Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) (6 page)

              Sage chuckled and quickly polished off her meal. She hadn’t wanted company but, now that she had it, suddenly craved it. “Can’t you have some?” Sage asked, pushing half of it away.

              Heather sighed. “You finish that,” she scolded, but Sage had had enough. “Doggy bag?”

              Sage chuckled, looking around the empty deck. “Don’t you have any other tables to psycho-analyze?” she teased.

              Heather shrugged. “They cut me half an hour ago,” she said. “I’m just killing time.”

              “Oh no,” said Sage, reaching for her knapsack purse. “Let me pay you…”

              Heather stilled her hand. “I’ve got another hour before the babysitter expects me anyway,” she explained, “and I’ve prepaid, so… you’re doing me a favor keeping me company.”

              “So if you’re off,” Sage said, pushing the plate closer to Heather. “You can finish that for me.”

              Heather chuckled and, looking guilty, dug in. Sage sipped her drink and watched her eat, realizing how little you could tell from a person’s appearance. Here she had thought Heather was just another college kid, waiting tables in between classes, but she had a young boy waiting on her at home, and a broken heart of her own.

              Heather finished, wiped her lips and stood, silently, taking the plate away. The sky was dark now, the reggae band on the stage inside blaring every time someone opened the door to bring food out to the deck. When Heather returned, she had two margaritas – one for each of them.

              “On the house,” she said, sliding Sage’s in front of her. “For putting up with me.”

              Sage chuckled as they clinked glasses. “I thought I wanted to be alone tonight,” she said. “But what I actually wanted was a diversion. So, I owe you one.”

              “Well, we’re even, because you just fed me!”

              “I’m Sage,” by the way.

              “I know,” Heather said, jerking a thumb toward the bar. “Chip, behind the bar, told me when you sat down. Says you’ve got the best spy books in town.”

              “I’ve got the
only
spy books in town,” Sage corrected her.

              “So, he’s technically accurate then?”

              Sage chuckled, softly, sipping her fresh drink. A crescent moon loomed high above the ocean, the night cloudless, the waves soft and fizzing with each tug and pull.

              “So… Derek, huh?” Heather asked, a mirthful smile on her face.

              “Yup,” Sage sighed. “Well, for a quick minute, I suppose.”

              “Best kind,” Heather chuckled knowingly.

              Sage, for once, could agree. “Thing about Derek, though,” she said, glancing back at the pretty young waitress. “I knew better.”

              “Why do you say that?”

              “Look at me,” she said.

              “Uh huh,” Heather said, not budging. “Why do you say that? You’re beautiful, surfer chick.”

              “I’m old,” Sage groaned.

              “How old?”

              “Thirty-two,” Sage confessed.

              “And? What’s the problem. Derek’s no kid, either.”

              “
Twenty
-two.”

              Heather made “shivery fingers” and chuckled. “What is this, the 50s? Ten years is nothing anymore, and you’re as hot as any surf bunny out there, trust me. If something happened with Derek, or didn’t happen, it wasn’t because of your age, or your looks, that I can guarantee.”

              “Me too,” said Derek, appearing behind Heather like an apparition.

              Derek stood, awkwardly, chagrined, as the waitress turned to smile. “Aren’t you…?” he said, snapping his fingers. “Heather, right? I have your son Chad in my surf camp.”

              She stood and he waved a hand. “No, no,” he said, catching Sage peering up at him, eyes soft, hurt and wounded. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

              “You weren’t,” said Heather, winking back at Sage. “Besides, my babysitter will be calling any minute, checking on me. Thanks for the talk,” she said, turning back to Sage. As she left the table, Heather turned to squeeze Sage’s hand.

              She turned, winking at Derek and wagging a “bad boy” finger at him as she left the deck. “This seat taken?” he asked, turning back to Sage.

              She shook her head, still not having said a word. A waiter appeared, middle-aged and sounding rushed. “Guess I’ll be taking over for Heather?” he asked, sounding put out.

              She held up her drink and spoke for the first time. “I’m okay,” she said, to the waiter. Then, to Derek, “Want anything?”
              “That looks good,” he said, nodding toward Sage’s margarita. The waiter nodded and left, silently.

              Derek sat back, in his chair, shaking his head. “It’s not like you, bailing on one of my talks like that,” he finally said.

              Sage nodded, clucking her tongue. “Two’s company,” she said, voice sounding hurt as she avoided his eyes. “Three’s a crowd.”

              “That’s just it,” he said, leaning forward. “I didn’t bring company. That chick… that chick…”

              “That
chick
,” Sage said, a fire in her eyes, leaning forward as well. “That chick is who you should be with, Derek. Not an old cow like me.”

              He shook his head, a rare ire growing in his belly. “First of all, Sage, you need to stop talking about yourself like that. I don’t know what, or who, hurt you in the past, but I’m with you because I’m attracted to you; all of you.”

              He peered at her, hot as anyone half her age, in her cuddly white hoodie and pink ball cap, long legs capped by a lushly clingy bikini bottom. “And even if you were an old cow, Sage, if I committed to you, I’d stick by you, because I’m not that guy.”

              “Then who was that girl?” she croaked, peering back at him – really looking at him – for the very first time.

              “Some blogger, Sage. She conned my editor into profiling me for some blog she writes, and I guess it’s got a lot of subscribers and could be good for sales and… maybe if you hadn’t stormed off without letting me explain, I might have been able to tell you all that.”

              She shook her head, chuckling and crying, just a little. He let her. She was strong, he knew that, but vulnerable as well. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “I’m just…” She threw up her hands, shook her head, flustered. He sat there, sipping his drink, letting her find her rhythm – and her words. “It’s been so long since someone’s shown an interest in me, Derek, I…”

              “That’s their loss, Sage,” he said, meaning every word. “And shame on them for letting you go to waste.”

              She shook her head. “Why?” she asked. “What… what is this all about?”

              He put his drink down, peering back at her. “This is about you and me, Sage,” he said. “But I can’t keep trying to convince you that you’re young enough, or good enough, or whatever it is you think you’re
not
enough. I want to be with you, for as long as I can. If you want that, too, I can promise you that’s all this is about.”

              She was silent, prompting him to ask, “So, what do you say?”

              Sage chuckled, tossing down a few bills on the table and standing, reaching for her purse. “Your place or mine?”

              “I’ve always wanted to say that,” Sage said, clutching Derek’s hand as they left the restaurant.

              He chuckled. “I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me.”

              “I bet,” she said, squeezing tight.

              She felt so light and breezy, her limbs limber but sore after the long surf session, her spirits lifted by the margaritas, her heart light after the talk with Derek.

              “Where did you go, anyway?” he asked as they waited to cross the street.

              “You mean when I left your talk?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Surfing,” she said, giggling playfully as she realized she was still in her bikini.

              “No shit,” he said, as the light turned.

              “No. Shit.”

              “I love that,” he chuckled, bypassing his place without even pausing.

              “So… my place?” she asked.

              “Do you mind?” he said, sounding vaguely perturbed. “My editor said that blogger chick could stay with me and, well… I didn’t have time to book her a room somewhere else before my seminar tonight.”

              She tugged him closer, charmed by the thought that, instead of hurting her feelings for another minute, he’d get the young woman a hotel room. “I have a spare room across the hall from mine,” she suggested.

              “Will your landlord mind?” he asked.

              She paused in the middle of the sidewalk, chucking him playfully on the arm. “It’s my building, Derek. I’m the landlord. She can stay if she wants. It’s furnished. I rent it out during peak season and there are a few regular folks who come visit Seaside every year, but it’ll be vacant for the next few weeks, if that’s long enough?”

              He peered at her, the sidewalk empty, the night late, the moonlight high overhead soft on his face. “Will wonders never cease?” he marveled, leaning down to kiss her. Right there. In the street. Two stores down from Sequels. “I’m dating a commercial property owner.”

              She chuckled, pushing him away. They walked a few steps, still clinging to each other’s hands, before she paused again. “Is that what we’re doing, Derek?” she asked, pulling him close. “Dating?”

              “What do you call it?”

              She tugged him closer. “Robbing the cradle.”

              He groaned as they shuffled toward the steps leading up to her loft apartment above the store. Part of her yearned to check the door, just once, to make sure Fiona had locked up tight for the evening. The other part of her wanted to ignore that part, and race upstairs as fast as she could.

              For once, that’s the part she listened to.

              Her apartment was, thankfully, clean, but she couldn’t have cared less. He reached for the light switch and, instead, she stilled his hand and reached for the lighter in the little pumpkin dish on the wicker foyer table. “Light whatever candles you find,” she said, slipping toward the fridge. She heard the lighter flicking as she grabbed two beers, peering briefly at her reflection in the oval mirror above the living room couch as she returned.

              She wanted to change, and yet there was that other part of her that wanted to recreate the other day: her bikini wet, her skin salty and sunburned, her limbs already sore even before they began.

              “Jesus,” he said, taking his beer and peering back at her. “You’re beautiful, Sage. I don’t know how you can possibly be insecure.”

              “Stop it,” she said, sipping her beer, if only for something to do with her hands. “I don’t want to talk anymore, Derek,” she blurted, suddenly realizing the truth for herself. “At least, not with our mouths.”

              He chuckled, guzzling his beer, as if to catch up with her. “Well,” she amended her proclamation, “I mean, a little with our mouths. Maybe, but not talking, talking, you know?”
              He put his beer down, and reached for hers, both resting side by side on the kitchen counter. She started to talk and he slid a long, warm finger along her lips. “No more talking, remember?” he said.

              Feeling mischievous, Sage opened her mouth and lured his finger inside, with a little help from her tongue. He gasped, gently, then smiled crookedly as she took the finger deeper in her mouth, breathing through her nose as her warm lips and urgent tongue embraced his long, tender digit. Her lips clung to his salty young skin, enrobing it tightly as she sucked it long and deep.

              The sensation felt vaguely wicked, and 100% sexy, but Derek didn’t seem to mind. Indeed, as he whimpered, gently, and his eyes closed halfway, she could feel his excitement rising.

              And then, as if feeling tricked, he gently slid his finger from her mouth and wagged it, “No, no, no,” in front of her face. She smirked, wickedly, as they stood there in her living room. It was spacious and sparsely furnished, Sage a big proponent of the “less is more” approach to home decorating.

              He reached for the zipper of her baggy hoodie and, gently, tugged it down, every “zip” sound making her shiver until, at last, it slid open and he helped her shrug out of it. She was just in her bikini then, still salty and warm from the midday sun as the sea breeze crept in through her open windows, fluttering her off-white curtains with little butterflies all over them.

              He reached behind her and, gently, knowingly, undid the back of her bikini with a single tug on the knot between her shoulder blades. With lightning fast reflexes, Sage reached up and covered her breasts, keeping the top in place.

“You, too,” she croaked, throat hoarse with desire as she nodded at his long, impossibly lean body.

              He nodded and, briskly, unbuttoned the crisp denim shirt he’d worn to give his talk that night. Then he slid it off his lean, hairless torso, letting it join her hoodie at their feet. She nodded, playfully, but persistently, toward his pants. He smirked, unbuckling his leather belt before unzipping his pleated khaki pants and, after kicking off his dressy loafers, stepping out of them as well.

              He stood, before her, a work of young, glistening art, bearing only a black pair of boxer briefs that fit him like a second skin, clinging to his package in a most enticing way. Already his thickening girth pressed the front panel away from his flat stomach and she giggled, sighing as he reached for her top again.

              This time she inched her hands back as, gently, he tugged the bikini away from her ripe, tender breasts. He didn’t touch her yet, dragging out the anticipation until she fairly squirmed with desire. And, somehow, it felt just right; the wanting, the waiting, the writhing and the whimpering as he studied her body with an approving smile.

              He inched a little closer, kneeling softly in front of her and, gently, tugging the bikini bottom from her hips. It gave slowly, almost reluctantly, until he dragged it over her hips and down her legs. She stood naked before him then, skin sun-kissed and salty, bare and happy to be so beneath his youthful gaze.

              He marveled at her body; she could see it in his eyes, the flickering candlelight dancing across her naked skin, as he licked his lips and gently reached around behind her to clasp his big, warm hands against her buttocks.

              She sighed at the touch, so soft yet insistent, as he dragged her closer still. He kissed her ginger strip of pubic hair, peppering it gently with both lips before jutting out a tongue to writhe along her throbbing pink bud. The sensation was both gentle and shocking, a delicious blend of hot and cool as she shivered with delight.

She whimpered and slid her hands atop his head, rubbing her trembling fingers through his stubbly surfer hair as he gradually aroused her until she was panting, pressing herself firmly against his expert tongue, his hands gently kneading her tender ass cheeks as he slid her up and down his firm, gliding tongue.

              A light sheen of sweat covered her body as, at last, she pushed him away. “I want this to last,” she croaked, dragging him to his feet and kneeling before him at the same time. “I want to enjoy every moment of this.”

              Apparently, Derek already was! He was rock hard, stiff and towering as Sage tenderly dragged the briefs away from his trembling pelvis, tugging them down gently, slowly as he breathed, heavily, above her. She gripped the base of his cock with one hand while, greedily, kissing the tip with moist, wet lips that soon slid around the crown and down, steadily, as her hand rose to greet them about halfway up his thick, veiny member.

              She used her left hand to grasp his waist, steadying herself as she swirled her lips and mouth around the top half of his staff while simultaneously stroking the bottom half, down with her lips, up with her hand until skin and lips met and then, up and down again and again until the wet, liquid sounds of her attention filled the flickering living room.

              As he whimpered and quivered, Sage alternately stroked and sucked him, increasing then decreasing her rhythm as he began to pant and moan with desire.

“No,” he sighed, as she sped up, working him to a lather with her mouth and hand. “Not. Yet. Please…”

              With effort, Derek helped her to stand and, face to face, they kissed until they were breathless, hands all over each other until he dragged her to the nearest piece of furniture. He sat in the middle of the three cushions on her low slung couch, his long body splayed out like a diving board. Wickedly, instinctively, she slid atop his thighs, gripping him tightly the entire time.

              They peered into each other’s eyes, both sweaty and eager and, yet, in no rush to look away from the moment. She stroked him, gently, using his rich lather to coat his towering cock. She enjoyed watching him wince and sigh with pleasure, enjoyed giving him pleasure, even as his moans and motions made her hotter than ever.

              When she could resist it no more, when she craved him beyond reason, Sage gently lifted herself up and paused above him. He reached down, clutching her around the waist as she gently guided him along her hot, moist labia until they were both slick with juices and he slid, thickly, inside of her.

              She cried out - not with pain, but with a mixture of pleasure, satisfaction, anticipation and desire. He sat on her couch, liquid and warm, all long limbs and sharp angles, his handsome face smiling up at her, just at her, just for her, as he held her narrow waist gently until, at last, she had ridden him down to his lap, their pelvises wet and slick with juices as they paused, there, just there, her throbbing hood resting just so on his hard, firm belly.

              As if sensing he held the key to her climax, Derek held her in place and, with his hips, gently thrust, up, down, up, down - their bodies locked together as he pressed and rubbed and ground against her throbbing mound.

              Overcome by the passion, the pleasure and the persistence, she panted and squealed as, thrust by thrust, she came closer and closer to an orgasm. She clung to his shoulders, biting on her lower lip, eyes fluttering open and shut, stinging with sweat, nipples hard and tender as he thrust his hips once, twice, three times more and she came, hard and fast, whimpering and shuddering and crying out despite the open windows behind her.

              “God, yes!” she cried as he paused and, as if sensing when she might be ready once more, thrust again, and again, until she had whimpered and panted and moaned and squealed and cried out half a dozen times.

              “No,” she chuckled, slapping him playfully on the bare, slick, sweaty chest. “No more, Derek. You, you must be dying for release.”

              He nodded, wordlessly, gently lowering himself on the couch and shifting position, slightly as, tenderly, she began to glide up, then down, his throbbing staff. She could feel the immense heat and hear their slick juices mingling as, again and again, she slid up and down to watch him quiver and quake, listening as he gasped and moaned.

              When her slow, arching, grinding rhythm had only served to whet his appetite, Derek griped her waist more tightly and, summoning the last of his strength, began to thrust in and out of her, a blistering, heavenly, liquid pulse that found him dripping sweat in the summer heat, his eyes closed, his chest heaving with effort until, at last, he cried out in pleasure and pain and, quickly, slid from inside her, grasping himself to stroke and strain until, at last, he came in milky, white hot blasts that coated his chest.

              She sat atop his thighs, both of them quivering now, watching his cock throb and squirt until, at last, it stilled itself, shrinking gently as it left a thin, white drizzle behind on his panting, quivering belly. She slid from him then, sitting beside him on the couch, both of them spent, the room dark but with an amber glow from the flickering candles.

              As they sat, silently, he reached for her hand. Desperately he clung to it as, gently, her head sank to his shoulder. As their breathing subsided, as their moans and groans fell away and they caught their breath, other noises drifted back into their soft, solitary world.

              Through her open windows, just over a block away, the Atlantic Ocean crashed and fizzed, again and again, lulling them into a soft, silent state. He lay, gently, down along the long couch and tugged her beside him. She grabbed the decorative throw that normally rested on the couch arm and slid it across their bodies, his arms clasped around her as they spooned, as if made for each other.