She said not a word but seemed to sense the approach of his quickening, throbbing climax. Unrelenting, slick and quick, she only intensified her rhythm until, powerless to resist her wicked charms, he throbbed and pulsed and gasped and trembled, coating her quivering belly and wrist and hand with hot, white, ropey spurts of excitement that continued as she milked him, gently, tenderly… lovingly.
He paused to recover, breathless, trembling, shaking and Sage took the opportunity to peer back at him, eyes widening, face blanching, as if realizing what had just happened.
“I… I’m sorry,” he blurted, tugging up his baggies and handing her a napkin from the nearby kitchen counter.
“No,” she blurted, quickly cleaning up and tugging down her bikini top before tying the wrap haphazardly back around her waist. “Derek… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here today. I shouldn’t have… taken advantage of you like this.”
“You?” he chuckled, blushing and feeling more foolish than he had in high school, that first time beneath the bleachers. “I… I tempted you, Sage. I knew… I knew you were against it, with the age difference and all, but… today, your body, your smile, your words, this moment… I just wanted it – wanted you – so badly. I’m… I’m the one who should be sorry.”
She shook her head, biting her lower lip as she peered around, almost frantically, for her sandals and the cinch sack she’d worn to the beach. Throwing them on in a blizzard of movement, she said, “I’m the one who’s sorry, Derek. It won’t… this won’t happen again.”
As she fled the cottage, Derek stood on the porch, still spent and trembling as he watched her escape down the street; this was exactly what he was afraid of!
Chapter Eleven
Derek was getting ready for his weekly workshop at Sequels when he heard a knock on the front door. He beamed, thinking it might be Sage, but then the thought fled quickly from his mind; no way would she leave the store with a couple dozen women in attendance, notepads at the ready, there to scribble down his every word.
He’d been expecting a package from his publisher, a case or two of extra books to handout as freebies after his last speaking gig. Maybe this was it? Instead he opened the door to find a petite young blond, a bag on each side of her, grinning up at him.
“Derek Chambers?” she asked, voice chipper and sweet. She couldn’t have been over nineteen.
“Uh, yeah?” he asked, his eyes flashing between the tattoos that snaked up and down each arm and the luggage that loomed next to her honey colored thighs.
“I’m Colby,” she said, extending a hand. “Colby Mathers? Your editor wrote me about you?”
“He did?” Derek asked, leaning in the doorway as if she was a vacuum salesman and not some comely honey blonde in khaki short-shorts and an off the shoulder pullover.
She cocked her head like he was speaking another language and nodded toward her bags. “Yeah, he set this all up; plane ticket, extra luggage allowance, room and board for the next week while I profile you for my blog, Sex On a Stick?”
“Pardon?”
“You know,” she said, growing a little impatient. “I profile some sexy new surfer every month. I’ve got, like, four million followers, duh. This month it’s you, so, the folks at your publisher figured it would be a good idea if I came and saw you in the raw, you know?”
“Cool,” he said, trying to ignore the generous swell of her ripe young breasts, though they were hard to miss with the way she was dressed. “Where are you staying?”
She shifted from foot to foot, a little gold ankle bracelet glimmering in the late afternoon sun as she tried to peak around his body, presently blocking the door. “Well, your editor said this place was pretty big, so…”
“Oh, yeah, bad idea,” he grunted. “And… really bad timing. I’ve got this speaking gig in ten minutes, at the local bookstore, and—”
“Awesome!” she squealed, grabbing the handle of each bag and literally rolling them over his feet to stand them in the foyer. “I’ll jump in right away and take some notes while you’re talking, okay?”
He shut the door behind her, desperate to get out of it. He’d just gotten to a good place with Sage and, Derek knew, if he showed up at Sequels with Little Miss Blogger in tow, she’d totally get the wrong idea.
“Don’t… don’t you want to get settled first?”
“Dude,” she said, drifting toward the kitchen where she opened up the fridge and peered in. “I’ve been on planes, trains and automobiles since 5A.M., all I need is a bed later and I’ll crash out. Mind?” She held up a sleek blue bottle of his favorite iced coffee. Make that, the last sleek blue bottle of his favorite iced coffee.
“No,” he groaned, his face revealing otherwise, but Colby didn’t care. She cracked the top, tossed the cap on the counter and gurgled, boyishly, even burping halfway through.
“What’s your talk about?” she asked as she leaned her hip against the counter.
She was ripe and curvy, yet young and lean, and he could only imagine the dips and swells of her tender young body in a cherry red bikini. “Publishing, actually,” he said, grabbing one of his books off the stack on the coffee table. “I’m helping some folks in town get their query letters together and—”
“This cover is great!” she said, cutting him off and promptly putting the book down on the counter, in the little brown iced coffee circles that were a runoff from her drink. “Maybe I can use it as part of your profile, huh?”
“Or you could read the book and, you know, use that as part of your profile?”
She shrugged, not even considering it. “Why do that?” she giggled, polishing off her drink and setting it down on the top of his book. “When I’ve got the real thing, live and in person, right in front of me.”
“So, where’s my room?”
He sighed, grabbed her bags and started walking up the stairs. “Follow me,” he said, glad it only took two minutes to walk around the corner to Sequels.
Chapter Twelve
Sage was getting antsy as the assembled crowd began drifting toward the chairs she and Fiona had set up for Derek’s event.
The group – nearly twice as big as last week’s – had already gone through two batches of her surfer scones and were looking for more when, at last, Derek strolled through the door.
He was talking to someone, turned half around as he opened the door, smiling, chuckling at something the other person had just said. Sage figured it was another guest, a latecomer and Derek, as usual, was giving her the business.
But then he moved deeper into the store and she saw the petite little surf honey he had in tow and she knew, Sage knew, in the gentle way he held the door open, in the sexy smile she gave him as she slunk by, in the way her tight little body brushed so familiarly against his as they breezed through the door, that there was an immediate and overwhelming sexual chemistry between them.
Derek hadn’t seen her yet, nor had the girl, and as Sage turned, dipping behind the pastry counter, she spotted Fiona stacking up another tray of surfer scones.
“You okay, Sage?” asked Fiona, a marketing major at the local community college. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
No, thought Sage to herself, mind whirring frantically, just the death of a blossoming romance. “I… I don’t know,” she said, inching deeper into the kitchen to avoid being seen by Derek, who usually liked to come and say “Hi” before he launched into his presentation. “Do you… I hate to put you in a bind, but… could you cover for me tonight?”
“Tonight?” Fiona asked, arching one raven haired eyebrow. “But you love these things!”
“I know, I just… I’m not feeling well. Do you mind, terribly?”
“Heck no,” Fiona said, washing her hands eagerly. “Does that mean I get to do the intro and everything?”
Her nerve endings flooding with relief, Sage nodded just as eagerly. “Fiona, you can do it all for all I care!”
Sage retreated – that was the only word for it
– down the back hall, past her office and toward the rear delivery door. She took off her apron along the way, wadding it up in a ball and tossing it in the laundry basket by the door as she opened it and stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight.
It warmed her face as she stood, back against the red brick of her building, heart pounding, hands clammy. She shook her head, gently pounding her fists against the brick at her back. She should have known - should have known it was too good to be true.
She bit her lip and marched up the stairs to her apartment, pacing the front room as the sun kept hitting her eyes. She was never outside during this time of night, this beautiful, warm time of night. Summer evenings that lasted so long that early evening still felt like midday. She heard the waves outside her open sun room windows and immediately thought of Derek, the day they’d spent together, the way he’d made her feel, in and out of her bikini.
It hung, drying on the rack by the door, waiting for another lesson. “I don’t need a lesson,” she muttered, grabbing it and changing quickly in her bathroom, grabbing her sandals, a too-big hoodie and her backpack purse on the way out the door.
She turned left at the bottom of the stairs, toward the ocean, and rented a board at the stand next to Shuckers Oyster Bar. Randy, the guy who ran the rental stand, was a loyal Sequels customer and gave her a pretty great rate.
“How long do I have?” she asked, clutching the board and feeling as if she might surf until the moon was high overhead.
Randy, in his mid-50s and featuring long, stringy blond dreadlocks and perpetually glassy eyes, winked at her. “As long as you want, Sage.” He jerked a thumb in the opposite direction from the beach. “I mean, it’s not as if I don’t know where to find you.”
She chuckled and drifted closer to the shore. It felt odd, being this close to the water without Derek by her side, ribbing her, teasing her, coaching her, urging her on. And yet, suddenly, she understood the ocean’s appeal: it was the first place she thought to go to run from her problems, escape her anxiety and fight her fears that Derek had already lost interest in her.
She stripped off her hoodie, kicked off her sandals, grabbed the board and strode into the sea, the water warm and foamy on her ankles as her entire body shivered with delight. She strode deeper into the waves, her skin glistening with the salt spray, before dipping and gliding under the first big wave and repeating the process until, at last, she sat atop her board, peering back at the beach and, beyond, up the street to where, at that every minute, Derek was probably taking to the podium.
She wondered, idly, the water rocking her board, relaxing her in ways she’d never known were possible before, if Derek noted her absence and, if he did, if he missed her in any way.
Sage shook her head, refusing to go there. Instead she turned, slightly, feeling the rising swell beneath her and then paddled, desperately, eager for her first ride of the day. She missed it, mostly. That and three more, but on her fourth try… Sage stood and rode and rode and rode, standing until just before the sea foam met with the sand and her board wouldn’t go any farther.
Then she stepped off, like a real pro, grabbed her board and headed right back out again. She surfed and surfed, falling, standing, curving, riding, gliding, the salt water in her eyes, body and hair wet, the sun feasting on her pale skin, until the sun was growing lower and lower and she could hardly feel her arms and legs anymore.
She’d forgotten to pack a towel and so she sat on the board, letting the fading sun and gentle breeze dry her body as she finger combed her hair until, at last, she stood and slid back into her sandals and hoodie.
“Dang, girl,” said Randy, sliding her board back in his rack. “I don’t ever remember you being out here before.”
“It’s my first time solo,” she said, dragging a pink ball cap from her backpack purse and dragging it on over her still damp hair.
“Could have fooled me,” he said; coming from Randy, that was quite the compliment.
“Here,” he said, handing her a colorful business card.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Half off your bar tab at Shuckers with every rental,” he said, tapping the big gold notice on his rental stand.
“Nice one,” she said, clutching the card as she walked onto the mostly empty Shuckers deck. She nodded at a few familiar faces, like the bartender who bought a thick paperback mystery every few days on his way into work, or the hostess who always had Sage special order Teen Seamstress magazine every month.
Still, tonight she wanted to be alone, and though pleasant, Sage walked decisively toward an empty table for two overlooking the beach. The sun was setting now, the sky a brilliant blend of blue, orange and pink as a waitress approached.
“Welcome to Shuckers,” she said, sliding a single laminated menu onto Sage’s plate. “I’m Heather and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Heather was college-aged, fresh faced, dressed in red surfer baggies and a clingy tank top, the typical Shuckers uniform. Not too sexy, just pleasant and sun-kissed, like a surfer girl from the 60s the Beach Boys might have sung about. Having just put in a full session – the first on her own – Sage felt a sudden kinship with the younger woman.
Hesitantly, she handed over the card Randy had given her. “I was going to grab a margarita, but…”
Heather took the card and winked. “It’s covered,” she said.
“Yeah?” Sage asked, surprised. “Usually it’s like draft beer and stale crackers.”
“Usually you’re right,” Heather admitted. “But we don’t see many of these and Randy’s a pretty good guy, so… unless you’re ordering champagne and lobster, you’ll be good.”
“One margarita, please,” Sage said, feeling pleasantly exhausted and far better than if she had stuck around Sequels, watching Derek flirt with the honey bunny surfer girl all night.
She sighed and glanced at her menu, suddenly famished. “Feeling like anything special?” Heather asked, setting down a glistening margarita a few minutes later, heavy on the salt and looking cool and refreshing.
“I think I’ll do the seaside sampler,” Sage said, sliding her menu away before she could chicken out.
Heather took it, smiling down at her knowingly. “Just come in from a session?” she asked.
Sage almost squealed her answer, “Yes.”
“Nice one,” said the younger girl, wrinkling her nose. “I always get the seaside sampler after I go surfing, too.”
Sage sighed and sat back, sipping her drink and feeling like she was playing hooky. She was, actually. Though Fiona could certainly manage on her own and, in fact, had seemed excited about doing so, it just wasn’t Sage’s style. Then again, neither was seducing some hot twenty-something surfer, either.
She shook her head, mentally kicking herself as she licked a crystal of salt off the rim of her glass before washing it down with a fresh sip of margarita. Everything about Sage’s life had changed since Derek walked into it, only a few short weeks ago.
Here she was, on a work night, wearing a bikini under a hoodie – granted, an oversized hoodie, but still – feet up on the chair across from her, a cap on her head, ponytail sticking out of the cap, sipping a drink and staring at the ocean.
Not that she was complaining. For whatever it was worth, at least Derek had taught her how to surf and, what’s more, how to appreciate the beautiful little seaside town in which she lived.
Sage supposed she owed him that much, at least. Why he saw fit to drag some sun-kissed, tattooed, blonde little hottie to his speaking event tonight and rub it in her face still stung like beach sand on her knees after a bad wipeout, but still… she’d had her fun.
Not nearly enough of it, of course. After that first tender moment with Derek, her bikini top pressed up over her breasts, his hands all over her, her hands all over him, God, she’d wanted more. So. Much. More.
She’d been looking forward to it, too. The stolen moments in Derek’s rented seasid
e cottage, or up in her loft apartment over the store, the shadows dappling his young, lean body as they whiled away the hours on a slow Sunday afternoon, or Monday night… or Tuesday morning. The showers together, long and loving after surfing their butts off all day. And, from the feel of him, hard and liquid in her hand, Derek had wanted that, too.
Or had he just wanted her, for a hot minute, like all the rest of his surf bunnies? Had Sage just been a momentary diversion, a quick after-surfing treat before he moved on to a much younger, much hotter, much more willing and easy main course? Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: Sage was yesterday’s news, and Derek was, in the end, just another boy pretending to be a man.
Heather returned, bearing a fish-shaped platter topped with peel and eat shrimp, conch fritters and popcorn shrimp. “Yum,” Sage said, like a little kid eating dessert first.
“I know, right?” Heather teased, playfully, setting an extra plate, napkins and table setting across from her. “I brought these in case your boyfriend comes by.”
“Boyfriend?” Sage asked, taking the top off her little container of cocktail sauce.
“Yeah, wasn’t that you with Derek yesterday?” Heather asked, nodding toward the ocean. “The guy who runs the surf camp? My son was in his class earlier in the day and, I could have sworn, you came up just as they were finishing.”
Sage felt the heat rush to her face, just as the tears started to flow. “Oh Jesus,” Heather said, sinking into the other chair. “I’m so sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“God no,” Sage said, reaching for one of the extra napkins. “I just… God, how embarrassing.”
“We’re at a raw bar,” Heather snorted, handing over yet another napkin as Sage fixed her face. “You’re not officially allowed to be embarrassed at a raw bar. Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, I just… I just feel so stupid, you know?”
Heather clucked her tongue, nodding toward the raw bar deck. “I’m a single mother, working at a raw bar, after dating a married guy who said he was divorced, then after I found out he was married, still had his kid because he said he was going to get a divorce and… he’s still with her, hasn’t sent me a cent of child support in years, so… who feels stupid in this conversation?”
Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) Page 5