A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (11 page)

A soft “Oh” vibrates against my chest as she gives a squeeze, and I nearly blow my load. She drags her palm up my length and says, “I want to see it.”

Maybe I can control minds.

I lose my boxers in record time, and she crawls over my body until she’s kneeling between my legs. She looks at my dick like she’s never seen a naked man before. “It’s big.”

Like I said, that Tic Tac nickname was just the snow in the pants. “You sure know how to compliment a guy.”

A shy grin sweeps across her face.

She continues her feathery touches over my thighs, tentative strokes that graze my balls, then she traces a line up my shaft. Jesus fucking Christ. Come dribbles from the tip, and she rubs it over my taut skin, still barely touching me, still driving me insane.

When she leans down for a taste, my eyes close involuntarily, and my abs tighten. “You don’t have to do this,” I say. My gruff voice disappears in her answering silence.

Then, “I want to. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

I open my eyes. Her hands are spread on my thighs, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her pink lips poised over my cock, and for the first time in my adult life, I don’t want a blow job. I want to be inside her, moving with her. Pressing my body against hers. But I’ll give her what she wants.

I nod, and she lowers her mouth. Her first few licks are tentative, her lips brushing my sensitive skin, then she rolls her tongue around the tip. There must be a god. A higher being granting miracles. Because:
mine, mine, mine
. Then she moans, like this is giving
her
pleasure. My dick twitches, inching toward her mouth. Heat and wetness circle me, and all brain flow ceases.

Lily.

Lily.

Lily.

Two syllables. That’s all I need.

She takes me into the back of her throat, one hand dragging up and down my shaft, the other pressing into the ridges of my abs. I watch her. Can’t take my eyes off her. Normally, I’d let my head drop back and get lost in the sensation, allow myself to imagine the woman between my legs as Lily. Always Lily. Now that she’s here, I refuse to blink.

Her pressure increases, and I grunt. “So fucking good.” I reach down and brush her hair aside. “So fucking perfect. Love seeing your lips around my cock.”

Mewling sounds escape as she moves faster, sucking me deeper, pushing me toward the edge. Her free hand digs into my abs. It almost hurts. Or maybe it’s the view. Watching her get me off hurts in unfamiliar places, my chest acting up again as heat fists my balls. The throb grows. She moves faster. My vision goes hazy. “I’m close. You don’t have to… ”

But she does.

One more pass, and I explode, my
fuck
s and
Lily
s and
Christ
s unintelligible as I spasm and grip the sheets while she swallows every drop.

Superpower wish: never-ending orgasms.

When I recover, she says, “Was it okay?”

Instead of answering, I flip her over, caging her between my arms and knees. I kiss her hard, keeping my body away from hers, teasing her with what’s to come. I plan to blow her mind the way she dismantled mine. “I’d use the word ‘amazing,’ but it’s not even close. Your turn.”

I pause, though. Our eyes lock, and my breathing halts.

Goddamn, this girl.

I grab the hem of her nightgown and guide the blue silk up, eyes on her face to make sure she’s okay with this. She sits up and lifts her arms. The fabric pools on the floor, and I watch, mesmerized, as she lies down. Her straight hair is haphazard over the sheets, her gray eyes heavy with lust, not a blemish on her creamy skin. Except for an unexpected birthmark low on her belly.

Sexy as hell.

I drag my hands over her tits, perfect handfuls, applying enough pressure but not too much. I circle her nipples, the pink buds tightening, then down, down, down. Lily is long and lean, slim in a waifish way, but not angular. Soft. Rounded. Perfect. I trace her hips, nearing the triangle of hair I’ll be visiting shortly. I stop above that golden patch. Her birthmark is there—light pink, strawberry-shaped, the size of a quarter. It’s smooth to the touch, just a discolored mark, but I get to see it. Touch it. Taste it. You’d have to be on intimate terms to know it exists.

I give it a lick, and I’m hard as steel again.

“Sawyer, please,” she whispers.

She doesn’t have to ask twice. “I suggest you hold on.”

Lips parted, she fists the sheets.

My mouth follows the path my fingers started. Jaw. Neck. Collarbone. Ribs. Those perfect tits. She tastes like salt and beach and summer, her body writhing beneath me as I take my time. Devotion isn’t quick business. It requires dedication. Fervor. Absolute commitment. I plan on graduating top of my class. When I finally make it to her beautiful, wet, hot pussy, she pushes her hips toward my face. “
Please.
I can’t wait.”

My first lick has her bucking. My second pass rips a moan from her chest. When I add my fingers to the party, she whimpers and tightens her legs around my shoulders. So damn wet and responsive. It’s not enough, though. Pleasuring Lily is one thing; I plan on shattering her world, culminating in the mother of all orgasms. I back off, then I take the center of all that is holy and suck until she calls my name. I ease off again, fingers curling into her, rocking to hit her sweet spot. More licking. More sucking. Her body is a taut wire, on the brink.

Time to test her limits.

I move my free hand under her ass, to that sexy-as-hell crease, working my fingers inside until I’m exactly where I want to be, covering all bases. Still licking her toward her release, I apply pressure. She freezes at the unfamiliar touch, an “Oh” followed by an “
Ooooh
” as I push my finger a bit farther. She presses into me, inhibition gone, and I bring it home.

Two more licks are all it takes. Her legs shake around me, her
God
s and
Sawyer
s music to my ears. Her convulsions last an eternity.

I press soft kisses everywhere, covering her thighs and belly, finishing with one over her birthmark. “Happy New Year.”

“That’s in four days,” she says between pants.

“Nope. Our year started today.”

She finally releases the sheets and rakes her fingers through my hair. “I like that. Happy New Year.” Then she says, “Maybe it’s because it’s been a while, but I’ve never felt anything that…amazing?” She laughs. “You’re right. That word doesn’t cut it.”

I’m about to bite her hip, but I pause. “What do you mean, a while? You only broke up with Kevin a month ago.”

I’m leaning over her, my dick hard and hoping for round two. She drags her fingers down my neck. “Kevin and I hadn’t been intimate since before Aspen. Almost a year. That’s partly why I was nervous about being with you. Not just because he’s been my only partner.”

I stare at her. And stare. And fucking stare.

I was sure she and Kevin were getting it on this whole time. It ate at me. When I saw them at the grand opening in Toronto and she kissed him, it cut deep. No matter how many women I took home, I couldn’t get the image of them together out of my head. Jealousy fueled my lust. Now she’s telling me her body hasn’t been touched since we met. She waited for me, and I made rabbits look celibate. I don’t deserve her, but I’ll take her anyway.

I’m past the point of walking away.

I kiss her hip one last time. “Looks like your dry spell has ended. I predict a rainy season. Monsoons. Hurricanes. I hope you’re prepared.”

We wash up again before crawling back under the sheets, her breaths slowing as she falls asleep. I should pass out like the dead, too. Lily’s curled into my side, I just had an epic orgasm, and we have five days of awesome to look forward to. But that seed of fear reappears, growing in proportion to my happiness.
I’m like Finn
, I remind myself. I won’t hurt her. I won’t wake up bored one day and ruin the people around me. I’m not my father.

We hurry to meet Tony and Jonathan on the dock for our morning excursion, the sun painting the whitecaps gold. They greet us warmly, and Tony raises a dubious eyebrow. “Have you been snorkeling before?”

I shake my head. “No. This will be my first time. But Sawyer’s been lots. Diving, too. You guys?”

He waves a hand emphatically. “That’s a definite no. Swimming in the ocean is about as appealing as walking by a lion’s den.
Jaws
didn’t do good things for me as a child. But Jonathan’s always wanted to go, so…” He winks at his husband, who smiles back.

They both look to be in their thirties. Jonathan is long and lanky, more than a head taller than Tony, all blond haired and blue eyed. Tony is swarthy, with enough body hair to knit a sweater. They make quite the pair.

“You guys will love it,” Sawyer says, his broad chest on display, his red swim trunks low on his hips. “There’s an entire world under there. Seriously. It’ll blow your minds.”

“Long as you don’t mind shark.”

We spin as our boat captain approaches. Unlike many locals, whose Mayan ancestry is evident in their straight black hair, small stature, and brown skin, this man is dark as night. His skin is so smooth he could be twenty, but the silver woven into his cropped wooly curls hints at maturity.

Tony nudges me. “Did he say ‘shark’?” Then to Jonathan, “Why did he say ‘shark’? You didn’t mention anything about sharks.”

Jonathan shrugs. “If I did, you wouldn’t have come. And they’re nurse sharks. They don’t even count.”

“Harmless,” Sawyer confirms. “They can grow to, like, nine feet, but they’re lazy suckers, usually lounging on the ocean floor.”

Our captain loads the small speedboat with a cooler and our snorkel gear, then he slaps on a ball cap. “I be Desmond. The water is me office, and I be your guide.” His accented words lilt like a reggae song, the rhythm not unlike the swell of the sea. “We start at Shark Ray Alley. Many beautiful fish and coral. We swim with the nurse shark and ray. Then we go to Caye Caulker for lunch. We have hour to be walking on the island. Then we stop at Hol Chan. Lot much more coral and fish. But”—he makes eye contact with each of us—“you pay attention in the water. Lot of people about. You stay close. The rest is fun time.”

Sawyer pats my bottom. “Fun time it is.”

Fun time was us lathering on sunscreen this morning. He spread the white cream over my breasts and down my belly, getting into the creases of my upper thighs. My hands roamed freely, too, over his backside and through the soft hair on his legs, exploring his powerful thighs. That V women dream about.

We might have to wear sunscreen all year round.

He helps me into the boat while Tony glares at Jonathan. “Swim
with
the sharks? Did he say
with
? This is the last time I let you book a vacation.”

The coral reef isn’t far from shore, and it runs parallel as far as the eye can see. Our boat bounces off waves as a fierce wind whips my hair around and pins my white cover-up to my body. Sawyer turns sideways on the bench seat and pulls me between his legs, wrapping me in his arms. “I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he says in my ear.

I burrow into his chest and lean my head on his shoulder. “Me neither.” Then, because we have our pact, I say, “You did things I didn’t know I’d like.”

When I woke up in the dark, curiosity and excitement dampened my nerves. I itched to see what Sawyer looked like, to taste him. Our pact incited my boldness, my busy fingers rousing him in more ways than one, and when he slipped his hand under my backside and pressed his finger into me, I came apart.

Dirty things.

What else will he teach me about myself?

He tightens his arms around me. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, Lil. It’s ridiculous. Last night was just the start.”

I glance at our day companions, and Tony winks at me. There’s no chance he can hear us above the roar of the boat and the slapping of the wind and waves, but he gives me a knowing smile. Instead of averting my eyes, I smile back.

His smile vanishes when we anchor.

We’re one of the first boats in the marine park, and the nurse sharks circle us in seconds. Desmond hands us our snorkel gear, and Sawyer helps me clean and fit my mask. Jonathan does the same for Tony, but Tony babbles the whole time. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. If I lose a limb, you’ll be doing the laundry and cooking, and I expect a lot of nursing. No pun on the sharks.”

Jonathan chuckles. “Deal.”

Sawyer practically bounces with excitement as Desmond removes the lid from his cooler. The fishy scent of chum blends with the pungency of the sea. Standing in my silly fins, I watch, mesmerized and terrified, as he tosses fish guts and spines into the water. The sharks swarm. Lithe bodies, the color of gray-brown river rock, crowd one another. Their heads are broad and flat, tiny eyes on either side, small mouths with sharp teeth searching for the food Desmond tosses.

Tony’s olive complexion pales to match mine.

“Can we jump in?” Sawyer asks Desmond.

“Yes, yes.” He nods as he tosses something pink and slimy into the feeding frenzy. “Stay to back of the boat.”

Tony looks ready to pass out, so I squeeze Sawyer’s arm. “You and Jonathan go ahead. I’ll wait with Tony until the feeding’s done. We’ll hop in after.”

He glances at our petrified friend, whose body is rigid with tension. “Good plan.” He kisses me on the lips, then smacks Jonathan’s shoulder, and the two of them slip over the far side of the boat. The side without the sharks.

“He’s insane. They’re insane,” Tony says.

Desmond keeps tossing in bloody bits of fish, and the boys plunge their faces into the water to watch. Sawyer swims closer to the action. And closer. Desmond tosses the chum toward him, enticing the sharks. Then Sawyer’s face pops up. “I’ve been bit.” He shoots a hand in the air like he’s won a gold medal, unmistakable blood dripping down his wrist. The man is grinning.

“Black grouper, not shark,” Desmond says, unaffected. Just a day at the office.

Tony’s practically apoplectic. “I’m not going in there.”

“Are you all right?” I call to Sawyer.

He gives me a thumbs-up with his good hand and shouts, “That was awesome,” like he’s five years old. By the time he brags about the incident to Nico and Kolton, the fish will be a great white he wrestled for an hour.

Desmond tosses the last of the chum into the water, then gears up and rolls overboard. I grab Tony’s hand. “We’re going together, okay? And look”—I point at the newest boat to anchor—“the sharks have gone to perform over there. They’re done with us.”

Mute, he waddles with me to the side of the boat. We sit on the edge, fins hanging overboard. “I won’t. I won’t. I won’t,” he chants as we link arms.

Then I say, “Now!”

We fall into the water like a couple of walruses, breaking the surface with a splash. Tony sputters and cranks his neck to look around. When he realizes the sharks are gone, he swims over to Jonathan. “You are so going down for this.”

“Sounds like fun, but I’ll save that for later.” I’m not sure what Jonathan does, but I’m guessing Tony’s reddening face has something to do with Jonathan’s hands under the surface.

“You are momentarily forgiven,” Tony replies.

The waves looked small from the boat, but they lick at my face with salty strokes. Sawyer kicks my way, and I make him hold up his injured hand while we tread water. Tiny gashes line the base of his palm, a few longer cuts on the top. Not life threatening, but I’m sure it stings. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Just a flesh wound,” he says in a funny voice.

“Do black grouper bites affect speech?”

He snorts. “It’s a Monty Python thing,” he says, like that explains everything. He flicks his head toward Desmond. “Shall we?”

We stick our snorkels in our mouths and join the group, all of us face first in the water. Desmond drags a life jacket behind him in case of emergency, and Sawyer sticks close to my side. The world below me enchants.

A school of fish expands and shrinks, darting left and right, their yellow and blue stripes dizzying. Safety in numbers. Two fish the color of my turquoise bikini swim in and out of the varied coral. Scraggly branches as intricate as snowflakes blanket the ocean floor, others blooming like prehistoric flowers. Brainlike bulbous mounds practically pulsate. If Tim Burton had created the world, I imagine it would look like this. Sawyer touches my elbow and points below, then he dives down and grabs a massive pink shell. He breaks the surface, blows the water from his snorkel, and points to the pink opening. Two long eyes stare back at me.

“Conch,” he says above the water. “People actually eat it. Nasty, if you ask me. But the shells are gorgeous.” He sticks his mouthpiece back in and returns the sea snail to its home.

As he swims up, a ray floats from the depths, its spotted wings moving like silk in a breeze. We follow Desmond a while, stopping every so often for him to point out a sea urchin or a dormant eel. Sawyer takes my hand, and we swim together, the water warm, the world below us spellbinding, like we’re guests at a magic show.

Back on the boat, we all talk at once, reliving the experience. Desmond passes Sawyer gauze to blot the cuts on top of his hand, a couple of gashes still bleeding. He flaunts them like a war wound.

Jonathan nudges Tony. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Tony huffs out a breath. “Fine. You were right. It was kind of amazing.
After
the sharks.”

Sawyer faces me and puts both hands on my shoulders. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…” He pauses and shakes his head, as if steeling himself to deliver bad news. “That mask left one hell of a mark on your face.”

I do my best to glare at him. “Me?
You
look like a raccoon.”

“A sexy raccoon, right?”

Ignoring him, I rub my face, my skin parched from the salt water and sun, my hair a matted mess. Tonight’s shower will feel amazing. I plop down on the cushioned bench, still in awe of our experience. “That was spectacular. I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t wait to go again this afternoon.”

Sawyer sits beside me. “I know. Blows me away every time, and it’s all so fragile. Climate change is likely to kill the whole damn ecosystem. Warmer water stresses the reef, bleaching the coral. It weakens, gets diseased, and dies off. The entire ocean suffers. One degree of change in the arctic affects everything. I shudder to think what we’ll have lost in twenty or thirty years. One degree of chaos.” He blots his hand, the cuts no longer seeping.

Other than design, I’ve never seen him so passionate about anything. Except for his car. And women. And maybe his comics. But this is intense for Sawyer. He’s mentioned how crushed he was when he couldn’t study marine biology like Finn, but seeing him so emotional, so connected to the sea, I realize how much it must have stung.

I slip my arm around his waist and kiss his neck. “Where did you learn all this stuff?”

He tugs me tight to his side. “My father’s always been a dick, and was barely around growing up, but he’d occasionally take Finn and me fishing. I was little, maybe six or seven, and he’d talk about the water. The ecosystem. It stuck, I guess. Then my mom took Finn and me on a couple of Caribbean vacations, and we got hooked on diving.”

His lips tighten the way they often do when he mentions his father. I let the memory settle as he sighs against me.

Desmond passes around some waters, and we all “cheers” our drinks.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Tony doesn’t apologize for his nosy question. He bounces his crossed leg, sunglasses perched on his nose, thick eyebrows raised.

Two freaking days.

The absurdity of the truth isn’t lost on me. He’ll think we met on the Internet, or through some sleazy mail-order bride scheme. The whole thing is preposterous.

As I prepare to deal with the scalding looks and questions, Sawyer says, “Nine months.”

He doesn’t look to me for approval. There’s no uncertainty in his voice. It’s a bold-faced lie, or a wish, maybe. He’s been with countless women since we’ve met, and I’ve lived with another man—things we could have done differently. But that’s in the past. Our choices have been made, our lives irrevocably changed, and I don’t need to pretend. I want to live in this moment and be with him, in every way a woman can be with a man.

I run my hand over Sawyer’s thigh and lean into his ear. “I want to have sex with you tonight.”

If I think it, I do it.
And I want to do
him
.

He freezes. His grip on my ribs tightens. “That can be arranged.”

We all chat a while longer, the boat listing, but the air between Sawyer and me sparks. He steals glances my way, his brown eyes dark with desire. Desmond takes us to Caye Caulker, and Sawyer folds me between his arms and legs for the ride, the whipping wind cooler after our swim. The heat between us practically dries my clothes.

The island is smaller than San Pedro, with a sleepier vibe. Travelers soak in the sun, reggae tunes playing from most of the restaurants. We eat with our group, sneaking small touches the whole while. Odd how one statement alters our reality; each brush is a prelude to tonight, every swipe of his hand a strike of lightning. We tour the town on our own, sweet kisses traded from time to time, his lips grazing my ear and neck. The anticipation builds with every second. We visit stores and street vendors, Sawyer trying on women’s hats for my amusement. He makes me put on a horrible headband, and we laugh at a carving of a large-breasted woman. Then we’re back on the boat.

The boys talk about our next snorkel expedition, but I don’t listen. The motor dissipates into white noise. The smacking of the boat on the water goes unnoticed. I glance back at the island, then at Sawyer, as realization sinks in: I didn’t buy or covet a single thing while we were there.

Normally, I invent stories in my head and plan which items to buy. My focus is divided between the person I’m with and the purchases I want to make.
Need
to make. With Sawyer, after our morning and my confession, my focus was on him and how my body feels when he’s near. Alive. Aching with desire. Nothing else matters. The awareness is overwhelming, freeing. Like I could float away.