by Frankie Love
My parents stare at me in shock. Apparently, I’ve never spoken up like this before.
And why? Why haven’t I?
I love playing the cello. I want this dream as badly as they do. But instead of becoming better... the older I get, the less spectacular my performances have become.
“Playing the cello professionally might not happen. Did you ever think about that?” I ask, grabbing my purse and jacket from the breakfast table. “And then what?”
“Practicing is the only way you’ll get what you want.” My father’s eyes narrow. “This is your entire life. We only push you because you’ve asked us to.”
“The pressure is getting to me. I feel like I can’t breathe.”
Truth is, I’m scared I am going to fail this next audition too. Eventually, I’m going to have to let this dream die.
And when that happens, the sad truth is... I’ll have nothing.
I’ve spent my life so focused, so reliant on my mom and dad, that without the cello, I’ve got nothing going for me.
I need to step away from everything for a day and think about what I want.
Think about who I want to be.
Because cello or not, it doesn’t feel like enough anymore.
Taking a deep breath, I know I need to get away from all this noise and clear my head.
“I’m going on a fishing excursion today. Alone.”
Anna’s fiancé Donavan smirks at what he probably considers a tantrum.
“Alice, you don’t know the first thing about fishing,” Donavan states.
Wow. Real rocket scientist that one.
“And Peter is a good guy,” he adds. “You don’t even give him a chance.”
My eyes widen. I have so given Peter plenty of chances. The fact that he ruins them every time he opens mouth isn’t my problem.
Speaking each syllable as clearly as possible, “I am not interested in Peter.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I just walk out of the breakfast hall and sign up for the excursion.
Apparently, the boat taking guests to the fishing marina has already left, but they get me a water taxi, telling me I still might make it in time.
I don’t. The boat pulled out fifteen minutes before I arrived at the marina. My hair is windswept from the taxi ride, the salt air filling my lungs and giving me the perspective I need. It can be so easy to get stuck in my own little bubble--but here in this wide open space--I’m reminded that the world is so big. So beautiful.
So full of possibility.
It’s okay that the trip already left. Standing on this dock in the middle of nowhere, I realize I don’t need an excursion, not really. None of this is about fishing--it’s about getting a breath of fresh air.
And so at this random marina, I find myself free for the first time in recent memory.
In fact, maybe this is better that the fishing trip. I don’t need to return to the ship until 8 tonight. That means I have an entire day where I can do and be anything I want.
And this is a beautiful marina. There are so many fishing boats, birds sweeping low into the water to get their morning catch, and even seals flipping themselves around playfully. Sighting a pair of seals, I lean over to get a better look.
As I stand, I see a sleek fishing boat pulling into a slip. The driver has a thick beard and piercing eyes. His dog starts barking, and he calls for him to quiet down, reaching across the boat and grabbing a rope to secure it in the slip. As he moves, his shirt rides up and I see a sliver of skin that makes me lose focus. You can tell he’s chiseled, broad-shouldered and all man.
Nothing like the Peter Gunheight-accountants of the world or the rail-thin musicians in Seattle I’m usually around.
Suddenly his dog jumps overboard and starts barreling toward me on the wooden dock. So caught off guard, I lose my footing in these stupid yellow rain boots I wore. I try to gain back my balance—but it’s too late.
Into the ice cold ocean, I go.
The dog barks loudly, and I flap my arms, trying to keep my head up, but the shock of the fall takes my breath away. My chest seizes. The water is so cold I’m terrified to blink—this entire life could be gone in an instant and I’m scared to close my eyes and miss my last moments on earth. It’s as if a boa constrictor is tightening around my chest and every muscle hurts.
Then, as if by miracle, a man twice the size of Peter jumps in and grabs hold of my waist, pulling me up.
He literally saves me from drowning. He flings me onto the dock as if I don’t weigh a thing. I sit down in a puddle, shaking and shivering; then I look up at him.
This burly man has a thick beard, muscles outlined fiercely through his soaked clothing, but his eyes look just like mine.
Full of longing.
They are crystal-clear, with a gaze that shoots straight to my heart.
Without asking much, he picks me up, insisting I dry off, and carries me below deck on his boat. I try to absorb the shock of what’s happening, but I have to focuse on breathing and can’t exactly think this through.
I’m alone with this man, a man who could potentially hurt me, kill me. Who knows what with me.
I try to think straight, but I can’t. It’s like my head went below the surface of the water and all the intensity of my upcoming audition and the demands of my family just... slipped away.
He kneels before me and slips off my boots because I’m too cold and shaking to do it myself.
He holds my ankle so tenderly that when he gently rolls off my sock, I know he would never hurt me.
No. This man would never put me in harm’s way.
And I’m not saying he wouldn’t hurt a fly. With eyes like that and a body like his, I’m sure he’s hurt a lot of people and broken even more hearts,
But I know without him saying it, that he would never do that to me.
The cruise ship and the rocky morning with my family feel a million miles away.
Right now, I am here. With him. A stranger.
He is what I need.
I said I needed a chance to clear my head... to decide what I really want.
And within minutes he is clearing everything up for me.
Everything is as clear as the Alaskan sky.
“Let me help you out of this, okay? I can’t have you catching a cold,” he says gently.
I trust him, knowing he is right about these drenched clothes. And don’t hesitate when he finds the hem of my sweater and lifts it over my head. He sucks in a deep breath of air at the sight of me half undressed on his bed.
I forget to breathe too but then am forced to inhale sharply for fear of passing out.
“I need to get you out of the rest of these clothes or you’ll freeze to death.” His voice is low and gravelly. He doesn’t mince his words ... and he doesn’t need to.
Right now, for the first time in my life, I want to be stripped of my clothes too.
I nod ever so slowly because I don’t trust myself to speak.
What would I say to him anyways? Everything I might say would feel foolish and inconsequential. He is such a man and I am still such a little girl.
He reaches for my hand and helps me stand, and then pulls down my pants, tossing them next to my sweater.
I know he is just trying to keep me from getting hypothermia, but when his hand gripped mine... I think I felt something more from him.
Something electric.
I want this to turn into something more. I’ve waited my entire life for a moment like this.
I don’t want to wait anymore.
I’m in my panties and bra, my wet hair dripping on my skin. He reaches for a thick wool blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. I look around the cabin of his boat. It is simple but well cared for, and I can see from this man’s face that he lives outdoors, his face is ruddy with the sky and the sea. There is a passion in his eyes; the kind of passion I have always been looking for in another person.
The kind of passion I feel when I play.
“Here
you go,” he says. “This will warm you up.” His hands are firm against me as he pulls the blanket tight against my still wet skin, drying me off. Once I’m wrapped in the blanket he tells me to sit back down on the bed.
I do as I’m told.
I watch as he removes his own soaking wet clothing. First a flannel shirt, one button at a time. When he leans over and tosses it aside, next to my wet clothing, I see more than tattoos and muscles; I see a man ripped, chiseled. A man carved from stone.
He pulls down the zipper of his pants and strips himself from his soaked jeans.
Before me is a man in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. A deep V leads to his groin, a thin line of hair reaching his belly button. He turns around, and his rear end is as defined as any I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve ever been this close and personal to anyone’s backside.
With his butt to me, he pulls off his boxers, and I am bearing witness to the first naked ass I seen in my life. I’m shivering and cold, yet somehow my pussy is wet. This man is rock hard and naked.
I blink, squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see what isn’t mine to have.
But I’ve imagined.
I’ve seen pictures.
And he didn’t ask me to look away...
I open my eyes, needing to see more. I whimper, ever so quietly.
Nothing compares to real life.
“What’s your name?” he asks. Reaching for a towel, he wraps it around his waist. As he turns back to me I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest.
This man wears nothing but a towel.
This man who is a stranger.
This man saved my life.
This man is looking at me and asking me a question. I force myself to speak.
“I’m Alice,” I tell him.
He smiles. Oh, that smile. It could slay dragons. It could stop traffic. It could get a girl like me in a lot of trouble.
“In Wonderland, though,” he says. “I think you fall into a hole, not into the ocean.” He surprises me with his reference to a childhood storybook. He looks much too tough to know anything about Mad Hatters.
“In the book,” I tell him, “Alice has a happily ever after: she’s saved by the Cheshire cat. Just like me. I guess I got a happily ever after, too. My parents wanted to take me on a really expensive excursion today, but I’m tired of that commercial stuff. I wanted to just catch some fish and see the ocean for a while.” I smile at him. “Looks like I got what I wanted.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “I get that, so many people only care about material bullshit.”
“But not you?” I ask.
The stranger shakes his head. “Not me.”
“Me either. I think people who throw caution to the wind and chase their own dreams, no matter how big or small… those are the people I understand.”
“You’re a dreamer?” he asks.
I nod. “I’d call myself romanticist… like I said, happily-ever-afters and all that,” I say smiling wider now, feeling so safe in this cabin.
His dog bounds through the doggy door. Immediately he comes over to me, where I sit nearly naked and he nuzzles against my legs.
The warm welcome from the dog seems to melt the heart of this rugged man before me. “Chum likes you, Alice.”
“I like him too,” I say, rubbing Chum’s back. “Even though he almost drowned me.”
He focuses on his dog before telling him to get out and leave us alone. “You know Alice; I don’t think your happily ever after is ending up on this dock.”
“It isn’t?” I ask.
He looks at me with an intensity I can’t help but match. I suddenly want to stay below deck with him all day long. I want him to prove that I am not a little girl. I want him to make me a woman.
“At least,” he says with a smile, “it doesn’t have to be.”
I bite my bottom lip… knowing how I want this story to end. I want to get everything I ever dreamed of having.
“How do you suggest we change the ending?” I ask, lowering my chin and raising my eyes.
“Depends on how much of an adventure you’re looking for, Alice.”
A smile spreads across my face. If I really want this… I need to let him know what I have in mind.
“I want a big adventure.”
He cocks an eyebrow, his fingers on the towel. We both know what is underneath.
“How big?” He looks down at his groin. “Because this adventure is pretty damn huge.”
He’s flirting with me. This sexy, wild, untamed man is flirting with me. Alice. Alice the cellist who has never had anything between her legs but an instrument.
And not like at band camp.
Nothing kinky… nothing even scandalous.
Nothing like this.
“Show me.”
He steps toward me. The cabin is suddenly as hot as a furnace, my body no longer shivering.
Now I am trembling.
“I’ll give you an ending, Alice, but first we need a beginning.” His eyes shine in desire and it makes me feel beautiful and wanted. Feelings I have never experienced before.
“Then let’s start the story,” I tell him, taking hold of my life just like I wanted.
He drops his towel, looking down at his cock... and my eyes follow his.
Oh, my holy hotness.
“This, Alice, won’t be a story. This will be a fucking fairy tale.”
Chapter Three
The blanket is pulled tight around her, the only thing bared to me is her neck and beautiful heart-shaped face.
But I already saw the rest, most of it anyways. When I took off her shirt and pants, I saw her creamy skin, perfect and untouched. There’s something about her petite figure, her big eyes--deep pools of unfulfilled wishes--that drew me to her instantly. And then when she speaks about not caring about material possessions, I know she’s someone special. But when Chum gave her a hearty hello, I know I’m fucking falling.
I’ve heard her speak only a handful of words, but they were enough for me to know she isn’t fiery spitball who is hell bent on getting her way.
No, she needs someone to help guide her to where she wants to go.
For today at least, I can be that someone.
With my towel dropped to the floor, my stiff cock is eager. All it took was one look at her beautiful face to warm up to the idea of a day-long sex marathon.
It’s been a hell of a long time since I had a perfect pussy. And I’m not going to waste this opportunity.
I reach over and crank up the thermostat. That will make this place a sauna, a fucking hot box with one purpose. We’ll get fucking high on one another. We’ll be so high we’ll float right out of here.
Her eyes are wide her now, looking at my bare body, but I know she likes what she sees. She bites her bottom lip, and when she adjusts her legs that are tucked up under her, she loses her grip on the blanket that covers her shoulders.
I’m not sure if that was intentional or not, but she doesn’t reach for it, doesn’t attempt to pull it back over herself, and I don’t help.
No, this is just how I want her. In the warming room, she sits in her wet panties and bra, looking like a mermaid just washed up on shore. And she’s looking at me with a hunger. The hunger that a woman has when she’s never tasted what she craves.
“What’s your name?” she asks. “I feel like before we...” She shakes her head, her words trailing off. “I just wondered what your name was us all.”
I can’t help but grin again, loving the hints she’s giving me, but I can tell she’s too shy to say it outright.
I have a few ideas of how I can finish her sentence.
Before we fuck.
Before I fill her with all I’ve got to give.
Before I take her hard and slow and nice and easy.
“I’m Aiden,” I tell her, not wanting to scare her away with my dirty ideas. “Would you like to shake my hand?” I raise an eyebrow, the grin unable to wash itself away.
She doesn
’t answer, but she does offer me her hand, and when I take it, what I feel is electric. Her hand is so small in mine, but size doesn’t matter in this case.
I like the idea of being with a woman fragile like this, a woman who needs me to keep her in one piece.
“You like what you see?” I ask her.
“I do. I just never...” She shakes her head, heat rising to her cheeks and I love getting her worked up.
“You’ve never been face-to-face with a cock?”
She shakes her head. “Never.”
“That means –?”
“Yes. I’m a virgin, which means I haven’t had a lot of experience with men. Any, really. But I’ve thought about it, plenty.” Her eyes aren’t on mine. They’re on my steel rod.
I run my hand up and down my shaft, wanting it to grow, wanting to tempt her even more. Even though the mere idea that this nearly drowned woman is half naked in my bed, and a virgin no less, is gonna make me come so fucking fast.
“That’s good,” I tell her. “It’s a good thing you’re a virgin, and it’s a good thing I was the one who saved your life. It would be a fucking tragedy if you’d been saved by some asshole who thinks he knows what it means to be a man.”
“And you know. You know what it means.”
She’s not asking a question.
She’s making a statement.
“Damn straight,” I tell her, pulling her close, close enough so my cock touches her bare belly, close enough so her eyes are forced to meet mine when she decides what she wants to have happen next.
“I want you,” she says, her voice small. “I want you to make a woman out of me.”
I growl, realizing my fantasy is coming fucking true. An innocent woman needing me.
I’ll make her need me all right.
I’ll make her moan for me, come for me.
I’ll make her cunt beg for more.
“I’m twenty-one. I can make my own decisions.” Her words are strong, I can tell from her inflection that she doubts her ability to make her own choices.
But I don’t doubt her at all. A woman like this, she knows what she wants. She’s just never had the opportunity to take it.
Because she’s never met me.
“I’m thirty,” I say stepping toward her. “And this is the best decision I’ve made in a long time.”
