by BJ Wane
“I’m thinking,” she snapped then racked her brain for the correct answer. It’d help if she could think straight, but with his face inches from her soaking, aching flesh, that was impossible. “The bow?” That sounded right anyway.
“Good girl.”
Dipping his head, he gifted her with another teasing lick, this time dipping into her pussy just enough to graze her swollen clit. She shuddered in pleasure, his low, knowing chuckle vibrating straight up inside her. The sun’s rays shone down on them, lending additional heat to the raging inferno of lust already consuming her. The warm afternoon ocean breeze did little to cool her off but a lot to increase her arousal. She basked in his praise and the reward of his mouth until he pulled back, leaving her hanging in more ways than one, and came up with another question.
“And the rear of the boat? What’s it called?” Zachary continued to stroke one finger over her labia as he waited for her answer, keeping her teetering on the edge of frustration.
Desperate, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Port?”
“Nope, and you didn’t even give that one some thought.” Slipping between her folds, he went right for her clit, milking the tender piece of flesh between two fingers until she was writhing against his hand and moaning with the small contractions signaling an impending climax. His abrupt withdrawal had her swearing, her body breaking out in a sweat of unfulfilled disappointment.
When he said, “Try again,” in that calm, controlled voice that made Sandie want to kick him, she forced in a deep breath and racked her brain to recall the short lesson he’d given her yesterday.
“Stern!” she crowed when the term came to mind.
“I knew you could do it.”
Sandie’s soft cry at the return of his mouth echoed in the salty air, mingling with the constant lap of waves against the hull as they rocked on the water. The strong suction of his lips on her clit accompanied a two-finger plunge into her depths and a stroke over her pleasure-spot to add to the ecstasy building deep inside her. Her breasts jiggled as she thrust her hips against his face, her nipples so hard they hurt. She prayed he wouldn’t stop to torment her with another stupid question as the small pulses returned, leaving her a hair’s breadth from orgasm.
“Please,” she whimpered when he lightened the suctions and finger thrusts. “Zachary… I can’t…”
“Now,” Zach demanded before nipping her tender skin while delving deep with three fingers this time. Sandie’s small cries, thrusting pelvis and mewling plea slid past his resistance, forcing him to set aside tormenting her further to pave the way for his own release. As the cream of her climax filled his mouth, he removed his fingers to release his throbbing cock. Exposure to the warm air inflamed him further and forced him to pull away from her succulent flesh as he released her ankles. Surging to his feet, he whipped his shirt off and sheathed himself.
“Oh!”
Her surprised gasp and rapid blinking came as her tight pussy clamped around his dick in a slick vise as Zach clasped her buttocks, lifted and impaled her on his shaft in one smooth stroke. “Again,” he demanded in a guttural tone as he thrust deeper, harder, her soft thighs clutching his sides as she locked her feet behind him. It took him but seconds of pounding into her clutching sheath before he followed her over the cliff into spiraling pleasure. Never before had he lost the strict internal discipline necessary to indulge in his dominant sexual preferences, nor had he ever come so fast, so hard, and he didn’t know whether the exalted euphoria made up for the sudden loss of his iron-clad control.
By the time he pulled out of Sandie’s quivering body and looked down into those sated green eyes, Zach did know he was more than ready to hustle his little stowaway off his yacht. Until he got away from her, he wouldn’t be able to think straight or get back to his priorities, which had always been his mother, friends and, of course, himself.
The sounds of early morning marina activity roused Zach from a deep sleep. Shouts from dockworkers bandied back and forth mixed with the constant rocking of boats against the dock, heavy ropes being tossed for tie-downs and the rapid creak of foot traffic along the pier. Friday mornings were always busy at the dock. A lot of people who had the wealth to afford the luxury boats moored here took three-day weekends and planned to indulge in taking their pleasure vessel out for the day. It was why he’d opted to set out Sunday afternoon, a time when most of them were coming in instead of going out. It made it easier for him to slip away unnoticed and unencumbered as he maneuvered the new, mega-yacht out of the harbor. Thinking back, he recalled how he’d managed the unnoticed part, but he definitely hadn’t spent the past few days unencumbered.
Sighing, he rolled out of bed and forced himself to be honest. Sandie had ceased being a nuisance he was stuck with after the first day. While her sneaky hiding aboard the yacht still rankled, she had been a pleasure to fuck when her antics managed to slip past his guard and anger. She’d slept until noon again yesterday, and he couldn’t recall another day he’d spent with a woman just hanging out like they had done after she’d awoken. After he’d grilled steaks, they’d competed against each other skeet shooting. He won and gloated. After beating him at shuffleboard, she had been the one to rub it in. Zach still marveled over the way her competitive streak disappeared when he turned dominant and bound her for his pleasure, as he’d caved into repeating last night.
The hardest thing he’d done, though, was turn away from the silent plea in her eyes when the evenings had come to an end and he’d chosen his solitary bed the last two nights over joining her again. The flash of aching loneliness he’d caught before she’d accomplished an admirable job of covering it up with a bland look continued to yank at his conscience. It was a good thing they were parting ways this morning, Zach groused in silence as he donned shorts and shirt and left his stateroom. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the way it’d been with every woman who’d come and gone from his bed, and he saw no reason Sandie would be any different.
Rapping on her door, he called out sharply, “Time to get up, Sandie. We’ve docked and I need to get going.” He’d waited to motor the last miles into the marina late last night, after sending her to bed, needing the extra time to wind down before turning in himself.
The silence that met his order grated on his short temper and Zach didn’t hesitate to let himself in. It was his damn yacht, he used as an excuse. The sight of her neatly made bed and missing backpack sent him skipping upstairs to find himself already alone. “Good riddance,” he muttered, ignoring the twist of disappointment in his gut. “But she could’ve at least said thanks.” His dissatisfied grumbling went unheard as he emptied the small amount of leftover food from the refrigerator into a cooler, did a quick check-over and locked everything down. Strolling down the wharf, he couldn’t help but glance in the marina office, just in case she stood behind the counter, but the only person he saw was Mickey, the manager.
Stowing his bag and the cooler in the back of his BMW, Zach slid behind the wheel, vowing the pang of disappointment and slither of guilt tightening his chest meant nothing. The first thing he did back at his penthouse apartment in downtown Miami was send a group text to the guys, to plan a short, afternoon cruise. He didn’t mention his new yacht, saving it as a surprise. Impromptu get-togethers between the seven of them were nothing new, one of the gang was always popping up with a suggestion to socialize out of the blue. With their varied schedules and commitments, they didn’t always gather everyone, but they tried.
Within the hour, they had all committed to meeting up Sunday afternoon. With Dax still off saving humanity, he’d have to settle for the six of them for now. The renowned surgeon’s short text, ‘Have a cold one on me, miss you guys’ was expected since he’d been overseas traveling with Doctors Without Borders for the past eighteen months, ever since he’d taken off after a close friend and colleague’s death. Since the seven of them knew each other so well, they were aware of how torn up Dax had been over the other doctor’s suicid
e, but his snap decision to join the non-profit team and quick departure baffled them, as did his long absence without one trip home in the last year and a half. Even Sean, who was closest to Dax, couldn’t pull anything out of him other than he needed to get away and wanted to use his skills to help those in the most desperate straits.
Thinking of the check he’d donated to the well-known medical group upon learning Dax had signed on with them, Zach couldn’t help but compare the simple, easy contribution with his friend’s admirable sacrifice of time and skill. He’d found no problem with substituting generous donations in lieu of putting out any physical effort on a worthy cause before. Both were needed, right?
An impish face dominated by wide green eyes and capped with a shaggy mop of caramel, poorly cut hair popped into his head. What do you do all day if you don’t go to work? Sandie’s question had been asked with genuine curiosity; he hadn’t detected a snide undertone or censure when he’d given her his sarcastic answer of whatever he wanted, bragging about being a rich playboy. Why that honest reply now rubbed him the wrong way, he couldn’t fathom, but that it did, soured his mood.
“A good run, that’s what I need,” he mumbled aloud as he stalked out of his bedroom, down the hall and into his shiny, stainless steel, modern kitchen. Other than the mad dash around the deck when he’d chased after Sandie, he hadn’t indulged in a long jog in over a week. His favorite form of exercise next to fucking, he’d taken up running after hearing his mother’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis over ten years ago. What had begun as a way to work through his anger and grief turned into an energizing sport he could indulge in when he wanted to be alone and clear his mind of unwanted thoughts.
Zach rarely ate at home, as the sparse pickings for lunch attested to, but he didn’t feel like going out and didn’t want to take the time to order in. Tossing together a quick sandwich from the leftovers he’d brought from the yacht, he ate standing at the concrete counter while sifting through a week’s worth of mail. After checking his messages and answering a few e-mails, he changed into gym shorts and set out for a brisk run, the image of Sandie’s teasing face driving him out into the hot afternoon instead of waiting until the sun went down.
On Saturday, the early morning, summer sun hadn’t peeked over the horizon yet when Zach gave up on getting any more sleep after tossing and turning for the past five hours. As he gazed up through the sky dome above his bed, he swore in frustration. He wasn’t used to rising so fucking early, and didn’t care for it. He never slept twelve hours straight like Sandie had each night last week, but he preferred starting the day on more sleep than he’d been able to manage last night. Why images of Sandie’s eyes reflecting fear-based desperation persisted to invade his thoughts, he couldn’t fathom. Guilt and worry had accompanied the memory of the few glimpses he’d caught of that look during those few days and bothered him in a way he’d never experienced with anyone except his mother.
Why now? That question annoyed him as much as rising out of bed before the crack of dawn. Padding naked into the attached bathroom, he figured that while they’d been at sea, she’d been safe from whatever, or whoever she was hiding from and hadn’t concerned himself. “And I’m not concerned now, damn it,” he insisted aloud, looking at his reflection in the wide mirror above the double, marbled sink vanity. The immediate, tight clenching of his jaw and shadow clouding his eyes proved he lied to himself, but what the hell was he supposed to do about it now? He only had her first name, not a hell of a lot to go on. Using that as an excuse, he shoved her out of his mind, again, and decided if he wanted her to stay away, he needed something more than a jog today to work through the frustration of keeping her memory at bay.
Anytime he needed a more rigorous workout, he stopped in at Miles’ gym, relying on his friend’s talent and expertise in martial arts to put him through the ringer. Finishing in the bathroom, he downed a cup of coffee, poured another to go, snatched his keys and took the elevator to the lower level parking garage. The gym wasn’t far from his high-rise, but he knew he wouldn’t be up to the long hike home after he spent an hour there.
Parking in the rear lot behind the converted warehouse, Zach grabbed the ready-to-workout gym bag he kept stowed in the trunk and wound around to the front entrance. Heavy grunts, the thud of gloved knuckles connecting with leather bags and the smell of sweat greeted him as he entered. Behind the long reception counter, Miles Cavenaugh looked up from the computer, his lips curling at the edges in the closest thing to pass for a smile he ever revealed.
“What’s happened to bring you in here today?” The short sleeves of his black tee shirt stretched tightly over Miles’ bulging biceps and shoulders, revealing the skulls and crossbones tattoo that shifted as he picked up a water bottle and gulped a long drink. But anyone who’d seen it would tell you the five-time, martial arts champion’s hair-trigger temper and quick to act mentality when confronting a woman or child abuser was ten times scarier than the old gang marking.
Setting his bag on the counter, Zach frowned at his friend’s smirk and question. “Who said anything happened? Can’t I work-out without you nagging me about reasons for being here?”
“No. Anyone who knows you, knows your exercise of choice is running, and I know you only come to me when you need to vent your frustration in a physical manner that won’t land your ass in jail.”
“I’m rich, remember? If I’m ever dumb enough to get arrested, I can buy my way out of the charges. You going to join me or play computer games?” he returned.
“Go get changed and I’ll spot you.”
Zach didn’t mind that Miles knew him so well. They often bantered back and forth, and it felt good knowing he could pound on a punching bag while Miles held it and offered him silent support while he vented his annoyance. “Give me five.”
Padding barefoot out of the locker room wearing gym shorts and a tee, he found Miles in the big gym, waiting for him by an unused, hanging bag with a pair of padded gloves.
“Knock yourself out,” Miles said, handing him the gloves, his black eyes watchful. Being the quiet one of the group, he rarely spoke more than a sentence or two unless riled himself about something. Zach knew it took a lot to get him to that point, and when he was, the reason usually involved the abuse of a woman or child. And God help the bastard abuser who got caught by him.
The first punch did nothing to alleviate Zach of images of Sandie and the escalating worry he couldn’t seem to control. He pounded harder, faster, knocking the bag against Miles, who grunted with the impact but otherwise remained silent. Ten, sweaty minutes later, he dropped his shaking arms and sore knuckles to ask him, “You ever get a feeling something’s wrong and you need to do something about it but don’t know what the hell to do or even what it is?”
Miles remained quiet, his eyes steady on Zach before he responded in his usual, quiet manner. “Just once, and I acted too late.”
Wincing at the reminder of how his friend had arrived home after school one day too late to keep his father from delivering the fatal blow that had killed his mother, he huffed out a breath of remorse. “Sorry, man.”
“Long time ago. Want to elaborate?”
“No, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Shrugging, as if it were no big deal, he offered, “Can I buy you a beer?”
“Only if you include lunch with it. Come on, we’ll walk down to Madrocks.”
The suggestion took his mind off worrying about someone he’d never see again. The easy friendship and quiet support they offered each other came naturally now, and was never taken for granted. Zach’s childhood had been a picnic compared to his six ‘camp brothers,’ as he considered them, and he tried not to forget that.
“Reuben sandwiches and a brew on me after I shower.”
Sundays were Zach’s usual day to visit his mother, and he arrived at the home earlier than normal. Melancholy settled over him as he strode up the flower banked, ornate stone walkway. He knew the reason for his pensive sadness, but just because he’d been aware
of Carol’s fate for some time now, didn’t make it any easier to accept. Entering the cool interior, he nodded to the staff at the front desk as he walked down the hall to her room, his heart growing heavier with each step. Most people would think ten years would be plenty of time to become accustomed to a loved one’s stricken health and impending death, but there could never be enough time, in his mind, to atone for both his teenage rebellion and his father leaving her to raise him alone. For himself, he hadn’t given a rat’s ass about the old man other than to curse him every day of his life as he watched his mother work herself to the bone to support the two of them.
As he slipped into her room, Zach knew he could never forgive himself for not manning up sooner, getting a job in his teens to help with expenses instead of acting out his anger with destructive activities. He’d started to make amends when he returned from that attitude-adjusting camp, but she’d refused to let him work during the school year, and the summer jobs he’d snagged the next two years weren’t enough to make a difference in their lives or ease her burden. It wasn’t until his grandfather had found him and tried to ease his own conscience over his son’s actions and secrets that Zach had been able to make a significant difference to his mother’s life.
Bright sunshine flooded the spacious room from the wide bank of windows that lent a view of the sprawling green lawn and colorful gardens behind the home. White crown molding capped lemon-yellow walls, adding an abundance of color to the plants and fresh flowers he made sure decorated the room every day. His feet sank into plush, light grey carpet as he crossed toward the bed. After flipping off the television that was left on when she was alone, he settled in his usual seat on the wide, white leather recliner. He continued to spare no expense in maintaining the best for Carol even though she lay curled on her side, eyes closed, oblivious to almost everything around her. Nothing would ever be too much or too good for the woman who had sacrificed her youth for him.