Page 82 of Catcher's Lock

Goddammit. This isn’t fair. I was fuckingtrying.

“I didn’t disappear.” I stalk up the steps toward him. “I thought you’d beproudof me. I didn’t drink, even though that was obviously an option. I was freaking out, and I didn’t want to bother you with my shit. What was I supposed to do?”

“Wake me the fuck up,” he roars. “You fuckingpromised.”

“Fuck you, Josha.” We’re chest-to-chest, fear and frustration heating the air between us. “I promised not todisappear. I’m right here. I’m trying to figure out how to handle my own shit, and I was feeling pretty good about myself for a minute there.”

His nostrils flare, color high and eyes raking over my face. “Turn around.”

“What? No. I’m not leaving. You can’t make me.”Christ, I sound like a fucking child.

“Turn the fuck around, Gem.” Without waiting for me to comply, he grabs the folded wetsuit at my hip and spins me roughly, before crowding me up against the railing.

“Wha—what are you doing?” I catch myself on one of the vertical supports and peer at him over my shoulder.

“Making you feel good.”

I want to tell him it’s not the same—that I already knowhecan make me feel good—but then he leans to put his lips against my ear, and his breath butterflies over my pulse. Frombehindme. My brain scrambles to parse the implications as blood rushes to my dick.

“Tell me about the waves.”

Thewaves?

“They were crap. I didn’t—oh.”

He yanks the back of the wetsuit down, exposing my ass and pinning my thighs together. The damp neoprene is sinfully tight, trapping my swelling dick against my thigh. His hand trails down my back, rough over the skim of salt and sand left by the sea. When he drags a finger through the crease of my ass, my lips part on a grunt, caught between the galvanic jolt of arousal and early lessons learned about the practicalities of sex on the beach.

“I should shower if…” I trail off.If what? If he’s going tofuckme?

Cool liquid hits my spine and trickles over my skin.

Did he pourvodkaon me?

He’s washing me with my own sin.

“Stop moving,” he says when I squirm to look again. He takes a long pull from the bottle, swishing it in his cheeks as he palms my ass and spreads me open with his thumb. When he bends and spits the liquid into my crack, it’s warm from his mouth, and something shivers and breaks looseinside me.

If I’m being totally honest with myself, when I first started giving my fantasies free rein, I always imagined I’d be the one doing the fucking. I mean, it’s all I’ve ever done, and I’m fucking good at it. Or at least, Iwas, back when I was getting laid.

And yeah, when Josha blazed into my motel room, all fire and fury and hard, rippling muscles,maybeI got a little curious and started questioning my assumptions about how this was going to go. But he’s Josha.VirginJosha, and I’m—

Half bent over the porch railing, trapped by neoprene and wood.

A trickle of fear pricks at my arousal, driving it to an almost painful spike, and my cock throbs in its confines.

“Please let me rescue my dick,” I beg. “It’s dying in this thing.” But when I go to peel the suit down my thighs, he stops me.

“This stays on.”

“It’s fucking tight as hell.”That’s what he said. A slightly hysterical giggle bubbles from between my lips.Shit. I’m losing it.

His gaze flicks to mine, the corner of his mouth twitching with dark amusement. Taking pity on me, he reaches around and pulls my aching cock free. I absolutelydonotalmost come at the contact, but the sound I make when he immediately releases me can only be described as a whine.

Apparently satisfied with my arrangement—thighs pinned together and cock, balls, and ass lifted in an obscene display—he nudges me down to brace my elbows on the rail.

I dart a glance at the outline of his erection, blatantly straining against the front of his gray sweats. It’s…big. Not porn-star big, maybe, but bigger than mine, and I’ve never had any complaints.

Instead of freeing it, though, he sinks to his knees and burieshis face between my cheeks, the scrape of his morning stubble a bright contrast to his plush lips on the sensitive flesh. He presses a hot, open-mouth kiss right over my hole, and I clutch at the railing, heedless of the splinters digging into my palms.