“Sit here with me. You can play fetch with the dog later.”
“Is that an order?” I tease as I walk about over to him. I try to ignore the fact that he’s taken off his shirt and he’s more jacked than I remember. He’s also covered in tattoos, from forearms to collarbones, down his chest and stomach. I keep my drool in my mouth, but my pussy has been on hold all damn morning and she’s sick of my shit. She instantly starts to ache as my fingertips start to twitch. I need to touch this man.
He looks over the frames of his sunglasses at me. “Yes. It is.”
“And what will you do if I disobey you?” I plop down in my beach chair with a groan. It’s hot as fuck out. I’ll be sweating in no time if I don’t get some shade. And yeah, fine, okay. I didn’t come all this way not to be close to Shaw.
“There are plenty of ways to punish you, Brook. Trust me.”
“Oh, I believe you, but I’ve been following the Man’s rules for a long time now. Maybe I want to run free.”
“Try me. See how it works out for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll sit by you, I guess.” I shrug out of my cover-up and pick up the worn paperback I’ve borrowed.
“They filmed that close to my grandparents’ place.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. They raised my dad in Oak Bluffs. We lived there for a bit before we moved back to Boston.”
“I’ve never been to Martha’s Vineyard.”
“We should go.”
I glance over and think for a moment that Shaw’s eyes are closed, but he’s watching Vaughn as he tosses the frisbee back into the water. It’s hilarious to watch Roger belly flop after it. I try to stop myself before I think there’s no need for me to be here. There’s no way I can improve upon this picture of two beautiful men and their loyal pup. Then the part of me that’s been working like hell to remember that I didn’t do anything wrong chimes in.They want you here. You want to be here. Just enjoy this.
“How long’s the ferry ride?”
“Not long. You’d enjoy it. You stand on the upper deck on a misty day and just breathe that salty air in.”
I try to picture it, but all I can think about is acting the fool with my friends on the Staten Island Ferry. “I think I have some generational trauma with boats and open water.”
He sits up, but still doesn’t look at me. “That’s why all of the men in my family went back to the sea. My five-times great-grandfather was a whaler and every Shaw man after him has worked on the sea in some capacity.”
“And you?”
“He’s an old salt at heart,” Vaughn calls out.
“I’m trying to picture you dressed up like a sea captain.”
“Well, you did mark down roleplay,” Shaw says. “We can make it happen.”
My pussy seems to like that idea. “Don’t men think women on ships are bad luck?”
“And that’s why I’d have to take you to the Captain’s quarters and show you what happens to stowaways.” My mind flashes to the image of Captain Shaw and his crew running a punishment train on me. I hope this trip to the beach doesn’t last too long. I’d like to get to the naked portion of the day. I scrunch my nose up at him instead of opening my mouth, ’cause I’m not sure what thirsty ho shit might come out of it. I let out a sigh, trying to exhale my sexual frustration.
Settling back in my seat, I think it’s time to read the classic novel. Really, I’m just skimming the first paragraph over and over as I try to ignore the energy coming off the man sitting next to me. Shaw’s head lolls back, probably settling in for a nap. A moment later, he holds out his hand.
“Move your chair closer to mine,” he says quietly, but firmly. He’s still watching Vaughn and the dog. I swallow, setting down my book, grabbing the base of the chair and shifting it a few inches across the sand. Shaw’s forearm comes over my leg and he gently uses his elbow to push my thighs apart. His long fingers waste no time moving my bikini bottoms to the side.
Eight
Brooklyn
I know he can feel how wet I am as soon as he spreads my lips apart. His strong fingers are surprisingly gentle as he explores my whole pussy. The whole thing. He eases down to my aching entrance, spreading my juices around before he moves back up to my clit. Shaw has that magic touch. That soft caressing touch that my clit craves when it comes to direct contact. I can come like this. I know I can, in a heartbeat, but I don’t want to come yet, not so soon. It’s been so long, though, I may not have a choice. It’s different when it’s someone else’s skilled hand. It’s different when it’s someone you’ve wanted to touch you for months.
I press my head back into my beach chair, dig my heels into the sand to stop myself from squirming too much. If I don’t control myself, I know I’ll be humping Shaw’s hand, begging him to let me come. I’m not there yet.
