by Megyn Ward
And I good—very good—at fucking.
But now she’s reaching behind her ass cheeks to fondle my balls. “Does that feel good, baby?”
Good? It feels fucking amazing, but not something she’d normally do and the realization knocks me off balance.
Still straddling me, her fingers dig into my chest, her hips slapping against mine, fast and hard. Not like Lexi at all. I try to meet her urgency, try to give her what she wants, but it suddenly feels all wrong.
As often happens in a dream, one person becomes another. The face above mine isn’t Lexi’s anymore. This girl is blonde, with a smatter of light freckles across her nose. Her eyes flash like a blue sky, lit from the sun. I’ve seen her before but can’t think of her name. The stringent taste of scotch fills my mouth and I’m on the verge of remembering her cute ass and long legs…
Clouds blow away from my brain, and my surroundings come into sharp and sudden in focus. Pounding sounds from close by and a barrage of voices shout from another room. I didn’t realize my eyes have been closed until I open them. The girl above me doesn’t have dark hair and brown eyes. She isn’t smiling at me from Lexi’s sex-blushed face. Disappointing but for some weird reason I’m even more disappointed she isn’t a cute blonde with fiery blue eyes either.
This girl has strawberry blonde hair and blotchy skin. The reality of it shocks me enough that I quit mid-thrust.
She doesn’t seem to notice my sudden lack of participation. “Bugger off!” She screws up her face and shouts at the closed door in what appears to be a hotel room.
Where the fuck am I?
“Taxi will be here in five minutes.” The muffled guy’s voice creeps through the door. Vaguely familiar. Whoever he is, I might know him. “Let’s go. You can fuck her later.”
Drew.
Not a good friend of mine. Not even a friend, actually. We met at the resort bar yesterday. I think. To be honest, the last few weeks have been on long, sun-bleached blur.
“Hurry up. We barely have enough time to catch the boat.” A girl’s voice with an English accent follows Drew’s through the door. Despite the fact that she’s rousing us from bed, she sounds about as hungover as I feel.
“Oh, shit.” The girl slides away from me, leaving my cock to slap against my leg. “I forgot we’re going scuba diving this morning.”
Whose stupid idea was it to go scuba diving? Oh yeah, mine. That’d been sometime around two A.M. I can’t remember much about the previous day, but it involved a few cab drives, several bars, some beach time, and finally these two English girls.
I look down and have to stifle my sigh of relief when I see the condom on my rapidly deflating dick.
The girl sits on the side of the bed, her back to me. “Yeah. We’re up. Give us a sec.”
What’s her name? Elaine, Elizabeth, Loraine? Shit, I don’t know and now isn’t a good time to ask. I hope I didn’t talk in my sleep, or whatever dream I’d been in when we’d been going at it. Before I woke up, before Lexi morphed into the blonde girl and vanished from me again.
She brushes her hair back from her face and pops off the mattress, on the run for the bathroom. She slams the door and I hear water running a few seconds later. “Sorry about that,” she shouts. “We’ll have to finish it later.”
I rub my temples, trying to get the hangover drums to tone down the bongo session. I’m in no mood to finish what we started, and a glance down shows my cock is even less enthused that I am. It looks even sadder than I felt that the nameless girl in the bathroom wasn’t Lexi. Maybe even sadder she wasn’t the freckled blonde with fiery blue eyes.
Chapter 3
Kylie
Another day in paradise. Almost paradise, anyway. The ocean stretches out calm and blue. The sun warms my skin. I have my dream job, in my dream location.
As Mom would say, I’m sitting in tall cotton.
Blake and I tease each other and the divers, just getting to the boat. We work them to make it more fun and, to be honest, get better tips.
We make sure the equipment fits properly, the BCs and regulators are attached to the tanks and everyone has the required passes and cards.
We have a small group today. Dadbod and Vacant Mom with their two kids from upstate New York. When I questioned them on the dock about their sons being too young to dive, they’d been all nicey-nice and concerned and assured me they’d keep a close eye on their boys. They promised the dad would watch the littler one and the mom would buddy with the older one
Two middle-aged honeymooners round out the group, already on the boat, kissing and staring into each other’s eyes like they the last to people on earth. I’ve never felt that way about someone. I’ve always been too focused on school and work to manage more than the odd casual fling or random hook-up. Watching them from behind the lenses of my glasses makes me realize I haven’t been laid since landing on Cayman.
Six months?
Has it really been six months?
The fact that I’m having to fight with myself to keep from telling the Honeymooners to keep it in their pants tells me that yes, it’s really been that long and I’m not happy about it.
The small boat can manage a few more divers, along with me as dive master, Blake as back up, and Richard, the driver. Hoping we’d catch some late-comers to up our tips, we dawdle as the other boats left the dock.
Blake would be more than happy to end your dry spell, you know…
No way.
Why not? He’s cute and sweet and totally into you.
He’s also a co-worker and my roommate.
I’m horny, not stupid.
Disappointed not to have a full boat, I finally nod at Richard to take off. Clattering and yelling float down from the shop prompt Blake and I to exchange relieved grins. We’ll get more divers after all.
While Richard shuts the engine down, Blake hurries to help the new divers while I hoist more tanks into position.
One, two, three, four bodies bounce into the boat as I sort weights in anticipation of getting them outfitted. Blake pulls the lines and jumps in and Richard fires up the boat. We’re several feet from the dock before I finally turn around to greet our paycheck for the day.
Are you fucking serious?
My jaw drops, and heat surges from my feet to my face. “You.”
Richard hit another boat’s wake and unprepared, I sail backward, landing with a thud on the boat’s floor.
Blake lunges from the front of the boat but one of the new-comers gets to me first. “Shit.” He thrust out his hand. “Are you okay?”
I glare at him. Scruff-face. He’d already taken off his shirt and his tanned, hard chest looks tensed to pull me up and catch me.
When I don’t respond, he squats down next to me. His voice, low and concerned, sends an electric shock through me. “You hit pretty hard. Do you think something’s broken?”
When his hand snakes out to touch me, I shrink away. Not because I don’t want him to touch me but because I do. I want him to pull me into his arms. Hold me.
Holy shit. What is wrong with me? He and his asshole friends stiffed me last night.
Yeah, but he tried to pay.
So? He didn’t pay. In the end he ran, like the rest of them, so what’s the attraction?
Uhhh, he’s tall, tanned, muscular, and drop-dead gorgeous—and against all odds, actually seemed like a decent guy.
Horny.
Not stupid.
“Nothing $65 won’t fix,” I mutter, pushing his hand away.
He stands, looking puzzled a little unsteady on the swaying boat. The fucker doesn’t remember me. Not surprising. There’s drunk and then there’s what this guy was. Is. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s still half in the bag.
Blake reaches a hand out and I grasp it, letting him pull me up. “Kylie was demonstrating why we need to be careful and stay seated while the boat is racing.”
That seems to satisfy the divers and they chuckle at his joke and go back to checking gear and chatti
ng with each other.
Scruff-face plops back down on his bench, looking hungover but gorgeous.
Bastard.
Mr. Pudge, even more doughy in the daylight, doesn’t seem to recognize me, either. He’s busied himself drooling over the dark-haired girl from last night. She looks like she’s about to blow chunks. Can’t say I blame her. I’d blow chunks too if this powered doughnut with eyes was fawning all over me.
I name her Chunks.
The girl with Scruff-face, whom I decide to call Fake, in honor of her rock-hard bought and paid for boobs, stares at the water with an angry scowl, the two of them ignoring each other completely. Trouble in Paradise.
Literally.
If any of the entitled brats remember me from last night, they don’t show it. I want to demand my $65 but causing a scene here isn’t the right way to handle it. I’ll wait until we get back to shore so I can confront them on dry land, without putting all the other divers in the middle.
Chunks and Fake are both English and even if they aren’t really looking down their noses at me, they give off the impression they think I’m part of the serving class.
Chunks is the worst of the lot but Scruff-face is a close second. He’s so obviously hungover I’m surprised he hasn’t tossed his cookies over the side yet. The stubble covering his lean jaw and strong chin is thicker than last night, and when he takes off his sunglasses, his bright blue eyes are bleary and bloodshot. His thick, dark hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in weeks. Still, he’d been the first to offer me a hand up when I’d hit the deck. Something about him makes me want to place my cool hand on his forehead and ease him.
What the fuck, Kylie?
I hate these arrogant shits, but I have to suck it up. The other divers deserve a good trip and if I treat the Dine and Dashers poorly, the day will be unpleasant for everyone.
I hate to admit it but when these wealthy princes and princesses travel in packs, they intimidate me. Then I get mad because I hate when I let myself feel put down and then I get defensive and that inevitably leads to lots of consequences, not the least of which will be getting no tip.
Blake passes out water and I pretend not to stare at Scruff-face behind my sunglasses while he cracks the cap on the bottle Blake hands him to take a deep drink.
But holy mother of god, he’s beautiful. His arms and chest seem to pull in the sun like he was some kind of Greek god. Even hungover, he might be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
Horny, not stupid, right, Kylie?
Yeah.
Right.
Chapter 4
Zach
The small boat whacks against the waves as we race up one swell and down another, rattling my bones. Saltwater smacking my face. The sun throws painful lasers into my brain and my stomach threatening to erupt any minute.
But I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to throw up in front of her.
The dive girl.
Not the strawberry blonde. I still can’t remember her name, not that it matters. I pull away from her when she tried to hold my hand and looked about ready to stab me when I tried to help that sexy as hell dive girl up when she lost her footing.
Guess that means we won’t be finishing what she started this morning. If my dick could talk it’d be shouting Halleluiah.
Thinking about it, I can’t figure out what I did to make her so angry—the dive girl, not the strawberry blonde. All I did was offer her a hand up and she looked at me like I spit on her.
The boat slows suddenly and we all jerk forward, then fall back as it stops and bobs in the water. The dive girl stands up and faces the rest of us. She’s wearing a black, long-sleeved rash guard over a bikini, her blonde hair pulled back in a sloppy pony.
She looks so much like the girl in my dream my cock stirs, despite the fact that I feel like I want to die. Petite, with small, firm breasts. Nice legs—long and tanned. She looks like the athletic type who could whip my ass in tennis. She has a competent air about her that said when she was done jumping the net she’d not only finish her research paper on genetic engineering but chair a sorority fund-raiser and spend time volunteering at the local soup kitchen.
Overachiever.
I used to be one of those so I know what they look like.
The strawberry blonde, whose name still hasn’t come to me, points her toes and daintily steps into her wetsuit. She bends over to adjust it on her calves and I catch the flash of nipples, pebbled against the chilly breeze from the rushing boat. Normally, the sight would fill me with joy. Weirdly, I avert my eyes to the dive instructor to see her staring at me with an unreadable expression.
The strawberry blonde sits up, scowls at me some more before busying herself with her regulator.
I step into my wetsuit. The leggy blonde starts her speech. “How’s everyone feeling today? I’m Kylie, today’s dive master. This is Blake, our backup….”
Kylie...
My gaze drifts over her and I’m startled by how much she looks like the waitress I dream fucked. The same sky-blue eyes, the same dusting of freckles on her nose. The memory has my cock jerking in my board shorts and I turn my back to the group, working my suit up in a hurry, hoping no one noticed.
When I’ve got myself situated, I face the rest of the divers. Strawberry blonde turns around and offers her back to her friend so she can zip up her wetsuit. Drew elbows me. “Hey—mind if I buddy up with Lorna?”
Lorna? Who the fuck is Lorna?
I shake my head and shrug. “Whatever, man.”
Like she’s been listening to our conversation, Kylie glares at me. “Ready?”
Everyone else is nearly suited up, and I still only half in. I give her my most charming smile. “Just about.”
She eyes me, moving closer so she can lower her voice. “Are you sure you feel up to it today?” Her expression softens for a moment before re-setting. Almost like she feels bad for me but doesn’t want to. “Maybe you’d like to wait on the boat.”
“I’m fine.” Sure, I’ve only had three hours of sleep and my head is throbbing like an elephant tangoed on my temples, but I want to dive, maybe only because that’s where she’ll be—plus I’d be lying if I said her soft-eyed concern didn’t injure my male pride. “Not my first dive.”
She looks skeptical but shrugs into her BC and tank and grabs her mask. “Okay. Everyone buddy up.”
Drew grins at Strawberry blonde and offers his arm like he’s going to squire her onto the dance floor and she accepts, shooting me a quick glare before threading her arm through his.
I guess I know what her name is now.
Her friend shrugs and steps closer to me. “Hey,” I say, hunkering a bit to look her in the face. “You sure you’re okay to dive?”
She nods but doesn’t open her mouth. Probably because she’s afraid she’ll puke if she does.
Great.
Kylie is worried about me and this girl’s as green as they get and flying under the radar. “You sure?”
She nods again, her throat working against whatever she’s fighting to keep down before she takes a chance and opens her mouth. “I want to dive.”
“Alright.” I let it go because I want to dive too. “We’ll go slow. Any time you feel like you want to quit, let me know and I’ll bring you back to the boat, okay?”
She nods.
Kylie continues. “Stay with your buddy. Keep an eye on each other.” She slips her mask over her face. “Okay, let’s go.” In she goes.
As soon as I hit the water I feel better. Something about the cool quiet of it, waves lapping overhead, has always seemed to calm me.
I wish I could say the same for my dive partner. As soon as she’s submerged her face goes green again, but I stick with her. Using hand signals I ask her if she wants to go up but she refuses, shaking her head almost violently. I give up trying to get her back to the boat but I’m ready to yank her regulator out of her mouth if she starts to puke.
We hang back. Go slow like I promised while Kylie le
ads the others to flow with the current. We swim for about fifteen minutes and she still isn’t showing signs of feeling any better.
Meanwhile her friend and Drew swim off on their own, holding hands like a couple of lovesick teenagers.
Suddenly, my dive partner stops in her tracks, her eyes going wide behind her mask, a second before her throat starts to bob and her cheeks bulge.
Shit.
Reaching out, I yank the regulator out of her mouth just in time for her to spew what looks like a granola bar and whatever fried crap she swallowed last night into the surrounding water.
As soon as she’s done, I slam the regulator back into her mouth and signal her to take a breath before round two hits her. I jerk it out again, trying not to think about the fact that I’m surrounded by vomit.
Fish swarm us. Like a pack of wild dogs, they tear into the bits floating around me. Some bump up against me. I try to back out of the melee and take her with me but a third wave hits her. This time she spits the regulator out on her own to let another stream of chunks into the water.
The fish are going nuts, thrashing and diving. And my partner is freaking out, like she’s being attacked by a school of piranha.
Fantastic.
Making an executive decision, I pull my dive partner clear of the mess and look around, trying to figure out how I’m going to let Kylie know we’re heading back to the boat. I see her about twenty yards ahead, signaling to the others to buddy up. She makes the signs to tell them to stay together, then swims toward us. It occurs to me that she probably thinks I’m the one chumming the waters and I want to vanish in an air bubble.
By the time she gets to us, the activity and all the smaller fish have alerted a barracuda, who circles above us.
