Fox (Bodhi Beach Book 1)

by SM Lumetta

  I nod simply and watch as he grins crookedly and disappears under the blanket. I let the cover drop below, exposing my chest and stomach. My nipples pebble instantly. They tighten almost to the point of pain, but my skin is on fire, so the cool air is a relief. I can’t help but call out when I feel his lips find their intended target. He seems to cover all of me with his mouth, but his tongue slides slowly and firmly up the middle to the center. He kisses me before he flicks the tip of his tongue at my most sensitive part, and I call out stupid loud. I take the initiative and slap a hand over my mouth, fearing discovery by our friends. So, yeah, if someone else walked by on the beach, I’d be less concerned. I feel a bizarre vibration on my not-so-mossy grotto and I realize he’s laughing at me.

  I decide I want to see what he’s doing. Unable to feel the cold, what there was of it, I throw the blanket away, revealing Fox and his outer grip on my hips. His face is burrowed in my oyster cloister and I cackle just because I’ve not felt this good in an age and all I can think of is ridiculous names for my lady parts. Instead of pulling away from his serious work, Fox retaliates by inserting two fingers and moving them around in search of that special spot. His lips center on the pearl and suck. Hard.

  I come like a goddamn freight train, barreling toward nowhere and fast. Everything goes dark before my eyes until I swear I see stars—and yeah, I know we’re outside and sure, the sky is clear. But these stars move erratically and rather quickly. Pretty sure comets and even meteor showers have a more organized and steady path, so if these were actual celestial bodies in psychotic motion, I’d fear for the state of the planet. But I digress.

  I remain completely relaxed on the chair, something like a blissed-out paralyzed jellyfish. You’re welcome for that comparison, by the way. At some point, Fox moves up next to me and brings the blanket back over us. I still don’t need it.

  When I’m able to speak, my only word is “tongue.”

  Fox guffaws. Sexy, right? He leans in and kisses the base of my neck. “You were so loud,” he tells me.

  I make some sort of “grr” sound. It’s sad. Finally, I have enough effort accumulated to form a real sentence. “Your pillow talk blows.”

  He chuckles some more, pulling me close. His body feels as hot as mine and suddenly I’m a hair’s breadth from overheating. “Omigod, so hot—sweaty,” I say, irritated that my brain is having so much trouble offering enunciated speech. “Going for a swim.”

  I try to get up, the intention being a quick dip in the likely very cold water, but Fox fastens me to his increasingly slick body.

  “Too cold, too dangerous at night,” he insists.

  “Chicken,” I say.

  “Beach shower off the shed is better.”

  “But is it secret? Is it safe?” I tease.

  “Is that from a movie? Are you making fun of me?”

  I nod happily, so he takes the opportunity to throw me over his shoulder like a caveman and carry my naked ass to the outdoor stall. Instead of screaming for him to put me down, I reach down to smack his ass repeatedly the entire way. He doesn’t stop, and frankly, I’m guessing his erection is now leading the way. I laugh myself almost hoarse by the time we reach the shower.

  He sets me on my feet and my knees are still jellyfish-y, so I wobble a little. I grip his waist as he leans to turn on the water. It’s warm enough so thankfully we’ll not freeze our asses off. This far from the fire, I’m feeling the chill.

  I follow him into the spray, realizing there are two spouts—one from each direction. “Fancy fucking showerheads,” I say.

  “Funny that you put it that way,” he says, his eyebrows waggling.

  I smirk, a humming sound vibrating in my chest. When he leans in to kiss me, my arms automatically wrap around his neck. I then remember my ridiculous flirting this morning in the water and decide to fulfill it. I don’t know if he was banking on this or not, but I know he was into the idea. His palms are firmly cupping my ass, and it seems like he’s about to lift me up for some standing shower sex. Before we get there, I pull away, peck his lips, and drop carefully to one knee. The floor of the outdoor shower is a simple cement slab, so I’m not about to tear my knees to hell if I can help it. I push Fox closer to the wall surrounding us, and he groans in a way that indicates he’s been reduced to low, grumbling vowel sounds. Words are now out the window.

  Gripping his hips, I start with a long, slow lick to the underside of his cock. Once I reach the head, I flick it with my tongue—earning a very manly outcry. And by very manly, I mean he sounds like a preteen. Before the sound fades away, I slide as much of him into my mouth as I can. Not very quickly, but with a firm suction. His knees buckle just a little. I nearly smile and break momentum, but I maintain. From there I lose myself a little, but he leans back on the wood panels, his fingers gently guiding my head to follow—and not let go. I stop planning and take inspiration from his noises and prodding. My pace is slow, my technique is involved—it’s not just my mouth, and I’m pretty sure it’s driving him crazy because he’s mumbling quickly and incoherently. His hands weave into my hair, but I will not be led. It frustrates him, clearly, but I wager he enjoys it all the more because he comes seconds later. I have to stand up to press him against the wooden wall before he slides down and gets splinters all up his ass and back.

  A few moments later, I note the lack of abrasions on my knee—thankfully, and he grabs my face to kiss me. I’m kind of shocked because I didn’t think he’d do that after what I just swallowed—like a goddamn champ, by the way. But he does, and he doesn’t seem to care. He wraps his arms around me and cuddles me close.

  “You have skills, Lollipop,” he whispers. “Mad, mad skills.”

  “Aww,” I tease. “You’re just saying that because it’s been a few months.”

  He scoffs, but smiles brightly, warming me from the center on out. “Trust me. I’ve had biters, scrapers—”

  I stop him there. “Okay, okay. I don’t need the list. I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I’m getting cold,” I say. “I’d like to get dry.”

  “Got you,” he says. He runs back to the fire pit and grabs our clothes and the blankets in a big pile. “You’re staying with me tonight in case I get a second and third wind.”

  I shake my head with a smile as he cocoons me in one of the blankets. We head inside and sleep like the dead in his massive California king until dawn. I wake up to find him sleeping with his head literally on my butt, which is disturbing enough until I notice he’s also drooling like a teething baby down the cheek. I want to smack him, but I need to sneak out before Jonah or Rae gets up. No sooner do I free myself from being his ass pillow when Fox grabs my wrist to stop me. He pulls me back for a “quickie” that is anything but.

  In the morning, the group is mostly all business. We’re driving up to Willow Creek at Fox’s insistence, and I’m nervous. I’m an experienced surfer, but I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. I’m solid in the basics, but beyond that, I’m not looking to make it a profession. Fox wants the challenge.

  “You’re going to rock this, Lollipop,” he tells me, looking in the rearview mirror. He thankfully doesn’t pop the p this time. I might’ve attacked him as he drove and I think he knows that. And I don’t mean attack in the sexy way. “Stop worrying.”

  He has more confidence in me than I do, but I’m barely getting my surf mojo back after one session. Rae pats my knee and tells me she’s happy to hang back and keep it chill. I smile primly and nod. I remain quiet for the entire drive, psyching myself up. I shouldn’t worry about it. I think that probably makes it harder, but I’m stuck on the fact that I got outvoted on our location today.

  When we get there, there are a few small groups of people getting geared up. We pile out of the Wagon and start with unloading our boards. We’ve all got full wetsuits today. Once we get our gear out, we stand in a circle to do the quick redress dance. I call it the “Mr. Rogers’s Roundabout.” Fox once changed it to “Mr. Rogers’s Circle Jerk�
� and I cut the crotch out of his favorite pair of jeans. He doesn’t call it that anymore. Nor does anyone else.

  Zipped up and ready, we make our way to the spot where a few guys have already planted themselves. We drop our towels on the nearby wooden fence and survey the ocean. It’s a little rough today but manageable. The winds are just a little more forceful than they were yesterday. My stomach flips a couple of times, but I quell the anxiety with a few deep breaths.

  Jonah and Fox slap on their ankle bands and run together and dive in onto their boards. Rae and I look at each other. She could practically still be asleep by the look of calm on her face. Jealousy surges.

  “Did you smoke this morning?” I ask, simply perplexed by her ability to Zen the shit out of it.

  Her laughter is slow and even. “Naw, girl. Can’t slow the reflexes like that. I might fall asleep in a tube. We gonna do this? Or you wanna sit out?”

  I nod. “Yeah, no. Let’s go.”

  Fox and Jonah are too far out to catch, but Rae says the waves will bring them back to us, and then howls. I feel a little paranoid at her reaction and wording, but I chalk it up to the nerves. As we sit up and scope for a set we like, she points out some of the rockier outcroppings and possible point breaks for me to be aware of. I feel a little better. Knowing this makes me less edgy. Why can I not just relax? This is going to be fine. Fun, come to that.

  Finally, a set comes our way that feels good for me. Rae tells me to take it, so I turn and start paddling, checking over my shoulder for my speed. When my ride arrives, I pop up and snag a long ride on a monster swell—the kind that feels like a championship win. I manage to touch the wall and ride out the barrel for a short stretch, but then my board seems to catch on something and I lose balance, wiping out. The tube collapses over me.

  For what feels like minutes, I’m over and under, swirling viciously with the underside of the wave. In my mind, an old song called “Undertow” plays in my head, even though the lyrics have nothing to do with surfing or even the ocean. I can’t orient myself until I bump into a reef or outcropping, which breaks the forward motion and releases me to find the surface. Thankfully, I don’t hit my head, but I’ll have a lovely bruise on my ribs.

  When I surface, I hear Rae shouting. And Fox from somewhere, but I’ve only just managed to find the right way up, versus which direction I came from. Breathing stays my focus until I can inhale without coughing. Another surfer gets to me before anyone in my group can, and pulls me up onto his board.

  “Thanks, man,” I say, notably hoarse. I cough a few times over my shoulder.

  “Zeke,” he says to introduce himself. As if he’s not allowed to help a total stranger. “No problem, love.”

  Of course he’s Australian. I smile. “Sophie.”

  He twists around to offer me his hand to shake. I laugh, but take it. “Pleasure to meet you, Sophie,” he says.

  I help paddle on either side, anxious to get us closer to the beach. When we get to shallow enough water, I slide off and walk toward my board. “Careful there, love. See ya back out in a few, I hope?” Zeke asks, a wide smile on his face.

  “Hell yeah,” I say and wave. I’m totally faking it, because I need a moment or seven to recoup, but I don’t want this to be another thing that holds me back from doing something I enjoy. I need this kind of stuff so I don’t go crazy. Especially when there’s any downtime at work.

  “Good on ya, Sophie,” he says, turning his board and winking.

  Thrumming with adrenaline, I drag my rubbery legs toward where my board washed up twenty yards away. Before I can get to it, Fox comes running out of the water.

  “Fuckin’ A Christ,” he spits as he nearly runs into me. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt? No head injury or anything?” He grabs me by the arms when he reaches me, his eyes scanning and inspecting. His hands move up and put a lock on my head. He’s gone full nurse-mode on me and checks my eyes for signs of concussion. “Good. You look good. Are you good?”

  I smile at him. He has always been protective of me since we were kids, but he’s a little more frantic right now. I pat his cheek.

  “I’m fine, Foxy,” I tell him with a wink. “Just bumped a reef or something and wiped out while I was still in the tube. Didn’t bump my head. Promise.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, but pulls me into his embrace. “Fucking scared me,” he hisses. He holds me so tight I realize just how scared he was. “I saw the wave cover you and then it collapsed before you resurfaced. When I didn’t see you come up right away, I about shit myself.”

  I let a cackle fly, kiss his chin, and break away to pick up my board languishing in the tide and wettest sand. My steps slow, the squishy ground sucking my feet down. It’s frustrating when you’re in a hurry, but I love the feeling. It’s grounding.

  “Who the hell pulled you out of the water, though?” he asks as I walk back. I don’t want to detect a tone of jealousy, but I kind of do. I squash the idea. It’s absurd.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “A kind Samaritan, I suppose. An Aussie, too.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yeah, you should stalk him down. Make friends,” I tease, nudging his side. “I know how you like your Aussie boyfriends.”

  “You are a funny girl.” He grins and wraps his arm around my shoulders. His hand slips down to my side and squeezes me in. I jump from the discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

  “Looks like I’m going to bruise there.” I point to my ribs where he pressed. “Just before I surfaced, I slammed into the rock. Didn’t think I hit so hard.”

  “Maybe we should get you X-rayed, just in case.”

  “It’s just a bruise, Nurse Foxy,” I say, punctuating it with an air kiss. “It doesn’t hurt to breathe or anything.”

  “If something changes you’ll tell me, yeah?” he asks, serious.

  I nod, warm at his concern. I feel like I should have known he was going to be a nurse when we were kids. He was always watching out for me. Fox really can be sweet.

  “In any case, ya need some work on the board, Fordham.” But he always manages to ruin it with his mouth.

  “I did good up until that point, though, didn’t I?”

  “Like a little kahuna. Better than all the other little kahunas,” he tells me. “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Grrrrreat!”

  “You’re a dumbass,” I say, but I’m laughing.

  He smiles, and I see more than I’m prepared to.

  The audience murmurings are really irritating and I resent them butting in with their opinions.

  It’s our last night in this gorgeous house that I would buy in a heartbeat if I had a dime. We decide to have dinner in town. As soon as we walk in, I see Zeke sitting at the bar by himself.

  “My savior!” I say, loud enough that he turns but hopefully not attract everyone in the joint.

  His responding smile is infectious and I walk up to him and give him a hug. He’s a little taken aback but he rolls with it.

  “Wow, good to see ya, love. Didn’t catch more in the water today, though, eh? I was hoping to seeing you back out there coming out on top.”

  He winks and that’s when Fox wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, how are ya?” he says. “I’m Fox and this is Jonah and Rae.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder at our friends.

  “Pleasure’s mine,” Zeke says, his accent particularly thick. It makes me smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fox eyeballing me.

  “Zeke is the guy who pulled me out of the water after my spill today,” I explain to Jonah and Rae. “I thought we might run into each other some more at Willow Creek, but here we are.” I turn back to Zeke. “You should join us.”

  I lightly elbow Fox in the ribs.

  Fox coughs and chimes in, “Yeah, definitely.”

  Zeke looks between the two of us quickly and then nods. “Sure. Sure, that’d be great.”

  On the way over to our table, Fox and I have an under-breath growly argument, which basically consists of me telling him to “b
e nice” and him playing stupid. I ask why he’s acting jealous, but we run out of time and privacy.

  “So where ya from, mate?” Fox asks, leaning back on our side of the booth. Yeah, he scooted me in first. Zeke takes the chair on the end of the booth. I look at Fox like he’s crazy.

  “What?” he asks, oblivious.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say, making it absolutely clear to anyone paying attention that it’s more than nothing. Well, nothing I’m going to say out loud, anyway. Later, I’ll tell him how idiotic it was that he adopted a bit of an Aussie accent. Fucker grew up primarily in California. His mom, Roz, is from New Zealand.

  It’s pretty awkward for a few beats longer. Finally, Zeke stops watching us like a tennis match and answers.

  “Brisbane, originally,” he says. “But I moved to the Gold Coast after university. Met a woman, had a good time, thought we were in love, all that. Follow her back to Los Angeles only to find out she’s married.”

  The entire table erupts in an off-key chorus of outrage. We’re legitimately aggrieved on his behalf, but he waves us off. It’s impressive how good-natured he is about it, though I suppose initially he’d have been hella pissed.

  “That’s fucked up. So she was married the whole time she was in Oz?” I ask.

  “Yup! It was her… shit, what did she call it?” he interrupts himself, trying to dig up the phrase, which Fox is all too keen to supply.

  “Hall pass.” He nods knowingly. I literally want to elbow him in the junk.

  “That’s it! Thank you. Anyway, she was a professor on holiday—em, a sabbatical, I guess. I don’t think she thought I’d really follow her.” He shakes his head and takes a long draw off his beer. “I don’t know how acting like we were something serious played into that, but I fell for it. Is what it is, I s’pose.”