A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  But we had the next best thing—amazing sex followed by long conversations in bed.

  “You know, if a man’s going to come out of a dry spell . . .” He dropped onto the mattress beside me one night. “He could do a lot worse than hook up with someone like you.”

  I laughed, lifting myself up on shaky arms. “I can’t imagine you being in a dry spell.”

  “It happens, believe me.” He slid his hand along my waist. “But hopefully that’s over for the time being.”

  “Oh, I think so.”

  He kissed me lightly. “I’m not looking to get involved with anybody, but this? This, I can handle.”

  “You and me both.”

  After we’d cooled down a bit, we pulled the sheets up over us and settled on the pillows. It seemed like hours went by, just lying there, talking about nothing and occasionally stopping to kiss for a little while.

  “Definitely glad I saw you at the office,” he murmured. “I would’ve been kicking myself for a long time for not getting a rematch with you.”

  I chuckled. “I’m glad you said something. I was thinking you were interested in more than this, and . . . I just . . .” I shook my head. “I’m not ready to go there, so I guess I balked and—”

  “It’s okay. I get you. I’m not a huge fan of relationships these days myself. There’s only so many times you can get burned before you say to hell with the whole thing.”

  I cocked my head. “That’s especially interesting coming from you.”

  “Why?” Then he laughed. “Because of what I do?”

  “Well, yeah. In fact, I’m curious about something. May be kind of personal.”

  “Shoot.” He shrugged. “You’re naked in my bed—personal is sort of par for the course at this point.”

  “Well, yeah. But I don’t necessarily want to kill the mood.”

  He grinned—cautiously, and yet at the same time devilishly—and ran a fingernail around my nipple. “Tell you what. If you start killing the mood, I’ll start sucking your dick, and that should bring the mood back to life.”

  I gulped. “We could always skip to that part . . .”

  He chuckled. “We’ll get there. After we both recharge a little.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I paused, shifting onto my side. “You seem like you’re not a fan of relationships, but you make your living helping people fix theirs. How does that work?”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to be enthusiastic about getting into one myself when all I see, day in and day out, is dysfunction.” He paused, then shook his head. “This line of work can really bring the cynic out of you, believe me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I went to my sister’s wedding a few years ago, and while everyone was giving their toasts, it was all I could do not to stand up and say, ‘Here’s to seeing you two in my office within the next two years.’”

  I laughed. “Wow. Yeah, just a bit cynical . . .”

  “Well.” He scowled. “That, and their relationship was pretty shitty, so it was hard as hell to sit there and watch them exchange vows.”

  “Are they still together?”

  “No. By their second anniversary, they were already up to their asses in a nasty custody battle.”

  I whistled. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Not that any of us were all that surprised.”

  “Do you think someone could have saved their relationship?”

  He shrugged. “No one but them.”

  “But . . . isn’t that what counselors are supposed to do?”

  He shook his head. “My job really isn’t to save marriages.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “It isn’t?”

  “No. My job is to facilitate communication. Yeah, I specialize in marriages and relationships, but a lot of couples who come to me just need someone to help them sort out the problems, figure out if there’s a relationship left, and if there isn’t, how to end it civilly. A lot of people don’t want to end it until they’ve exhausted all possible solutions. When they can unpack everything with a counselor, they feel less guilty. They can walk away feeling like they really did try and, most importantly, like they understand why it didn’t work.” He sighed. “I guess when you spend all your time focusing on how and why relationships are failing, it doesn’t do much for your enthusiasm about getting into one yourself.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “So I prefer this type of arrangement.” He draped his arm over me. “All the good stuff without any of the bullshit.”

  “Hmm, I do like the way you think.”

  “And if the sex starts losing its novelty, or we get bored,” he said with a shrug, “we can always move on and nobody gets hurt.”

  “Good point.” Though it was hard to imagine ever getting bored with the kind of sex we were currently having. I ran my fingers through his hair. “Speaking of sex, didn’t you say something about sucking my dick?”

  His lips pulled into a delicious smile. “Yes, I did.”

  “Is that offer only open if I kill the mood?”

  His hand drifted down my abs. “Not at all.” He kissed my neck as his fingertips brushed my balls, sending a shiver through me. “I’m off tomorrow, by the way.”

  “Are you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Me too. I’m not even on call tonight.”

  “I like the sound of that.” He kissed me lightly. “So if you want to sleep here . . .”

  “Not really.”

  He lifted his head and blinked.

  I grinned and pulled him closer. “I have no intention of sleeping anytime soon.”

  “Well, in that case . . .” Scott pushed me onto my back.

  No, we definitely weren’t sleeping anytime soon.

  Chapter 10

  A couple of weeks into this, I decided it was a safe bet that sooner or later I was going to get a speeding ticket en route from Anna’s place to Scott’s. The county cops weren’t exactly lurking behind every bush, and state patrol didn’t spend much time out here, but with the way I drove en route to him? I was asking for it.

  And I didn’t care. Knowing he was waiting in his condo, ready for the day is over—let’s fuck sex, I was chomping at the bit. The risk of a fine was well worth it if it meant I made it to Scott’s that much sooner. A hot, insatiable man with no interest in a relationship? Color me hooked.

  Tonight, as always, I parked outside his condo. As fast as I was walking on the way inside, even Anna wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me.

  Before I’d reached the front door, it flew open, and when Scott’s eyes met mine, electricity shot through me so hard I almost stumbled. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since we’d last fucked, but with one look, it was a miracle I had the presence of mind to not start tearing off clothes—his and mine—right there on the porch.

  He let me in and barely had the door closed before I had my hands on him. I pushed him up against the wall, brushed my lips across his, and then kissed my way down to his neck.

  “Fuck . . .” He tilted his head back, and at the same time, tugged my shirt free from my waistband. Already panting, he said, “Been looking forward to this all day.”

  “Me too,” I murmured against his neck.

  “I should start—” He wriggled as much as he could between me and the wall. “Think I should start keeping condoms in the living room.”

  “You should.” I lifted my head and kissed him. “Save us . . . save us all kinds of time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We can make do for now.” I started unzipping the front of his pants, and he moaned, biting his lips and squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ve been dying for this. A few more minutes to get to the bedroom won’t kill me.”

  “Minutes? Why would it take that long to—” He stopped when I went to my knees.

  “Oh fuck.” He exhaled as I gripped his hips in both hands and took his cock in my mouth. It didn’t matter how many times we’d hooked up before—I could have listened to him a
ll night. The way he moaned, whispered curses whenever he could find enough breath, how he sighed now and then like he was in heaven . . . I was surprised he didn’t turn me inside out. I did everything I could to make sure he was in heaven—deep-throating him, swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, tracing it along the underside, teasing his balls with my mouth and my fingers.

  “Don’t make me come yet,” he moaned, combing his fingers through my hair.

  “No, I won’t.” I looked up at him and licked my lips. “Because you’re on top tonight.” I squeezed his cock as I stroked him, and we both groaned. “I want—”

  “Bedroom. Before . . . oh, God . . .” He shivered. “Please let me fuck you.”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely . . .” And since I’m so turned on I can’t think straight.

  I stood and just had my feet under me before he hooked his fingers under my belt and started pulling me down the hall. Not that I resisted.

  Tempting as it was to grab him and kiss him as we stepped into his bedroom, I needed him naked, and I needed him naked now. Apparently we were on the same page—we’d barely made it through the door before he was peeling off his shirt. As quickly as we could, we threw off our clothes, and then he pulled a condom from the drawer. Oh yes. Cutting right to the chase. My kind of man.

  He tore the wrapper with his teeth. The shakiness in his hands as he put on the condom made my mouth water—I loved when he was this turned on.

  As he put on some lube, he said, “Lie back with your hips on the edge of the bed. So I can have more leverage.”

  “Not gonna argue with that.” I sat on the edge and lay back.

  He stood between my legs and ran his palms up and down my inner thighs. Our eyes met, and his grin made my dick even harder.

  Just like I hadn’t been when I’d fucked him the first time, he wasn’t in any hurry. He eased himself in, a fraction of an inch at a time, until he was moving fluidly in and out with no resistance. He was thick, and he felt amazing. Just enough stretch to make my eyes water, to pull my focus away from anything that wasn’t his slow, easy strokes.

  If there was one thing about him that was more addictive than anything else, though, it was his love of kissing.

  I lifted myself up and reached for him, and he got the message—as my hand curved around the back of his head, he was already on his way down to me. Our lips met. Jesus. His strokes slowed even more, until he was moving just enough to keep my whole body tingling, and his tongue slipped past my parted lips.

  Making out with him. Being fucked by him. His gorgeous body and striking salt-and-pepper hair. This was about a million fantasies come to life, and how in the world had I ever hesitated to return his text?

  Didn’t matter. I had him now. Every inch of him.

  He touched his forehead to mine. “You have any idea how hard it is to fuck you like this?”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean—” he kissed me again “—I get so . . . distracted.” He claimed my mouth, digging his fingers into my scalp as he forced my lips apart. “I want to fuck you, but I can’t stop kissing you.”

  I kissed him even harder. His hips stopped, and I wrapped my legs around him so he couldn’t move anyway. That didn’t stop him from trying—and my God, those sharp, shallow thrusts drove me wild—but he gave in to my kiss. His body slowed, then stopped, and I held him close. I was aware of him buried inside me, but so much more interested in his lips and tongue, in the coolness of his hair between my fingers.

  He touched his forehead to mine, rocking his hips ever so slightly as he breathlessly whispered, “You have no idea how much this gets me through my day.”

  I grinned against his lips. “Me too.”

  He kissed me again, and we were moving now, just enough to electrify all my sensitive nerve endings, but not enough to distract me from how much I loved making out with him. Touching him. Tasting him. Being beneath him, around him, as close to him as two men could get. I’d never wanted someone like I wanted him. This wasn’t solely the pursuit of an orgasm, but the desperate hunger for contact.

  Alarm jolted through me. Was I getting too close to him? Needing him in ways I had no business—

  Of course not. I was getting more than just sex, but that didn’t mean it was love or anything like that. I’d been starved of human affection for too fucking long, and Scott gave it. He gave it in spades. He fucked me like he was making love to me, kissed and held me like he actually cared. Maybe it wasn’t what casual lovers were supposed to do, but I needed it and wanted it, and he gave it, and I gave it back, and how the hell had I gone so long without this?

  Scott lifted himself up and met my eyes. Grinning, he nudged my thigh, and when I released him, he pulled out. “Bend over the bed.”

  Oh yes. Oh yes, please . . .

  I eased myself onto my feet, then turned around. This time he wasn’t so gentle—he shoved me up against the bed and forced himself back inside me, and I was in heaven. He held my hips so tight it hurt, and he pounded me so hard I thought he was going to fuck me right through the bed. My dick rubbed against the sheets in time with his dick slamming into me, and it was . . . and I was . . . and I couldn’t . . .

  “Fuck . . .” I let my head fall forward. Gripping the sheets like he gripped my hips, I squeezed my eyes shut and moaned. He swore under his breath, thrusting hard enough to hurt, and I just . . . surrendered. Completely. To him, and to the orgasm I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to, and as my toes dug into the carpet and my back arched beneath him, I held my breath, my head spinning faster and faster and faster, and then he cried out, and I was gone. He fucked me even harder now, his rhythm all over the place as he came, and then at the same moment, we both collapsed.

  “Oh my God,” he murmured into my hair.

  I couldn’t speak, but hopefully he took my whimper as a sound of agreement.

  After a moment, he kissed the back of my neck. He slowly pulled out, and we both staggered upright. Cleaning up was a challenge, especially since my legs were suddenly a bit foggy on the concept of “not crumpling out from under me,” but I managed.

  Scott kissed me, then met my eyes, and that grin melted my knees the rest of the way. “Be right back,” he whispered. “Just . . .” He nodded toward the bed. “Relax.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I lay back on the sheets.

  He disappeared into the bathroom, and I stared at the ceiling, my whole body tingling and throbbing and still shaking a little. In the back of my mind, I wondered again if we were getting too close. If the sex we were having was a red flag that the intimacy was deeper than it should’ve been. This definitely wasn’t the kind of sex I’d had with other men. When I wasn’t in Scott’s bed, my skin crawled with the need to feel his. My body physically itched with the absence of his chest against mine, his hands drifting all over me, his lips teasing . . .

  I shivered, squirming on top of the sheets. Obviously this was just the novelty of having finally met my match in the bedroom. He satisfied me like no one else ever had, and he never gave me any reason to believe he was just going through the motions. He seemed to want me.

  This was what I’d fantasized about my whole life. We had the kind of sex I’d jerked off to for years. The kind of sex I’d guiltily imagined while I’d tried my damnedest to satisfy my wife. This wasn’t love or a sign we were getting too close—it was a man cashing in a lifetime of sexual karma. Nothing more.

  Scott returned, drying his hands on a small towel as he crossed the room. He put the towel aside and dropped onto the bed beside me. “If we keep doing this,” he said, “I’m not going to be able to walk.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Eh. Worth it.”

  “Agreed.”

  We exchanged glances and laughed. He lifted himself up, kissed me softly, and then rested his head on my chest. The warmth of his skin brought a soft sigh from my lips, especially as he draped his arm across me. I wrapped mine around
his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

  No, I wasn’t falling in love.

  No, I wasn’t getting too close to him.

  But I could definitely get used to this.

  Chapter 11

  Though we’d set out to have sex and nothing else, bedrooms got claustrophobic after a while. And of course, we got hungry sometimes. We ordered takeout a few times, but that rather quickly evolved into going out and finding real food. Before long, if we both had a day off, we spent it together. Maybe if we were still in our twenties and could fuck nonstop without keeling over, we’d have stayed in bed from dawn till dusk, but those days were over. And I had to admit, as much as I was loath to date, I did enjoy getting out of his place or mine in the name of eating something that wasn’t delivered by a high school kid.

  At first, it was Bluewater Bay’s local cuisine. Then we started meandering farther, out toward Port Angeles and beyond. One Saturday, we found ourselves in Sequim, where we happened across the most amazing Thai restaurant.

  After a light lunch, we stepped outside into a beautiful afternoon. It seemed a shame to let sunshine like that go to waste, so we wandered down toward the water and onto the beach. Following the strip of sand dividing the thick trees from the Strait of Juan de Fuca, we strolled in comfortable silence.

  As we followed the damp sand, just beyond the reach of the gently lapping tide, I took in a deep breath through my nose. Salt mixed with pine needles and tree sap, without a trace of the sour smog I’d gotten used to tasting in LA.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Scott asked.

  “It really is. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised by the beaches up here.”

  “Yeah?” He glanced at me. “Why’s that?”

  “They’re a lot prettier than the ones in SoCal. Less crowded too.” I gazed around, taking in the scenery, amazed we had it all to ourselves. “When I moved up here, I thought it was going to be gray and miserable. I’m definitely happy to be wrong.”