Page 85 of Goode Vibrations

Lots of things like that. How to just…be, together.

Without sex.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t think about it. I did. All the time.

I just didn’t do anything about it, not even by myself. I wondered if he had—I hadn’t asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Or rather, afraid the answer would instigate something.

But now, the farther we flew, the more things started to bubble up within me.

I got antsy. Uncomfortable. Impatient.

I lost track of the time, and even dozed off a little, until I felt us dropping. Apparently Brock and Errol had already made a trip out here—that’s what they’d done all day. Flew out, got the cabin opened up, lights on, wood stocked, food stocked. Set some lights around the perimeter of the lake that would be our landing area. It was pitch black, and even Errol seemed a bit nervous, but Brock was cool as ice, watching his gauges and adjusting the throttle and all the pilot-y sort of things. My heart was in my throat as we descended toward a darker patch of black in the night, lit only by a perimeter of small, dull orange lights.

The dark patch grew bigger, and then the aircraft’s lights lit up a glassy surface and how the fuck he managed to land a seaplane on an inland lake in near-total darkness was a mystery to me, but there we were, skidding and skipping and then settling to slow, and then gently coming to a stop at an angle, the side door facing a small cabin like something out of a fairy tale. There was even a plume of smoke rising from the stone chimney, and little squares of yellow light on either side of the door.

“There’s no dock,” Errol said. “Or at least not one we can tie up to. The water is shallow here, though.” He grabbed all of our things. “Just wait here.”

He hopped out onto the float, and then into the water, carrying our things ashore and into the cabin.

Brock eyed me. “He’s a good dude, you know.”

I nodded. “Yes, he is.” I smiled. “Thank you for flying us here.”

“No problem.” He grinned back. “Have a good time out here. There’s no cell reception, no Wi-Fi, no neighbors for dozens of miles…just total privacy and peace.”

I shivered in anticipation. “Sounds perfect.”

Brock just laughed. “I bet.”

Errol returned then, and held his arms up to me. “Hop down. I’ve got you.”

I would’ve dived in if it meant getting ashore faster. But a chance to finally get his hands on me, his arms around me? Yes please.

I slid out of the aircraft and into Errol’s waiting arms. Right where I belonged—my legs around his waist, his hands under my ass holding me aloft. His heartbeat against my breast, his breath on my lips.

“Oooookay, well now,” Brock said. “That’s my cue to go. You don’t have to get a room, just wait till I’m in the air. You kids have fun getting reacquainted.”

I heard the door close, but I was more concerned with the scent of Errol’s skin as I nuzzled his throat, the feel of his shoulders under my hands, his chest against mine. I heard the engine roar and water spray, then the quieter splash and distant buzz as he lifted off the water and banked away.

Brock was nowhere in my mind, now.

I buried my face in Errol’s neck as he walked with me ashore. But I couldn’t wait. I had to taste him. I kissed his neck, and sighed at the firm salt of his flesh. Kissed another spot, and another. His hands tightened on my ass, and his heartbeat quickened—I tasted his pulse under my tongue, pumping faster and faster.

Kissed his jaw, the underside. And then his stubble, or what was now more of a real beard. Scratchy yet soft, and I dearly desperately wanted to feel it between my thighs. For now, I just wanted to kiss him. I let him hold my weight, let him carry me and focused on kissing more of him. Slid my hands into his hair and caressed his scalp, over his ears, his jaw, cupped his chin and kissed his cheek.

He fumbled at the door, but with my weight in his hands couldn’t quite get it. “Pop…could you—Pop—Poppy, the door.” He had to dodge my lips as I greedily snapped kisses over his lips, his nose, his cheeks. “The door, Poppy, and then I’ll hold still for you to kiss me all you want.”

“What’s wrong with the porch?” I muttered, but reached behind me for the doorknob, got it and twisted and pushed so it creaked open.

He stepped through, kicked it closed.

Firelight was the only illumination; I was still focused only and entirely on Errol, on kissing his temple and forehead and then his throat and neck and shoulder as he slid me to my feet.

“Pop.” He caught at my face. Smiled down at me.

“You want me to stop kissing you?” I asked, plaintive, childishly annoyed.

He grinned wider. “No. Just the reverse. I just wanted to say…welcome home. Or, home for the next two weeks.”