Claire
After a few days of trudging through the city, shuttling Smitty down the elevator early in the morning and late at night to do his thing, I welcomed the sun and salt air of Smith Point, a small stretch of untouched beach on Fire Island.
We could also take the car, which was a must, according to Aiken.
His truck and his shitkickers were deal breakers. They either came with, or he didn’t go anywhere—his words, not mine.
“You going to miss all those hip dinners and expensive cocktails?” Aiken teased, his eyes sparkling, almost as blue as the water we’d driven past.
The windows down, my hair blowing along with Smitty’s ears, I wanted to freeze the moment.
Us laughing. Putting down our own roots.
“Not one bit. Not that they weren’t good, but too much of it in all one place. Way too much food and way, way too many people. I’m ready for some space.”
“Exactly. Glad I discovered this place.”
Aiken had found it when looking for a place with a decent dog park. Along with being quiet and low-key, Smith Point had a brand-new two-mile area set up for dogs.
If I thought Aiken was a bumbling romantic when he saw the dude proposing in Central Park, it didn’t even come close to when he unlocked the door to the rental he’d found. Water views off the second- and third-floor balconies, a gourmet kitchen, fireplace in front of the couch—it was a beachgoer’s fantasy.
He’d found the rental on Airbnb when someone had backed out of a reservation, and we certainly had lucked out. Pet-friendly, with a private swimming pool, hot tub, and a fire pit, it was simply paradise.
“Here you go, my lady.”
“Oh boy, please don’t tell me I’m going to be stuck on this island with the corny version of Aiken.”
“Come on, Smitty,” he called to my dog, letting him off his leash. With only a whistle, Smitty followed him into the yard. Picking up a Frisbee, Aiken tossed it into the pool. Smitty chased after it, and there wentmy dog, flying through the air, smacking into the water.
“Well, well, look at this.” Aiken propped his elbow on a hot tub for two. He flicked a switch, and the jets whirred to life. “Whaddya say? Let’s get naked and get in.”
“Um, we just dropped our bags by the door and Smitty’s all wet and what if someone sees and...”
Aiken paid no mind to my rambling. He’d already dropped his cargo shorts and was kicking out of his shitkickers (which, yes, he’d worn) and tugging his shirt over his head. Then he was in a pair of boxer briefs, the sun reflecting off his golden skin, his hair too long and curling around his ears. “Have you noticed the privacy shrubs? And Smitty looks mighty happy lying down in the sun.”
He did. His fur slick, tongue out, eyes never leaving us.
Off went Aiken’s boxer briefs, and in the water, he went, staring me down until I stripped and settled next to him. He pulled me into the crook of his arm, and I laid my head on his shoulder, my breasts grazing the top of the water.
“Sublime,” he mumbled, tilting his head toward the sun. There was a slight breeze, the trees around us rustling, making the temperature of the hot tub perfect.
“Sun feels good,” I admitted hazily.
“And this feels good on my tired feet. Christ, did we walk or what? That city’s too big for me.”
“Feels good, definitely.”
I closed my eyes and breathed it all in.
Aiken’s fingers were on my chin, and his lips hovered over mine as he directed my face toward his. Then they were on me.
Slow.
Luxurious.
He took his time, caressing my lips, biting at my lower one, gaining entrance, his tongue swiping against mine.
I moved to straddle his lap, my thighs on either side of his, my breasts touching his chest. Wet skin against wet skin. His hardness found my soft spot, and we moved together, creating friction, more heat than already was in the hot tub, and then he was sliding in…
