Sail (The Wake Series Book 2)

by M. Mabie

  Casey lifted his left leg and helped guide the wheel, as it was clear, and instead of watching traffic, I was watching him.

  “You got this?” he asked and chuckled.

  I shifted my focus from him and watched where we were going, as I smiled to myself.

  Had anyone ever loved someone as much as I love him?

  My eyes scanned the street and cars around us, then to him quickly going down his buttons, starting at the top of the lavender dress shirt he wore. Lavender isn’t a color most men can pull off, but it only stood to contrast his beautiful eyes. It somehow made him all the more masculine for having the bravado to put it on. His long fingers pushed the plastic buttons through their respective holes. And when he was finished with the light work of releasing them, he shook out of the shirt, wadded it up and threw it in the back seat. Leaving him in only a tight, white V-neck T-shirt.

  Could he really be mine?

  I saw the sign on the massive warehouse as we grew closer.

  Bay Brewing was a much larger operation than I’d realized. We drove around to a lot nestled in an alley. The fenced area was closed and locked, so when we approached, Casey had to punch in a code for it to let us in.

  The large gates swung in and he drove onto the private parking lot. There were a few delivery trucks, but other than those it was empty. He whipped the car into the spot nearest the door.

  “It’s a lot bigger than I imagined,” I confessed.

  “Imagined?” he asked, and then snickered. “You’ve seen it before. And I’m a little—no, a lot—offended that you can’t remember. That said, I’m really happy about how big you think it is.” He stretched an arm over my headrest, as he leaned back in the driver’s seat to taunt me.

  He looked like a classic bad boy. Jeans. New Converse. Fresh white T-shirt. He pulled the glasses up over the front of his hair and left them there.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of cologne he had on. Hell, it was possible the scent was just his deodorant. But whatever it was, to my body, it was like waving a steak in front of a tiger. I breathed him in, in every way I could. Absorbed him into my mind. My senses. My everything.

  The sight of him, sun shining through his hair, the way his chest pulled against the front of his shirt. How his legs were parted. My mouth watered thinking about what was just beyond that denim.

  He watched me as I let myself get drunk on him.

  “You know what I meant,” I accused, but I didn’t really correct him. He was, after all, right. I played dumb. “So where are we?”

  “This is where the magic happens, honeybee. Remember that.” He was still as cocky as the night we’d met, and I loved it.

  He showed me around the brewery and told me about how they’d expanded. They were looking at buildings in other cities for logistical reasons, having grown out of the one current facility.

  We stopped by what looked like a break room. He opened the refrigerator and brought out two beers. Like he’d done it every day, he found a magnetic bottle opener on the side of the old Maytag and popped the tops off, handing me one.

  He lifted his and I followed his lead, like we were toasting.

  “To trouble and Led Zeppelin,” he said.

  “To trouble and bait,” I repeated. He kissed me for that.

  Then, he proclaimed, “Now, taste the nectar of the gods.” Casey was so dramatic.

  He showed me around the rest of massive building. When we went upstairs, where the offices were, I saw Aly’s name on a door as we walked past.

  It reminded me.

  “You didn’t call me this morning. Was everything okay?”

  He shook his head, and swallowed his drink, before apologizing. “I’m sorry, I woke up late.”

  That didn’t help me feel any better. Last I’d known, he was putting Aly to bed. My face must have shown how I didn’t like the thoughts in my head. I knew they weren’t true, and that I had nothing to worry about, but I still thought about it.

  “I wasn’t with her. She was drunk and making a fool out of herself—and, therefore, the company. I didn’t stay with her last night.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “You do?” He appeared shocked and relieved at the same time. He stopped walking as we approached the door that read “Casey Moore, V P of Sales.” I was impressed.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “Because I know you. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “That’s right, I wouldn’t.”

  My stomach cramped thinking about how I’d made him feel in the past. How in the hell did he not give up on me?

  “I’m sorry I’ve done that to you. I’m sorry you’ve had to fall asleep knowing I was next to someone else.” That guilt might always live inside me. The excuse of, “He knew what he was getting into” never really took away the sting of it. I’d done that to him. I hated it. “That will never, ever be the case again. I hope, someday, you’ll be able to trust me like I trust you.”

  His brow furrowed. He’d never liked it when I talked like that, but sometimes things needed to be said. Something I’d learned in therapy. It didn’t undo what I’d done, but it relieved something inside me to own up to it. Shitty as it was.

  “And I know Aly loves you. She told me she does. But I hope she knows I’ll fight for you—if it comes to it.”

  “It won’t,” he stated definitively, jaw tight and eyes set on mine. “She knows I only want you. I’ll only ever want you.”

  We were bound to have those moments, but they were getting easier. Tossing out old habits of building walls between us and hiding what we felt, were becoming things of the past. Our new way of communication—even if it wasn’t easy—was proving much more rewarding.

  Deciding that was all that needed to be said on the topic, I stated, “Well, show me this office then, Mr. President.”

  “Vice President,” he corrected with a chuckle. “I like it better when you call me Lord Casey.” Lord Casey was a product of my living arrangements after he bought the building. Landlord didn’t suit him, so we improvised.

  His office wasn’t massive, but it was more than big enough for one person. Especially, since he was rarely there.

  He had pictures and awards framed, which sat on a built-in, dark wooden bookcase. Empty bottles lined the top shelf. I raised a questioning eyebrow to Casey behind me, asking silently what they meant.

  “Those are all of the brews we’ve offered here since the day I started,” he explained. He was sitting on the edge of his almost bare desk. Legs and arms crossed, as he watched me investigate, he held his beer bottle to his side with just one finger wrapped around its neck.

  I smiled at the sentiment. I wondered if he saved them the entire time, or if it was an afterthought. Knowing him, he’d kept the first bottle he’d ever drunk. It’s funny how, and when, things become sentimental. Sentimental like our two ships that sat on the other end of his desk. He had them facing each other and it warmed my heart.

  “Are they in order?” I asked, looking up at them.

  “Yeah, I think so. Some have gone out and then come back, but for the most part they’re in order from when I started.”

  “Which is your favorite?”

  He chortled. “The one I’m drinking.”

  Smart ass.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious, too.” He finished the last of his beer and set the bottle in the trash can next to his desk. I peered back up at the bottles to see if it was up there for examining.

  He moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my head and said into my hair, “It’s my favorite for two reasons. One, it’s the first I’ve had with you here. And two, hopefully, it’s the one I finished drinking the first time I had sex with you in my office.”

  My breath caught. He’d always had a way of catching me off guard. My head rolled on its own accord and my eyes slowly closed.

  “What if someone shows up?”

  His hands worked my shoulders
. With a firm grip, he sought out each muscle and gave it personal attention before moving to the next. He moved my hair over one shoulder so it wasn’t in his way.

  “No one will,” he cajoled, his low tenor voice tightening my insides. “Sometimes, I’m here on Sunday evenings. I’ve never seen anyone. Besides, I don’t care if they do. I have a lock on my door.”

  Well, didn’t he have an answer for everything?

  His hands moved to my upper arms and squeezed, pulling me nearer to his chest. Then I felt his mouth on my skin. His tongue danced over the nape of my neck. One of his hands found my hair and wrapped it around his hand, pulling my head to the side as he passionately kissed my neck.

  I moaned. Loudly.

  It was an embarrassing sound. He was no stranger to my embarrassments.

  Casey pressed into my back. He was hard and I wanted all of him. My hands found his thighs, pulling his even closer. Would there ever be a time when he didn’t control my body at this range?

  He was the master and I his puppet. Willingly.

  Saturday, April 24, 2010

  HE-MAN DIDN’T HAVE SHIT on me. I was back to being the Master of the Fucking Universe. My thoughts and desires led her body. What I wanted, it did. Without being told.

  I turned her around in my arms.

  Where was I to begin?

  Her mouth.

  Her neck.

  My lips were hungry for her and my greedy hands filled with her breasts, my lungs with her scent.

  She rocked into my hip. She wanted me just as bad.

  “Not yet, honeybee. Sometimes it feels like touching you only happens on leap years. I have lots of time to make up for.” A coaxing leg hitched up my waist. She moaned, a desperate sound, when I picked her up carried her to the top of my desk.

  “What’s my name?” I crooned in her ear.

  “Casey Moore.”

  “Good. Now, where are we?”

  She panted against my shoulder. “Where the magic happens.” She remembered.

  “What day is it, honeybee?”

  “April twenty-fourth.”

  “What did we just do?”

  “Tasted the nectar of the gods.” The vixen mocked me, but I wasn’t fooled. I knew this Blake. She loved my games. Loved to be teased right out of her sanity. And Christ I’d missed her.

  “And what do I want to do right now?”

  “You want to kiss me,” she said. Our language of asking for kisses welcomed me home, as she tried to press her lips to mine, but I was faster and she wasn’t getting off that easy.

  “Close. What do I want?” I repeated in her ear.

  She moaned and rocked into my hand, which was under her skirt and between her legs. A place it always seemed to go on its own.

  “You want to fuck me in your office?”

  “That sounds like a question,” I chastised, then spread her legs wider with the weight of my hips. I stilled my hand. She leaned into it, displaying her frustration with my pause.

  “It’s not, Casey. You do. You want me.”

  “If you only knew how much.”

  I moved the hair away from her neck and her body shivered as my fingers ran scribbled lines over her humming skin. All of the negative space within my body filled with Blake-scented air and my dick begged for its freedom, but patiently waited. I had the Nelson Mandela of dicks.

  “I’m right here. I’m all yours.”

  My knees released. Thank goodness I was leaning against the desk or I would have folded like a piece-of-shit lawn chair.

  “Good, now let’s see how long it takes you to forget all that other shit.”

  Her mouth opened to mine on contact, and our teeth bumped with our haste. Both of our efforts aggressive, her need kissed mine with a lick and a sigh.

  Reality and joy kicked me in the balls. She was mine.

  It’s hard to kiss when you’re trying to hold your shit together, between not wanting to laugh from the joy I felt and wanting to swallow her whole, I picked her up under her ass. Her bare legs bent like pretzels around me and I sat on the desk, switching her places.

  I fucking loved it when she wore skirts.

  My hand slid over her bare ass.

  I fucking loved when she wore those kinds of underwear. She wasted no time undoing the button and unzipping my jeans. I lifted to let her pull them down just enough so my cock could spring free. All the while, her mouth never left mine.

  With my dick in one hand, she moved her panties aside and lowered herself onto me. And she rode me with long slow strides, as our kissing turned urgent.

  I wanted deeper.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “I need more, Casey,” she begged. “I need you to fuck me.” We agreed.

  I picked her up again and began walking us to the other side of the room. She continued grinding on me as I walked. She fit perfectly in my hands and a carnal need inside me flashed thoughts of smacking her beautiful ass until my handprint stamped her peach of a backside.

  Something about her body made mine a king.

  Long live the queen.

  I sat her down on the couch, and pulled out and away. Lust stained her cheeks and her nose was gloriously pink. I turned her around and lifted her hands above her head. Then I pulled her sweater and shirt off together. She shimmied when I tugged them over her shoulders, inside out. I ran my hand between her shoulder blades. I couldn’t help myself, and kissed her back as I unclasped her bra. I slid the straps down and she lifted her arms allowing me to pull it away from her. She relaxed on her knees and bent forward to the back of the couch.

  My hands ran up the long ridge of her spine and I pushed my pants the rest of the way down. They bunched together at the top of my feet and shoes.

  I licked my fingers and slid them under the strap of fabric between her legs. Then like a savage who knew it wasn’t a time play with his food, I put my fingers back into my mouth and wrapped a fist around my dick as I guided past her panties and straight into her.

  I pushed in deep. She fell forward, and with a side-to-side rock of her hips, her body said, “Go.”

  She moved with me, my every action mirrored with hers. When I pushed inside, she pushed back. Full long strokes.

  Blake. Air.

  Blake. Air.

  Once again, she yielded to me. It was intoxicating.

  I bent toward her and reached around to her breast, gaining leverage and a new angle. I held tight and held myself inside her as she ground down on my dick, rocking into me, finding her own pleasure with me as the vehicle.

  My arm reached for the back of the couch and her hand found mine. She laced them together. It was like I was wrapped around her and it was decidedly my new favorite way to spend April twenty-fourth.

  Her head pressed against my chest and I bit her ear.

  “Casey,” she whimpered, “yes.”

  I replied with gibberish sounds that translated to, “I found your superpower and it’s this right here.”

  I pressed my cheek against the top of her head and my eyes squeezed shut as I felt my orgasm run full speed toward the end of my cock.

  She tightened down around me and said, “I’m coming. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

  There was no stopping.

  Even if I could stop, why in the fuck would I want to?

  Between the white noise in my ears and the sound of her saying my name, over and over, I left myself inside of her. I panted, fighting to catch my breath. After we were both finished, she buckled, falling flat onto the sofa. I rested against her back.

  When everything tamed down and the air around us began to cool, I rolled to the side and pulled my pants up. She curled into the now warm leather and looked at me.

  “Are you satisfied?”

  “Satisfied, honeybee?” I asked her in turn. “I won’t be satisfied until your head sleeps on my pillow every night. Until we’re fighting over stupid shit like taking out the trash or sorting the laundry properly—like normal people. I won’t be sati
sfied until we’re having quickies while the coffee brews and we can’t agree on what movie to watch. When all of our problems can be solved with a kiss and a good night’s sleep. That’s when I’ll be satisfied.

  She smiled and kissed my cheek.

  Then I added, “Or were you just talking about sex?”

  “I was just talking about sex.” She laughed under her breath and said, “I’m hungry.” Sex did that to her every time. My girl was ravenous, in more ways than one, when it came to good sex.

  “What do you want?”

  “Nine cheeseburgers.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’m watching my weight.”

  It was almost dark when we finally pulled into my driveway after grabbing a bite to eat. I hadn’t been home in over a week, so I sidled up to the mail box first. I pulled out the contents, handing them to her. Again, it hit me how these mundane tasks we were doing together made me feel like I was dreaming.

  Then I thought of the dream I’d had so many nights—or nightmare if I considered the end of it—and it killed my moment.

  I was sick of thinking about it. I wouldn’t let some figment of my imagination ruin her being in my home. It was only a dream. It wasn’t real.

  I opened the garage and pulled into my spot. I glanced over at the empty one, where I had half-started projects. Then I wondered if one day, she’d be parked next to me.

  I’d live wherever she wanted, but I loved this home and knew I’d always keep it.

  “When was the last time you were here?”

  “A little over a week, I think. And it was only for a night.” I quickly tried to remember if I’d left the place in good condition. Had I cleaned everything up? I prayed there wasn’t anything disgusting growing inside. “Before we go in, I don’t think I knew I wasn’t going to be here before you came over. So, just know that. Okay?”

  She needed to be warned.

  “Got it,” she confirmed, as she opened her car door gently to make sure it didn’t bump into my bike. “Do you still get to ride much?”

  As I walked around to the back of the car to get our bags, I thought back on when had been the last time I’d taken a ride.