in great surges, crest after blessed crest of release. My hands shot down to hold his own against me as my orgasm obliterated all but itself. I rode the tide of my body's ocean until at long last it reached a contented shore.

  "Oh sweet Lord, Morgan. Oh. Just Oh." I opened my eyes, still wet with the tears of rapture, and saw him smiling at me.

  "Now you never have to think you're 'crippled' in any way. You're perfect."

  "You made me whole."

  "You were always whole. I just let you see it."

  "It frightens me."

  "I know." He drew a deep breath. "Me too."

  So, Rache, I consider this way more important that losing my virginity. Anyone can pop a cherry. The real test of a lover is way more subtle.

  I fell asleep against his chest afterwards and he woke me up in time for me to get the dinner underway. Honestly, he had to have been super horny, but he let me be. I think he knew how important the 'event' was for me and he was sensitive enough to let it settle in. When he kissed me goodnight he said: "Today was just a taste. I'm saving the real gift for your birthday." And he put my hand over his crotch. He was sporting a tent pole down there.

  The sun is just rising. It comes up over the bow (the front of the boat for you, landlubber) because we're headed east. It l
ooks like another perfect day.

  Love ya, L.

  Chapter 16—Morgan

  Being at sea, there wasn't much I could get in the way of a present for Lara's twenty-first birthday, but I sure had a package ready for her. I felt like a teenager again. There was an innocence and newness about sex with her that was like nothing I'd experienced before. I'd never really had a 'first time' with a 'first love'. I only vaguely remembered the losing my virginity and not the girl I lost it with. Certainly there was no love involved.

  Not that I was anywhere near ready to put the 'L' label on what I had with Lara. No, it was still about screwing around, but this time it was a way different kind of screwing around.

  My sex life had pretty much been about boinking anything that looked good and was willing. Lara hit the nail on the head when she accused me of fucking anything with a skirt on. That was as accurate a description of my modus operandi as any.

  I had a lot to sort through in my head. Excitement, for one. I couldn't recall when I had had this much enthusiasm about any girl. Women had lost their uniqueness to me almost from the beginning of my experiences.

  Lara was one of a kind. And the knowledge that I had done what no man had done before made me feel like a super hero. That and the realization that she actually seemed to like the fact that I wasn't made of money. What a damn weight off my shoulders. To be around someone other than Richard (who I suspect didn't completely buy my story) who knew that simple thing about me was liberating.

  If I could just keep the devils from nipping at my heels, I'd be able to arrive in London a happier man than I had been in years. It would be great to face the old dog with a bit more confidence and a little less shame than the last time we saw each other.

  With any luck, I'd also be able to hook a fish or two in the Canaries when we steamed through the islands. El Lobo was making good time and we'd soon be across the Atlantic and on our way north. But before we made the turn, I intended to do a little hunting. I had my eye on the man in the blue suit who plied the waters off Africa's west coast—the great blue marlin.