Page 71 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Hamish

I’d never pictured myself as the sort of man who’d spend most of a night frantically wanking to a fantasy of my surf instructor’s cock buried deep in my wife’s pussy, but here we were. I mean, I’d never pictured myself as the sort of man who’d have a surf instructor at all, really.

Imogen had been right about one thing: travel was helping me learn a lot about myself.

I hadn’t worked up the courage to tell Makai that his Wedding Lady was my wife before he’d dropped me back at my hotel. Hadn’t worked up the courage to say much of anything, really. Knowing that he found her sexy, that he intentionally egged her on just to be able to talk to her, was driving me crazy, and not in a jealous way.

His casual conversation about his sexual preferences was burned into my brain. It kept playing on repeat in my mind, making my dick hard every time I thought about his desire to fuck my wife with me watching.

And it wasn’t helping matters that I’d seen him naked. Or that his dick was quite large, even soft. Or that he kept his pubic hair neatly trimmed. I simply had way too much information to use while masturbating. Surely that was the problem.

Needless to say, sitting in his truck with him the next morning was quite awkward. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the sexy flex of his shoulder muscles, or the strong, sure lines of his hands, or the bulge between his legs. I drank in every detail, filing it away for the next time I was alone.

“Here we are. The Salish Sea Adventure Tours main office.”

Makai’s cheerful announcement interrupted my inappropriate train of thought as he turned onto a gravel drive.

I leaned forward, taking in the property as it opened before us. A weathered red barn dominated my view, surrounded by wildflower-dotted meadows that stretched toward distant trees. There was a newer cabin to the left of the barn, and to the right, sat an old farmhouse, beautifully restored.

“This is yours?”

I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. I hadn’t expected his place to be so charming.

“Mostly. My business partner owns a share, too. That’s her cabin, over there, and the main house is mine. We use the barn as our office and training center.”

He pulled up beside the barn and killed the engine.

“Is your business partner here?”

“Nah, Skylar’s off-island today, meeting with some eco-tourism network thing to see if we can be included in their listings.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great at marketing, logistics, and booking. We’d be nowhere without her. All I do is guide.”

“You’re an excellent guide, though. She’d have nothing to market without you.”

I followed him out of the truck, taking in the property. It was peaceful, removed from the touristy bustle of Friday Harbor or Hollis Cove, quiet except for birdsong and the soft rustling of trees.

“So,”

he said.

“You up for something new? The surf report this morning didn’t look good, so I have another fun idea.”

“Like what?”

Over the past three days, I’d learned that Makai’s definition of fun often involved activities I’d previously considered life-threatening.

“Ever been dirt biking?”

He was already moving toward the barn doors.

I followed, because I couldn’t seem to say no to this man.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

He slid the heavy wooden doors open, revealing the barn’s dim interior.

“It’s the best way to see the beauty of San Juan Island. We’ve got a trail system that runs right along the edge of the property, through meadows, forest, even some great viewpoints overlooking the water.”

I followed him inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. The barn had been converted into a combination workshop, exercise space, and equipment storage. Kayaks and paddleboards hung from the ceiling, wetsuits dangled from hooks, and against the far wall, was a rack of bikes.

“Electric dirt bikes?”

I approached the rack where six sleek machines were plugged into charging stations next to a dozen or so conventional mountain bikes in various sizes.

“Yep.”

Makai ran his hand along one of the frames with obvious pride.

“We have some Hondas out back, but I like the electric ones better because they are so much quieter and less intrusive. And they’re still fun. They have crazy torque.”

“I do enjoy torque.”

In reality, I had no idea what torque was, and Makai’s expression told me he was well aware of that fact.

Dirt biking was so far removed from anything in my regular life that he might as well have suggested we fly to the moon. But I was tempted.

“I’ve never... I wouldn’t know how...”

“It’s easy.”

Makai began pulling out protective gear, cheerfully assuming I was going to go along with his plan.

“We’ll start you on grandma mode. Super low power, easy to control.”

As he bent to retrieve something from a lower shelf, my phone rang. I knew it was work, but I was caught up in staring at the curve of his ass in his shorts. I jerked my gaze away, my face burning, and pulled out my phone, staring down at my client’s name on the screen. I didn’t intend to answer—wished I never had to answer a work call again—but it was a well-timed distraction from my raging libido.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was a happily married man. My wife was a beautiful, brilliant woman. I’d flown thousands of miles to surprise her. And instead of spending time with her, I’d spent most of last night alone in a hotel room, picturing her being fucked by my surf instructor.

“Here.”

Makai held up a set of knee pads, and I pocketed my phone, turning back to him, as he tossed me the pads, then a chest protector of some sort.

“These should fit you.”

I caught the gear awkwardly, staring down at it as I wondered what I needed armor for.

“How dangerous is this dirt bike?”

“It’s perfectly safe, but since you’re new to it, we’re taking all precautions.”

I watched him secure his pads around his knees, then pull the chest protector over his head, showing me how it fit. I followed suit, struggling with the many straps.

“Here, let me help.”

Before I could protest, Makai was in front of me, his fingers deftly adjusting the chest protector, tugging at straps to tighten them. I held my breath, hyperaware of his proximity, the faint scent of saltwater and sunscreen that clung to him.

My ongoing fantasy shifted a little as I thought about what he’d said in the trailer. What if instead of watching them fuck, I participated?

“You want it snug, but not so tight you can’t breathe,”

he explained, oblivious to my discomfort. His hands moved to my shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze.

“There. Perfect.”

I exhaled as he stepped back. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He grabbed two helmets from a shelf, plopping one on my head and adjusting the chin strap. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath feathering across my lips, see the plush softness of his lips.

I wanted to kiss him. That was new. And startling.

“Once we get these on, we’ll be ready to roll.”

I couldn’t even remember why he was putting a helmet on me. The entirety of my brainpower was committed to stopping my body from dissolving into a puddle of pure lust as he straightened the chin strap and his fingers brushed across a sensitive spot on the inside of my neck.

Five minutes later, we were outside the barn, straddling the dirt bikes while Makai explained the simple controls. The machine between my legs was silent, nothing like the roaring engines I’d expected when he’d mentioned dirt biking.

“It’s like riding a bike,”

Makai assured me.

“Except with a throttle and foot pegs instead of pedals. Twist gently to accelerate, squeeze the levers to brake. I’ve got you set on the lowest power setting, so you can get a feel for it.”

“Grandma mode?” I asked.

He laughed, the sound so genuine it made me smile despite my nerves.

“Yep. You’ll be begging for more power after five minutes, trust me. Maybe then we can move you up to cautious uncle mode.”

I burst out laughing and shook my head.

“I think I’ll stay at Grandma, thanks.”

“Noted. Ready?”

I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway, because what else could I do? Disappoint him? Makai twisted his throttle and shot forward with ease, glancing back to make sure I followed. I took a deep breath, gave the throttle the gentlest twist I could manage, and nearly toppled over as the bike lurched forward.

“Easy!”

Makai called back.

“Smooth movements!”

I tried again, more carefully this time, and the bike responded with a steady forward glide. I followed Makai onto a dirt trail that wound away from the barn toward a line of trees, my initial terror giving way to cautious enjoyment. The bike handled better than I’d expected, responsive to the slightest adjustment of my weight or twist of the throttle.

As we rode deeper into the property, I relaxed into the experience, even daring to go a bit faster on the straightaways. Makai stayed just ahead, occasionally looking back with an encouraging nod or thumbs-up. The wind rushed past my helmet, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth. It was... quite fun.

I watched Makai navigate the trail with effortless grace, leaning into curves, standing on the foot pegs over rougher patches. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even my panic attack on the kayak. He adjusted and moved forward, like water flowing around obstacles.

His easy confidence and his ability to meet life on its own terms were something I envied.

The meadow opened up before us, tall grass rippling in the afternoon breeze, dotted with wildflowers that blurred into streaks of color as we sped past. I twisted the throttle, thrilling at the bike’s immediate response as it surged forward. This was grandma mode? I wondered what the sporty mode would feel like.

Ahead of me, Makai raised his hand in a stopping gesture, slowing his bike and pulling off the trail. I followed suit, wondering why. As we coasted to a halt, I saw a figure jogging along the trail ahead of us—a woman in sleek athletic wear, honey-blonde ponytail bouncing with each stride.

My heart stopped.

Imogen.

She spotted the bikes and paused, squinting against the sun. Recognition crossed her face, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Makai. Her expression shifted to one of irritation. I laughed to myself, thinking about the way she’d lectured him yesterday for parking in the middle of her photo shoot.

She marched over to him, hands planted on her hips.

“Is there anywhere on this island you don’t show up?”

Makai laughed, removing his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“It’s a small island, Wedding Lady. We’re bound to cross paths.”

I remained frozen, still straddling my bike, unable to make my limbs cooperate. This was the moment I’d been planning for days, yet nothing had gone according to plan. I was supposed to surprise her in a debonair way—I still hadn’t come up with a concrete idea for that, but it didn’t involve stumbling over her on a dirt bike set to grandma mode. It was a good thing I had on a helmet and all this gear.

Imogen’s eyes shifted to me, narrowing as she registered my presence. I saw the moment she recognized me, her lips parting in shock.

“Hamish?”

My helmet was not the disguise I’d hoped it to be.

“Surprise?”

I offered weakly, doing jazz hands. Why had I done jazz hands?

Makai blinked at me, and I could see the realization dawning.

“Wedding Lady is your wife? Fuck me. That explains a lot.”

She stood motionless, opening and closing her mouth, as if she couldn’t quite process what she was seeing.

“What are you... How did you... Is that a…”

She cleared her throat.

“I mean, it’s lovely to see you!”

If she was using her manners, I was well and truly stuffed.

I climbed off the bike with unsteady legs, carefully dropping the kickstand, then pulling off my gloves, yanking my helmet, and trying to wipe some of the dirt from my face.

Makai let out a little sound like he was trying not to laugh. I gathered I was only making things worse.

Imogen was staring at my dirtbike like it might bite her. She shook herself, then looked up at me again.

“When did you get to San Juan Island?”

I scratched the back of my head, cheeks heating.

“I… got here four days ago. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Four days?”

She looked between Makai and me, comprehension dawning.

“You were there yesterday. In his truck. You were the one who dashed into the truck and hid!”

I nodded, feeling heat rise to my face.

“I panicked. I wasn’t ready for you to see me yet.”

“I’m so confused.”

Her tone was impossible to read—not quite anger, but definitely not joy.

“You and I both,”

Makai muttered.

“I wanted to do some things first,”

I explained, dismounting the bike and taking a hesitant step toward her.

“To show you I could be... different. More adventurous. Less of a boring fuddy-duddy.”

Her expression softened, but confusion remained.

“So you’ve been what—taking surf lessons? From him?”

She gestured toward Makai, who was watching our reunion with undisguised interest.

“And dirt biking,”

I ran a hand through my helmet-flattened hair.

“Also kayaking. I’m trying new things.”

“You hate new things,”

she said, but there was something in her eyes now—a glimmer of wonder, perhaps.

“For the last fifteen years, you’ve refused to try a new brand of tea.”

Makai choked on a laugh.

“That’s different. Yorkshire Gold is sacred.”

I took another step toward her.

“Invite her to join us tomorrow,”

Makai said, leaning on his handlebars.

“What?”

Imogen spun and faced him.

“Hamish booked a sailing excursion tomorrow. It’ll be perfect. The boat is plenty big enough for us all, and you can see your husband’s transformation for yourself, and he can show off in a controlled environment.”

I panicked, realizing the two people who occupied my every sexual fantasy would be together on the same small boat.

“Imogen is here working, she might not have time for—”

“Of course she has time. We’re heading out around ten from the Hollis Cove Marina. I’m only bringing brands of tea he hasn’t tried.”

I flipped him off without breaking eye contact with my wife, and he laughed again.

“What? I don’t even know where to get Berkshire Gold.”

“Yorkshire! It’s Yorkshire Gold,”

I huffed, then cleared my throat and smiled down at Imogen.

“But he’s right. You could come sailing, if you like.”

“I was planning to get caught up on some work.”

“All work and no play...”

Makai shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t get why Hamish thinks he’s the boring one in this relationship. At least he’s willing to try new things.”

I watched her bristle at the challenge, recognizing the spark that lit her eyes. Makai had stumbled onto the perfect strategy. Imogen never could resist proving someone wrong.

“I am not boring,”

she said, her chin lifting defiantly.

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Don’t you have days off?”

Makai asked.

She flushed.

“I have tomorrow and Thursday off. But there are only four days until a huge wedding, and I thought I’d work a little…”

Makai’s smile was infuriatingly charming.

“It’s one morning on the water. You’ll be back by lunch. Then you can return to your workaholic ways.”

Imogen glanced at me, then back at Makai. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

“I suppose I could squeeze it in.”

A thrill shot through me.

“You’ll come?”

“Don’t look so shocked.”

She smiled, the first genuine smile she’d directed at me since her initial surprise.

“I’ve missed you, you know.”

“I’ve missed you too,”

I said, closing the distance between us.

“Christ, Imogen, I’ve been going mad thinking about you.”

Her expression softened further.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You could have stayed with me. I have a cottage to myself at the Cannery Hotel.”

“You do? Have dinner with me tonight. You can show me your cottage and we can talk.”

She winced, checking her watch.

“I wish I could, love. But I have a commitment ceremony tonight, and the event won’t finish until well after midnight.”

“Tomorrow, then. Sailing, and then lunch?”

I tried to look on the bright side, even as disappointment crashed through me. At least it didn’t seem like she was making excuses; she looked quite regretful.

“Yes.”

She glanced at her watch again, her eyes widening.

“Shit, I’ve got to go. The florist is delivering in twenty minutes. This was supposed to be a quick run to clear my head.”

She stepped closer, her hand coming up to cup my cheek.

“I love you, you ridiculous man. Even when you surprise me with dirt bikes and surfing instructors.”

Before I could respond, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss was brief but fierce, filled with a passion that made my head spin. Then she pulled back, gave my chest a light pat, and turned to Makai.

“What time tomorrow?”

“Ten o’clock at the Hollis Cove Marina. Look for the Wanderlust.”

She nodded, and, with a final glance at me, she turned and jogged back the way she’d come, her ponytail swinging with each step.

I stared after her, still feeling the imprint of her lips on mine, the warmth of her touch on my face.

“Damn, Hamish,”

Makai said, breaking the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me Wedding Lady was your wife? No wonder you’re putting yourself through all this to impress her. I’d do the same.”

“I didn’t even realize you knew her until yesterday.”

“She’s sexy as hell. You’re a lucky man.”

I felt my face heat at his blunt assessment.

“She’s amazing,”

I agreed, unable to take my eyes off her retreating figure until she disappeared around a bend in the trail.

Makai blinked, realization dawning.

“Bro, I told you I wanted to fuck her. I’m so sorry. That was inappropriate.”

And now I was back to picturing my wife naked and writhing beneath Makai’s muscular body. Crap.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know she was my wife, and I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

He laughed.

“Skylar says I have a skill for making things awkward.”

“That you do.”

“Don’t look so stressed.”

Makai clapped me on the back, clearly unaware that I was picturing him fucking my wife.

“That wasn’t an ‘I’m furious with my husband’ kiss. That was an ‘I can’t wait to get you alone’ kiss.”

“Do you think she was angry that I didn’t tell her I was here?”

“Nah.”

Makai pulled his helmet back on.

“Surprised, sure. Maybe a little confused. But that kiss? You’re golden, man. Trust me.”