Page 73 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Makai

The sun beat down on my back, warming my skin to the perfect temperature as I stretched out on the deck. Days this warm were rare on the Salish Sea. It was warm enough to make the water glisten invitingly. Warm enough to swim.

I glanced at Hamish, who was adjusting the anchor line with newfound confidence, his pale skin already taking on a hint of color from our outdoor fun. He’d been a natural at sailing, picking up in hours what took some of my clients weeks to grasp. His wife, though—I couldn’t figure out what was going on with Imogen.

She’d barely touched her lunch, her cheeks flushed pink despite sitting in the shade of the mainsail. Every time I caught her eye, she’d look away, burying her face in that book she’d been clutching like a lifeline. I supposed these were the consequences of my parking lot antics.

I gathered the remains of our picnic lunch, stuffing sandwich wrappers back into the cooler. Hamish had insisted on bringing wine—some fancy French vintage that probably cost more than I made in a day—and Imogen had packed an impressive spread of cheeses and fresh fruit. Rich people food. Still good, though.

“You’ve got the makings of a real sailor,”

I told Hamish as I wiped down the cockpit seat.

“Skylar would be impressed. She’s usually the one handling the sails when we take clients out. I never even thought we’d offer sailing lessons, until she inherited her grandfather’s boat. Taught me to sail and everything. And clients seem to love it.”

Hamish beamed at the compliment, his entire face transforming.

“I think I love it. Like I’ve been missing this my whole life without knowing it.”

I laughed, cuffing him playfully on the shoulder.

“Figures you’d like the typical rich asshole sport best.”

“Bugger off.”

He stuck his tongue out at me.

“I liked surfing best. This is second best.”

“We should think about heading back soon,”

I said, glancing at the sky.

“Forecast said we’d get a lull in the winds this afternoon. Don’t want to get stuck out here.”

“Is that a problem?”

Imogen asked, finally looking up from her book. Was it me, or was her voice breathless?

I shrugged, trying not to stare at the way her blouse had fallen open at the neck, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

“Not really, but it means we’ll have to motor back, which isn’t as fun.”

She licked her lips, her gaze darting between Hamish and me.

“I think we could stay a while. It’s... lovely here.”

Hamish nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on his wife in a way that made me feel like I was intruding on something private.

“Just a little more time,”

he echoed, headed towards the companionway.

“I’m going below to get something to drink. Anyone need anything?”

“Could you take this?”

I tossed the last of the trash into a bag and handed it to him, and he ducked into the companionway, taking it with him.

I flopped down on the bench opposite Imogen. The boat rocked gently beneath us. The only sounds were the lapping of water against the hull and the distant cry of gulls. And an occasional flip of a page.

“What are you reading?”

I asked, nodding toward the book she’d barely put down all day.

“Must be good.”

Her reaction was immediate and intense—her cheeks flamed crimson, she clutched the book tighter, and her eyes went wide with something like panic.

“Nothing. Just... a novel. For research. For weddings.”

I laughed, intrigued by her obvious discomfort.

“Research, huh?”

Before she could respond, I plucked the book from her hands. It was a move I pulled on Skylar all the time, but the moment I looked down at the page she was on, I realized I’d crossed a line.

Jake took Cole deep into his mouth, savoring the salt taste of pre-cum as I watched, unbelievably turned on. My hand slipped beneath the waistband of my panties, and I whimpered as they turned their attention to me, cocks hard and ready

Holy shit. This was pure filth. Really fucking sexy filth.

My eyes widened as I scanned a few more lines, heat surging through my body and straight to my cock. The scene described two men sucking each other off and fucking their female lover.

Imogen lunged forward, snatching the book back and slamming it closed.

“That’s private,”

she hissed, hugging it close.

“Sorry,”

I managed, holding up my hands in surrender.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.”

She shoved the book deep into her bag, refusing to meet my eyes.

“It’s a silly, fun novel. There’s nothing wrong with a woman enjoying a little eroticism.”

Hamish chose that moment to come up from below decks, and looked between us, confusion evident on his face. “What?”

“Nothing,”

Imogen said quickly.

I couldn’t speak. My brain was short-circuiting, bombarded with images I shouldn’t be having about clients. But fuck—the book, her flustered state all day, the way she’d been watching us together on the boat... Was she fantasizing about Hamish and me sucking each other’s dicks? The possibility sent blood rushing to my groin so fast I felt lightheaded.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide my growing erection, but the board shorts I wore left little to the imagination.

What if I pushed Hamish to his knees right here on the deck? Would she watch, her hand slipping beneath her shorts like the woman in her book? Would Hamish resist, or would he open his mouth for me, those proper British lips stretched around my cock while his wife watched?

Or better yet—I could bend him over the bench, pull those khaki shorts down his lean hips, and push into him while shoving his face between Imogen’s thighs.

Fuck. I needed to get it together. These people were my clients, a married couple who’d shown no actual indication they wanted anything beyond a sailing lesson. The fact that Imogen was reading erotica about two men and a woman didn’t mean she wanted to see her husband with me. The fact that Hamish occasionally glanced at my body didn’t mean he wanted to touch it.

But I could admit that I wanted them both. I wanted to taste the wine on Imogen’s lips, to discover if Hamish’s proper exterior hid a wilder nature. I wanted to be the catalyst that showed them possibilities they’d never considered.

I took a deep breath, forcing my attention back to practical matters.

“We should probably think about pulling anchor soon,”

I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Those clouds on the horizon mean the wind’s changing.”

Hamish looked up at the sky, then back to me.

“I trust your judgment. Should I help with the anchor?”

I nodded, grateful for the distraction.

“Yeah, let’s raise the sail and get going.”

As Hamish moved toward the bow, I caught Imogen watching me, her gaze dropping to my lap before quickly darting away. The blush on her cheeks deepened, and she bit her lower lip in a way that made my cock throb painfully.

I forced my mind back to sailing, away from the dangerous images that had taken root there. This was supposed to be a simple day on the water—show the anxious British guy and his gorgeous wife around the San Juan Islands, maybe convince them to book another tour before they left. Not spend the afternoon with my dick hard as steel, imagining them naked and willing.

I focused on Hamish, who was now hauling up the anchor. Water dripped from the chain, catching sunlight as it streamed back into the sea. Beautiful—just like the man handling it, his muscles flexing beneath newly tanned skin. Fuck. Watching him wasn’t helping.

“Anchor’s up,”

Hamish called, securing the chain with newfound expertise.

I moved to the mainsail, preparing to catch whatever breeze we could find. But as I raised the sail, it hung limply from the boom. The water around us had turned glassy and still. The forecast had been right about the wind dying, but wrong about the timing.

“That’s not good,”

I muttered, checking the telltales on the sail. Not even a flutter.

Hamish joined me in the cockpit, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Problem?”

“Wind’s gone.”

I nodded toward the sails.

“We might need to motor back.”

I moved to the control panel and turned the key for the engine. Nothing happened. Not even a click. I frowned and tried again, with the same result, pressing a few buttons at random, not wanting to admit that I wasn’t sure what they all did.

“Come on, baby,”

I coaxed, checking the fuel gauge—full—and trying a third time. Still nothing. Had I done something wrong.

“What the fuck?”

I’d never had issues with this engine. Skylar handled all the maintenance religiously, and we’d had it serviced last month. I pulled up the engine compartment access panel and peered inside. Nothing obviously wrong, but I knew almost nothing about engine mechanics, so I probably would have only noticed an issue if the damn thing was on fire.

“Is everything alright?”

Imogen asked, her British accent more pronounced with concern.

“Not sure.”

I straightened up, wiping sweat from my forehead.

“Motor’s dead, and we’ve got no wind.”

I expected panic—especially from Hamish, given his previous anxieties—but instead, they exchanged a look I couldn’t quite interpret. Something almost... pleased?

“So we’re stuck here?”

Hamish asked, his tone oddly neutral.

“For now,”

I confirmed, closing the engine hatch.

“We’ll need to drop anchor again and wait for the wind to pick up. Could be hours. Or overnight, if we don’t want to sail in the dark.”

I watched their faces, preparing for disappointment or frustration. Instead, Hamish reached for the wine bottle they’d opened with lunch.

“Well, there are worse places to be stranded,”

he said, refilling his glass and offering the bottle to his wife.

“Wouldn’t you say, darling?”

Imogen took the bottle, her fingers brushing his in a way that seemed deliberately sensual. It probably wasn’t. I was just losing my goddamn mind.

“I agree. It’s quite marvelous here.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

I asked her.

She shook her head.

“I have today and tomorrow off, remember? I’d like to go in for at least a few hours tomorrow, though. So as long as we can figure out how to get back by in the morning, it should be fine.”

I stared at them, baffled by their reaction. Most clients would be freaking out, demanding I fix the engine or call for assistance. These two looked like they’d won the lottery.

“Well, if you don’t mind an overnight excursion, that’s an option.”

I spoke carefully, watching their reactions.

“This bay is perfectly sheltered. We’ve got plenty of food, the weather’s warm, and there’s a beautiful beach for exploring.”

Imogen bit her lower lip, her gaze flicking from her bag—where she’d stuffed that book—to me, then back to Hamish. The flush on her cheeks had spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her blouse. I wanted to follow it with my tongue, to see how far down that blush extended.

Hamish caught me looking at his wife and, instead of the jealousy I’d expected, something like curiosity flickered across his face. Then his eyes dropped to my body.

The air between us felt charged, heavy with possibility. I let myself really look at Hamish then—the way his khaki shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that formed that perfect V. If they slipped a little lower, I’d be able to see the color of his pubic hair. I imagined running my fingers through it, wrapping my hand around his cock, feeling it harden against my palm.

I needed to get a grip. These weren’t random hot people; they were my clients, and assuming they wanted more would be insane. Even if they seemed quite comfortable with the idea of being stranded with me overnight.

“I’ll, uh, go check if the cabins have everything we need to sleep the night,”

I said, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself.

“Make yourselves comfortable.”

I turned toward the companionway, but Hamish had shifted at the same moment, moving in the opposite direction. We collided, chest to chest, the impact forcing a small “oof”

from him. I grabbed his shoulders to steady us both, and suddenly we were inches apart, his surprised breath warm against my lips.

And now I couldn’t stop imagining myself between Hamish and his wife, or beside them, or under them—any configuration that would let me taste them both, feel them both. I was so fucked.

Desperate for any kind of relief, I ducked into the cabin, leaned against the bulkhead, and wrapped my hand around my cock.