Jag talks about the streets and the things he did to keep Dove alive.Dove talks about guilt and anger and about learning to forgive a younger version of herself.I talk about Hoss and the cliff and the long road back into my skin.
We don’t fix each other.We hold space.We check in.We laugh when things get heavy and stop when they need stopping.
Healing isn’t loud.It’s consistent.It’s choosing to stay.It’s waking up and realizing the night didn’t take anything from us.
I still have scars.I always will.But they don’t run the show anymore.
I do.
“You know…” Frankie’s cheeks rise, dimpling with mischief.“I just saw Jag and Dove heading toward the dock.Definitely up to something.”
“Don’t do it.Don’t—”
She makes a jerk-off gesture.
At my deadpan stare, she pushes her tongue into her cheek in a blow job motion.
“They’re up to… What?”I mimic her tongue movement and squint at her.“Chewing tobacco?Practicing whale calls?Brushing their molars?”
She snorts through a laugh.“What am I going to do without you?”
“Oh, my little red wary berry.”I walk toward her, open my arms, and gather her up.“You’re going to enjoy the blessed silence for approximately twelve minutes before you miss me terribly and cry into your pillow.”I kiss her cheek.“But don’t worry.I’m extremely hard to get rid of.”
“Fine.Go.”She pushes me, grinning adorably.“Get out of here.”
I wriggle my fingers at her and leave with a lingering look at Kaya’s sleeping form.
Outside, I welcome the mild breeze.Summer in Colombia is thick and heavy, pressing in from every side.Sitka’s summer is quieter.Lighter.It smells like salt and pine and cold water.
I stroll toward the dock as the sun slides into the ocean in a wash of gold and blue.
And there she is.
I bought a yacht.
Not just any yacht.
A floating Magic Kingdom.
Towers, turrets, and elaborate railings crank the castle-on-the-water vibes to eleven.A three-person throne sits on the upper deck.One of my favorite places to ride Jag’s cock while Dove rides mine.
The figurehead on the bow features an ornate carving of a bare-breasted woman with wings for arms, stretched forward as if gliding over the sea.She does her job, protecting the crew, appeasing the sea gods, and turning me on every time I see her.
Her nameshines in gold letters painted along the hull.
Blue Princess.
I love this ridiculous, beautiful thing.I love that I get to share it with them.
When we’re in Alaska, we sleep on the yacht.Sometimes, we drift along the coastline and wake up to mountains.Or we follow the water south, all the way to the mainland.
I step onto the deck already grinning, my sandals flopping as the Blue Princess rocks beneath me.I’m ready to see my people, to steal a kiss, crack a joke, and rub dicks with Jag, hopefully while we’re inside our woman.
I find them at the railing on the upper deck, silhouetted against the gloaming sky.
The view is spectacular, golden red bleeding into dark blue and catching the water on fire.Jag and Dove don’t seem to notice, their attention rapt on each other.
He stands behind her, his face buried in her neck, and their bodies moving as one.Her skater dress is hiked to her tits, baring all her flawless skin for Jag’s hands, as his cock slams inside her with zero apologies.
