by Anne Marsh
“Hurry up,” she whisper-orders. “Nine minutes.”
I tug up her sundress, revealing a baby blue thong that deserves much more appreciation than I have time for. I drag my thumb up the hot, damp center of Hazel, but she’s one step ahead of me. She slides her hands inside her panties and rubs her clit, her eyes on mine as she gives me the words I’ll never forget.
“I want to come bad.”
“Feels like you could use a hand.” I slide her panties to the side and explore her slick, hot core with my fingers. She gasps and bites her lip, her forehead puckering as she concentrates, chasing the sensations. Sex is always amazing, and nothing feels better than sinking my fingers into my partner, but this, with Hazel—this is something else.
Before I can figure out what that something is or even pick up the rhythm I’m tracing on her body, she’s moved on. She leans forward, wriggling out of her panties in a way that’s truly miraculous, and places her hands on my shoulders, a look of intense concentration on her face as she sinks down onto my dick.
There’s nothing between us.
Fuck.
“Condom,” I groan.
“Problem solved.” She rises up on her knees, sinks back down. “My test results came back clean and I’m on the Pill.”
Hazel knows her facts, and we’d never hurt each other. I cup her knees, helping her rise and fall as we find the perfect rhythm together, faster and harder, our bodies slapping together in an earthy percussion. We need to be quiet, but we’re both making sounds, groaning, gasping half words as I push inside her and she pushes down—taking me even as I take her—and it’s so fucking awesome.
My mouth finds the spot between her neck and shoulder, the spot where I fit perfectly. I press kisses against her, whispering her name, whispering truths. She’s beautiful like this. She’s everything. I move steadily in and then out, controlling our bodies, keeping us together.
“Now,” she demands.
“Yes.” I shift to kiss her mouth, telling her everything I don’t have words to say. Yes, I want this. Yes, you. Yes, us.
It’s not enough. I reach between us and find her clit with my fingers. Petting and stroking, making sure she feels as good as I do. Her legs shake, her body stiffening as she gets closer. Her breathing gets rougher and then her fingers cover mine so we can make her come together.
“Jack... JackJackJack.”
I groan right back at her. “Hazel.”
I feel her tighten around me, her body grabbing hold of my dick, holding on as I drive into her, pushing us both faster and faster to our happy ending. I’m not sure who comes first or if it’s one of those rare, photo-perfect ties where she comes in one breath and I in the next, but we’re panting, our bodies collapsing together onto the bed as everything around us fades out.
The phone is buzzing an alarm when I float back to myself, Hazel’s fingers brushing my hair back, her face burrowed into my chest. I’m still inside her. Moving? Not happening. The rest of the world will have to wait for us because I’m completely, one hundred percent undone.
CHAPTER NINE
NEXT FRIDAY, the whole gang gathers at T&T. T&T is a beachside restaurant with a palapa roof—it’s our favorite stomping ground in Santa Cruz. Not only are the tacos awesome, but there are also margaritas, Coronas and a no-shoes policy. Lola’s fat white pit bull snores audibly from under the table. I can sense from the looks that Dev and Lola exchange that they have news to share with the class. Their body language telegraphs intimacy, and not just because they’ve been glued together since they hit the beach. Any closer and they could be arrested for public indecency. Lola’s engagement ring catches the light as she waves her hand, making a point. Maple, Max’s girlfriend, grabs her hand, either to inspect the rock on her ring finger or to prevent any accidental blinding, as Dev bought the biggest diamond in Tiffany’s and the stone is roughly the size of a small boulder.
I can’t help but remember what it was like for me and Molly. We started with the dates and the wedding and then, at some point that I can’t quite identify, things changed. We changed. The memories became less couple-y, less about us and more about each of us individually. The truth is, we grew apart.
Hazel’s also noticed the suspicious closeness between Dev and Lola. She kicks me under the table and I cover my grunt with a cough.
Guesses? She mouths the word at me. The perfect slick of red painting her lips is the exclamation point for her dirty, wicked smiles. I want to kiss the color from her mouth.
“Not a clue,” I breathe back.
The ocean breeze plays with her hair and she tucks it firmly behind her ear.
“So.” Dev looks around the table. Lola bounces beside him in obvious anticipation. They definitely have good news to share. “Lola and I are eloping next weekend. We’re getting hitched in Cabo and you’re invited.”
Lola flicks him on the head, a gesture of both exasperation and fondness. “Way to lead up to it.”
Dev just shrugs and glances around the table at the rest of us. “Any objections?”
Max raises his hand. “Does that mean you’re skipping the Pinterest porn and the bachelor party? Last chance, man.”
Dev wraps his hand around Lola’s ponytail and gently tugs her face toward him for a kiss.
“I’m good,” he says when he comes up for air. “Got everything I need right here.”
Dev’s personal assistant must be on standby because all of our phones go off at once. Dev’s like me. He doesn’t leave things to chance—he always has a well-thought-out plan. I check my messages and find a first-class ticket to Cabo and a villa reservation at a five-star resort. Hazel leans over and peers at my phone. We’re on the same flight, next to each other.
I say the only thing I can. “Can’t wait.”
* * *
We touch down in Cabo the following Friday night and are transferred seamlessly to a limousine. The resort Dev and Lola chose is on Chileno Bay, so we pass the thirty-minute drive from the airport exploring the miniature champagne bottles and beers on ice that the hotel has provided. Ocean waves pound the shoreline on our right, while the Mexican desert glides past the windows, the setting sun painting the sand orange and red. Cabo’s a strange, beautiful beast, the Baja desert literally colliding with the Sea of Cortez at the tip of Mexico.
Our hotel is a mix of villas, casitas and luxury suites sprinkled across the creamy sand and tucked back into the rocky hills that frame Santa Maria Bay. Everything is tasteful, modern and beige. I’ve never seen so much brown in my life. Unfortunately, however, there’s a hiccup in Dev’s careful plans.
The manager almost strokes out on the spot as he explains the room shortage to us. Instead of four villas, he has three, so two of us will have to share. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out why putting Dev and Lola in the same villa as Max and Maple—or Hazel, or me—would be a bad idea. As for Max and Maple, there are things you can’t unhear and Max has no filter. I do not want to know what they do in bed.
I open my mouth to point out the obvious solution, but Hazel beats me to it.
“It’s not a problem. Jack and I can share.” She winks at the group. “My virtue is safe with him.”
Our friends laugh, as if the idea of the two of us having sex is funny. Is that so inconceivable? I smile and laugh at all the right spots, however, before allowing the grateful manager to lead Hazel and me to our villa. I have no idea why it bothers me so much.
While Hazel wanders away, enthusiastically snapping pictures of the room with her phone, I tip the manager and the porter and send them on their way.
We’ll be secret lovers.
Never in the office. Never in front of other people.
We’ll never tell.
Would our friends really react that badly? Do I want them to know that we’re a couple, too, even if we’re only temporary and not forever? Dev an
d Max would worry like old biddies. They’d wonder if it was too soon, if I was really over Molly, if I was risking an amazing business partnership for sex because I was lonely.
The villa’s so huge that I practically need a bread-crumb trail to track down Hazel. Wherever she is, it would be nice if she was naked. Or relaxed. It’s been a rough week at the office and she’s strung tight. Orgasms help with that, but I’m hoping some R & R works its magic.
She’s not outside in the private infinity pool or lounging on the massive deck that overlooks the ocean, so I work my way through the rooms. Lola called it Tuscan meets Santa Fe when she was describing it to Maple on the plane, which turns out to mean tall ceilings, wooden beams, terra-cotta walls and lots of stone. The living room offers a plush sofa that I can imagine spooning Hazel on and a coffee table made from a large slab of Mexican wood. There’s also an enormous television, a bookcase stocked with books about the desert and local wildlife, and binoculars for whale-watching from the deck surrounding the pool.
I find Hazel on the little balcony just off the master bedroom that faces out onto the ocean. She’s less tense than she has been. I hope. She stands in front of the wide-open French doors, face turned into the breeze. She doesn’t turn around when I pad toward her, but she knows I’m here. I’m too big to move quietly.
Her pretty, beachy clothes flutter around her body. I check but I don’t think anyone can see in, not unless they’re suspended in midair above our balcony, so I prowl closer. Hazel’s always so put-together and in control, but the ocean’s making a mess of that perfect front. Little wisps of hair fly around her face, teasing her skin with butterfly kisses. I love messed-up, imperfect Zee.
I contemplate giving her some space, because things feel a little weird between us and I know she doesn’t want the others finding out we’re more than just friends. But I do want to have sex with her, the sooner the better, and I also miss holding her. Zee is addictive.
I’m overthinking... I think. I move behind her, bracing her body with mine. She relaxes against me, the fingers of her right hand tangling with mine. We stand there like that, staring out at the ocean. The sun set on our way here and now it’s completely dark, although the moon spills a pale, silvery light across the bay. It’s calm enough that there would be no point in taking out the boards.
“Are you meeting up with the guys?”
I raise her hand to my mouth. It’s silly, the gesture of a white knight from centuries ago, but I do it, anyway, pressing my lips against her knuckles. I can feel the fine bones of her fingers.
I press my cheek against her hair and stare out at the ocean with her. The horseshoe-shaped bay cups the darker water of the Pacific Ocean, waves breaking on the rocky formations and licking at the golden sand.
“You should go swimming.” She smirks at me. “If you promise to swim naked, I’ll join you.”
There’s a beat and then a little frown puckers her forehead. “Unless there are sharks.”
I grin into her hair. Thank God she can’t see me smile or she’d kill me. Hazel doesn’t believe in admitting fear. “You can take on a roomful of pissed-off investors and convince them you shit rainbows and fart glitter, but you’re worried about fish?”
“I’m worried about really big fish with scary teeth. I need to check.” She twists in my arms, patting her pockets. She seems more interested in googling Cabo predators than the romantic setup we have going on. Which is fine. We’re not that kind of couple.
“They have giant squid here,” I tell her. “They’re particularly partial to divers.”
Hazel hums, clearly trying to decide if I’m pulling her leg or not. I’m mostly not. There is a fifteen-foot squid here that’s been making a bid for the apex predator spot as the shark population has declined. Cabo is rough and gorgeous, wild and dangerous, golden brown and never entirely safe. It’s very much like life in that respect.
It’s not that I don’t know what Hazel expects from me: she wants my dick. She wants sex and closeness—but only up to a certain point. We’re friends and business partners, but we’re not lovers. Not really. We’re just two people screwing each other while we wait for something more permanent to come along.
Still, part of me is angry that she’s willing to settle. That she hasn’t held out for what Dev and Lola have. They’re getting married tomorrow, which means they’ll stand up in front of us all and choose each other. They’re making promises and plans. They’re banking on forever. Of course, I, of all people, know that forever can end up being measured in years, months and days, but at least Molly and I had that long even if we didn’t have forever. It’s more than many people have.
And now Hazel eclipses all thoughts of Molly. She wriggles back against me, her ass finding my dick like a heat-seeking missile. Jesus, she makes me hot.
“So,” she purrs, eyes still fixed on the ocean. “There aren’t any predators I should be worried about?”
“Definitely not in the ocean.” I nip her ear and she squeals. She needs to make that sound when she’s riding my fingers. My face. Top of the list? My dick.
She tilts her head back, resting it against my shoulder. “Sea snake?”
“You know, there’s a fish called the slippery dick.”
Hazel snorts. “You know I’m not gullible, right?”
“Scout’s honor. Halichoeres bivittatus.”
“Is it a big fish?”
Fuck, I love her sense of humor. “Less than half an inch. It’s a fish with a permanent inferiority complex. There’s probably hundreds of them swimming around out there in the bay.”
“An entire bay of dick fish.”
“One huge orgy,” I say solemnly. “When it’s mating season, all the boy fish get together and put on a show for the ladies, hoping to get lucky.”
A smile tugs at Hazel’s mouth. “Sounds like the San Francisco bar scene.”
She shifts closer, her face turning up to mine, and I’m no saint. I thread the fingers of one hand through her hair and cover her mouth with mine. I taste tequila and chocolate, and underneath that, Hazel herself. She makes me wish I was a poet, that I had the words to describe the unique taste of her, but all I can do is kiss her.
Eventually she pulls away, her eyes moving over my face. “Let’s go inside.”
Part of me wants to do it right here, to take her against the balcony where we can see the ocean. Not because I’m romantic but because I’m impatient. I want Hazel right here. I imagine she’s worried, though, that our friends can see. I suspect that they’re already naked and trying out the beds, but I nod, anyhow.
There’s a sudden swell of music coming from somewhere deeper inside the resort. Mariachis and trumpets, cheerful and bold. It’s the kind of sound that makes you want to swim and maybe do a shot.
“We could take salsa lessons.” I’m pretty sure I saw that listed on the schedule as one of the many activities we can sign up for.
Hazel tugs her fingers from mine. I don’t want to let her go. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Only if you want to.” I don’t know how to salsa dance. Anything other than the white-boy shuffle and a bad wedding waltz is outside my bailiwick. “Just temper your expectations.”
“Tell me something you’ve never done before,” she says.
“Are we talking about dirty things? Or dancing things?”
I twirl her in an exaggerated circle just in case she needs a demonstration of my lack of dancing skills.
“I think it involves more—” She gestures at her hips and gives an exaggerated wiggle. “Name three favorite fantasies.”
I’m equal opportunity when it comes to sex. I like it all, sweet or dirty. You need a complete stranger or a whole lot of trust to ask for your favorite dirty fantasy because the truth about fantasies is that they don’t always make sense once you speak them out loud or try them. They’re half-formed, sexy, d
irty thoughts that you get off to when you’re alone, but now you’re inviting someone else in and it’s risky. Especially if you’re going to be looking your partner in the eye tomorrow, the next month, the next year. I realize that I’m more than willing to answer her question and that it’s not because I won’t be seeing plenty of Hazel in the future.
“First fantasy is sex in a cabana. We pull the curtains, but there are people walking by on the beach.”
I give a hip thrust my best shot and she snorts.
“You know those nineteenth-century French dresses that scoop a woman’s breasts up like ice cream in a cone? I want you in one. One deep breath and I’d have a handful. That’s my second fantasy. I get turned on by all those secret layers underneath. Add the garter, and I’m a goner.”
“You think we can order up historical dress from room service?”
I try to gauge if she’s serious or merely joking. Her eyes are still closed, which doesn’t help. Nor does the image of dressed-up Hazel that my brain promptly supplies. Could the hotel help me out with this? French maid, probably. Full-on Marie Antoinette dress? Not a chance. The concierges here are very, very good at their jobs, but they’re not miracle workers.
“Number three, I fantasize about you letting me in.” I drop my hand and tap her butt lightly.
About you giving me control.
About you.
“No Christian Grey spanking fantasy?” Hazel’s voice sounds breathy and a little far away. She’s running my fantasy playlist through her head, probably making a few adjustments and improvements because that’s just how Hazel’s wired.
I shrug. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not even as part of a game. Is that making your top three?”
I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s got a secret hard-on for bondage or spanking. I press the palm of my hand against her clit. Yeah. I know exactly what I’ll do. I’ll learn how to be the best dom ever because I don’t want her to ever feel like she can’t tell me something.
