“I’m not sure I can just decide to do that. Finding myself is a bit more complex than finding a shell.” He kneels down, picking up a small, flat scrap of a scalloped shell to demonstrate how easy that is.

  I do the same, picking up a spiraled brown and white shell. “Or maybe it is that easy,” I suggest. “You’re already doing it. You’re an amazing CMO, a good son, and a great man. You just need to be reminded of that sometimes.”

  “You’re like the asshole whisperer,” he praises.

  I laugh at the odd compliment, the sound carrying on the wind. “No, I’ve just dealt with a lot . . . for myself, for clients, and for friends.”

  Carson steps in front of me, stopping us. Looking down at me, he says seriously, “I don’t want to be your friend, Jayme.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Stuttered sounds are all that come from my mouth. I’m conflicted because I’m feeling a hell of a lot more than professional or friendly about Carson, and I want to explore this. But as much as I say I’m a badass, there’s some level of me that worries about jumping into the water too. Carson is in a vulnerable period and needs my help, and I don’t want to take advantage. And there’s so much he doesn’t know about me.

  A soft smile curls my lips, but before I can say anything, Carson sweeps me off my feet and runs toward the water.

  “Carson! What are you doing?” I screech, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders as my laughter echoes across the wind. He high-knees it into the ocean, the waves getting higher and higher until he loses his footing in the soggy sand and we tumble into them, him spinning so he holds me higher in the shallow depths. I go under for a second, barely remembering to hold my breath before swallowing the salty water, and search wildly for the surface. I pop through, immediately sputtering, to see Carson flinging his hair out of his eyes, which are staring at me with dark desire.

  “What? Why?” I ask, still laughing as my feet scramble to find the bottom.

  He lounges back in the water, floating and kicking lazily. “You said swimming helped you think, and the way your eyes were jumping left and right, like you had an angel and a devil on your shoulders, it seemed like you needed a minute to think. Or maybe think less?”

  It’s ridiculous . . . or it should be. But he seems perfectly at ease swimming in the ocean in slacks, a button-up shirt, and tie. And with giving me a moment of reflection about this thing building quickly between us.

  I can at least confess one thing. I lie back next to him to float on the waves. My blouse bubbles up from the water, and I press the air bubbles out, leaving the silk stuck to my skin. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  Carson moves faster than I expect as he stands upright. “What?” he scoffs. Confusion mars his brows as he searches my face for some deeper explanation. “Take advantage of me?”

  I keep my eyes on the sky, watching the birds soar in circles as they look for food along the beach. “I’ve seen this before. When people are struggling or lost, sometimes they feel like the person helping them is some sort of savior. And that can be . . . attractive. Or they’re vulnerable, and being professionally vulnerable can be confused with personal emotions. I don’t want to go too far and then you regret . . . me. When all this is over and you don’t need me anymore, I don’t want you to feel like you don’t want to be around the person who saw you at your worst.”

  “I think it’s sweet that you think this is my worst,” he jokes, his voice deep with emotion. “But unless you make it a habit of getting close to your clients, I’m not seeing the problem. I’m telling you flat-out, I want you, Jayme. And it has nothing to do with this situation we’re in but with the fact that you’re an amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman.”

  “Two.” I look from the sky to Carson. “Two clients I’ve gotten close to. One owns that house. The other is here in the water with me.”

  CHAPTER 15

  CARSON

  Jayme’s admission does something to me, unleashing a tight rein I didn’t know I was holding back. But now that it’s untethered, I can’t hold back. Reaching out through the water, I bring her to me, pulling her lush curves against mine.

  With our mouths close together, I quietly admit, “I don’t think anyone has ever seen me as vulnerable or been the least fucking concerned about taking advantage of me. Hear this . . . you’re not, Jayme. I want you, I want this.”

  I kiss her lips softly, gently sipping at her. She tastes of salt, and a hint of that grass smoothie still, but I don’t care anymore. I’d drink a hundred of those things if I could kiss her. When our lips part, she sighs, a sound not of resignation but of happiness . . . of acceptance. “I want you too,” she whispers. “I want this, Carson.”

  I think I dream it for a second, but when I open my eyes, I see her bright ones shining into mine with joy. And freedom.

  It makes me realize, as much as this is an unleashing for me, Jayme just let herself off the chain too. And she attacks me with passion, her arms going around my neck and her legs wrapping around my waist. Her skirt must slip up her thighs, or hell, maybe it rips? I don’t know for sure, but I grip her smooth skin in my hands, kneading the flesh beneath the water.

  “Fuck yes,” I growl, pulling her core against my rigid cock. Considering how goddamn cold the Pacific is here, it’s a testament to how sexy and beautiful and intense Jayme is. Her hips buck as she rubs herself on me, driving us both wild.

  I guide her hips, using the buoyancy of the water to lift and lower her as I stride to shore. As the water fades away, I feel her clutching me tighter, her bucks becoming smaller as she holds on.

  “Climb down,” I order, tapping her hip.

  Pouting, she does so, her eyes boring into me. I rip my shirt off and lay it on the sand, holding it in place with my foot as a makeshift blanket. Her eyes scour over my chest and then dip lower as I unbuckle my belt and undo my slacks. I shimmy my hips to let my pants drop, then lower my underwear. I stand back a step, letting her drink me in with her eyes. “I don’t want to touch myself and risk getting sandy.”

  I splay my hands, fighting the urge to do it anyway. I’m pulsing, harder than I’ve been in years. My desire for this woman is that rampant. What I don’t tell her is that in addition to getting sandy, if I touch myself, I’m probably going to come so hard Greenpeace will try to drag me back into the sea as a sperm whale.

  “Let me help,” Jayme says. She drops to her knees in the sand in front of me, my cock bobbing mere inches from her cheek. With her hands on my hips, she looks up at me and whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

  I’m not. My cock is a raging, purple monster at this point, desperate for any contact and already leaking along the head. But Jayme looks at me as if I’m the most delicious thing she’s ever seen. She laps at the fluid, her moan more vibration than sound, and lays tiny licks along the underside and then along my shaft. I groan in desperation, pleading, “Jayme . . .”

  She swallows me, and my back arches in pure pleasure, giving her even more. But she takes it gratefully, moving up and down my cock and covering me with her saliva.

  She finds a rhythm that drives me to the edge, and sand be damned, I thread my hands into her hair, holding her still so I can fuck her mouth. “Are you okay?” I ask, and though her lashes are slightly damp, she nods and swallows, her throat reflexively working me. “Fuck, your mouth feels good.”

  Throwing my head back, I fight to stay on the verge of coming, not wanting to fall over yet. “No,” I hiss, pulling free from the warm wetness of her mouth. “Not yet.”

  She grins like the Cheshire Cat, knowing she almost got me. I step back and pivot, sitting down on my shirt so my bare ass isn’t on the sand and then motion for her to climb onto me. Jayme slips her skirt higher up around her waist and lifts one knee, then the other, to get her panties off. Straddling my lap, she lines up her pussy with my cock.

  I grip her hips tightly, not letting her impale herself onto me yet.

  “Jayme?” I grit out, my voice rough. I’m not sure exactly what I’m asking . . . Does this mean something to you? Are you going to regret this later? Do you want me half as much as I want you?

  But she understands and nods slowly. With a single smooth, sinuous motion of her hips, she rolls herself over and down, engulfing me all the way to the hilt. She groans, obviously stretched more than she anticipated. “Fuck.”

  “You can take it,” I growl into her ear, holding her still again. “That tight, silky pussy of yours can take every inch of me.”

  “It’s . . . big,” she grunts back, clenching around me without moving. She grins, looking down at me with the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen. “And I’m going to ride this big cock until you explode inside me, flood me with your cream, and call me your goddess.”

  She’s a dirty talker too? I nearly come instantly because I think I’ve found perfection.

  She bucks harder, both of us shuddering at the feeling of her ass slamming down on my thighs. I run my hands up inside Jayme’s blouse to cup her breasts, and finding the stiff nubs of her nipples, I pinch them between my fingers until she cries out.

  “Later, these are mine,” I vow as her hips lose rhythm in favor of arching her back, lifting her breasts for more of my touch. “I’m going to suck, fuck, and pound you into full submission to me.”

  She smiles suggestively, her hands going to my shoulders for leverage. Then she tenses her thighs and bounces up and down on my cock quickly. “Or else I’m going to get you hooked on this pussy.”

  Our eyes lock, and even though we’re not saying it, I can read her thoughts.

  We’re both fine with either situation.

  I want to roll Jayme over, press her into the sand, and pound her hard and fast with deep, savage strokes. But I won’t hurt her and instead keep myself still, letting Jayme ride me and take her pleasure from me. My hands leave her breasts to stroke and feel her body, my fingertips memorizing every perfect curve that I’ve only been able to see until this point.

  Jayme pauses her riding to undo her blouse and cast it aside, shrugging her bra off and leaving my brain overloaded as the supple handfuls of her breasts bounce as she goes faster and faster.

  “Fuck, Carson . . .” she whimpers, bending forward. I reach down, grabbing the cheeks of her ass and squeezing them as I buck up into her, thrusting to meet her hips. She pitches forward just enough that I can kiss her silken lips.

  I wish I could make this last forever. But the newness of our desire and passion combined with the weeks of flirting and intimacy leaves us both on the edge.

  “Jayme—”

  “Yes!” she answers, grinding her clit down onto the base of my cock. I growl, and with a powerful thrust, drive every bit of myself inside her. Her cries match mine, and I can feel her spasming, clenching and shaking on top of me as I fill her with a deep explosion that comes not from my balls but from deep in my gut. Or maybe from within my soul.

  My arms tighten around her back, pulling her close as I empty myself into her, my cock aching as I spurt again and again. Jayme kisses me, our lips bruising each other with out of control hunger, both of us totally in the throes of our release.

  The rhythm of the crashing waves is the first sound I hear afterward, Jayme still on top of me and my arms still wrapped around her. I look up, worried that I’ll see concern or upset.

  But instead, she smiles down at me, a dreamy, satisfied, happy look in her eyes as she kisses me softly, the urgency of our passion sated. I’m still inside her, and I can feel the aftershocks of our bodies, but as she quivers around my cock, I’m slowly becoming aware of something else.

  “Jayme?”

  She moans luxuriously. “Yes, I did, and yes, you were more than satisfying.”

  “Uh, thank you,” I murmur, not immune to an ego stroke. “But I think I have sand burn on my ass.”

  Carefully, I try to shift but end up hissing in discomfort. Yup, I definitely moved my ass up and off my shirt during our beachfront activities, and now I’ve got sand so far up my ass I might end up making a pearl in a few weeks if I don’t do something about it.

  Jayme looks down at her own legs, her knees dug down into the sand for leverage. “We definitely have sand in places it shouldn’t be.” She lifts delicately, my cock slipping out of her as she rises fully to her knees. “Definitely gonna be some chafing. Gonna need lotion or baby oil or something.”

  “Movies make sex on the beach look way easier and sexier,” I complain, still trying to shift without flinching too much.

  Standing, we shake out our legs and arms a bit in the hopes the sand will magically fall off. But it’s stuck to us like . . . sand in sweat and, ahem, other stuff. Carefully, we try to pull bits of clothing on and head back toward the house. But a few steps later, we’re both wincing and end up walking back considerably more bow-legged than when we first arrived.

  “Ooh . . . ouch . . .” Jayme complains, wiggling her hips.

  I’d offer to carry her or help in some way, but I’m holding back some whimpers of my own. Yeah, I’m definitely going to need a shower . . . and maybe an enema. Never thought that thought would be in my head right after sex, but here we are.

  On the back porch, Jayme slides open the door, and we see Carlo inside. He’s made himself at home, his feet on the coffee table and a game on the television over the fireplace. He takes one look at us over his shoulder and grins. “I’ll call the pilot and tell him we’ll be late. An hour?”

  Jayme points an admonishing finger at him. She’s at least got her blouse on over her breasts, and her skirt’s semi-tugged down. My dick’s still flapping in the breeze behind her. “Not a word. And yeah, an hour’s fine. Let us wash off and find some clothes.”

  “And maybe some ointment?” I whisper quiet enough for only Jayme to hear.

  But Carlo laughs, so I guess it wasn’t quiet enough.

  Jayme leads me into a large bedroom that’s bathed in sunlight coming through the bank of windows along one wall. The king bed has more pillows than your average TJMaxx on restock day and looks inviting as hell. But with only an hour until take-off, plus more than a little bit of chafing, there’s no time to throw Jayme to the bed for round two.

  The bathroom is equally expansive, with warm charcoal tiles on the floors and shower walls and a wall of mirrors above the double vanity sinks. Jayme reaches into the shower, turning the water to lukewarm. “Usually, I prefer hotter than lava, melt your skin off temperature,” she says as she sheds the soppy bits of clothing she’s pulled on, “but I think that’d make me cry right now, and it’s just my knees. I can’t imagine what it’d feel like on your dick.”

  She looks down at my groin and her eyes go wide. I’d love to say it’s because she’s once again impressed with my size or considering dropping to her knees for me again, but I’m betting it’s because my cock is looking red and irritated.

  “Maybe a cool shower, then?” she suggests, turning the knob back to the right.

  We step into the shower, both writhing in discomfort when the water slides over us. “I would love to wash you,” I tell her, “but if I touch you, I’m going to get hard again, and I’m not sure I can handle that delicate skin stretching right now. Raincheck?”

  “Probably for the best since we need to hurry,” she agrees quickly. “But I’m looking forward to it.”

  Thankfully, the shower has both overhead and handheld sprayers, and with a little bit of squirming and total abandonment of my self respect, I’m able to get myself clean. Though Jayme unsuccessfully tries to hide a giggle as I spray out my butt crack, and she looks me up and down. “Careful there, stud, I might want you to do that on pulse mode.”

  “Very funny,” I grumble as I use my slippery free hand, which is well coated with coconut scented body wash, to sweep out more grains of sand. “Keep talking and I’ll pin you to the wall and return the favor.”

  “Promise?” she asks, biting her lip.

  “You’re giving me ideas . . . for next time,” I promise.

  With that setting the current tone, we make quick work of finishing up our shower.

  “Let me grab us some clothes. She always keeps merch for guests,” Jayme says, leaving me standing in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist.

  I meet my own eyes in the mirror. Today has been one big roller coaster. Not one of the completely safe, but intentionally designed to feel wild ones like at Americana Land, but more like one verging on the edge of insanity. It’s been amazing and dangerous in a way my motorcycle has never been. Jayme herself is better than the wind whipping through my hair at one hundred miles an hour. She blows through my soul, a tornado of possibilities.

  “I don’t know if these are going to fit you?” she calls out from the bedroom. I step into the room, finding her digging through the dresser and already wearing sweats and a T-shirt. She holds up a pair of gray sweatpants with a stylized T and a geometric design on the left thigh that match the ones she has on.

  “And there’s no underwear for you, so commando it is.” A coy smile teases at her lips, and she feigns being dramatic with a hand to her thrown-back head, “Gray sweats and a bouncing dick, you’ll be the talk of every woman online. Exactly what you don’t need.”

  “All I’m hearing is ouch-ouch-ouch with every step,” I say deadpan.

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s lotion in the bathroom. And these look baggy enough, you can probably flop back and forth without ever touching cotton.”

  Jayme disappears back into the bathroom, and I grab the sweats from the bed where she tossed them. Slipping them on, they’re a little short, but she’s right, the hips and crotch are very baggy. And thankfully, the inside of the cotton is fluffy and soft, so it’s not too rough on my sensitive dick or butt crack.

  A picture frame on the dresser catches my attention, and I move closer to check it out. It’s Jayme . . . with someone I never would’ve expected. Taya. She’s an artist major enough to only need one name. The T on the sweats suddenly makes more sense.