His Second Chance (Love Comes To Town)

“Emerson,” she murmurs.

“Wynona,” I growl.

My fingers stroke all around, enjoying how she squirms. And then, I dip one finger in.

“Emerson,” she groans, louder now.

I vibrate it, dipping it in further.

“Emerson,” she moans even louder.

I dip both fingers in, stroking and fingering her.

Goddamn, she’s crazy-wet. And turned on.

I love seeing her like this.

So into it.

I finger her until she’s sunk into me, shaking.

Then, in one smooth motion, I take off my swim trunks.

She takes one look at my hard-as-fuck cock, and she says, “Please.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I lift her up and onto me, where I’m sitting on the front seat. Seconds later, she’s riding me like a pro.

Those pretty pert tits jiggle as she grinds her hips back and forth. She’ll be deep in an amazing rhythm, bobbing up and down on my dick when suddenly, she’ll switch the angle up, and new shots of pleasure go through me.

She comes all at once, and then I flip her around so she’s on the chair and I’m drilling her fast and hard. We ride her orgasm higher as she cries out, “Yes!!!” and then I’m coming too.

Somehow, we end up on the floor of the boat, her in my arms, watching the clouds drag past.

One looks like a three-legged poodle, another a man with a lasso.

“That was good,” I say.

Since I can’t think of anything else to say.

She rolls on her side to eye me. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Banging me on a boat?”

“Now that you mention it... it does have a nice ring.”

She snorts. “Great.”

My hand idles in her glossy black strands. “Things are easier like that.”

Her gaze manages to be sardonic yet guarded. “You mean when we’re not talking?”

I frown. “You really like conflict, don’t you?”

She considers that. “It does have a way of bringing things out in the open.”

“True,” I admit.

I roll on my side to look at her.

It doesn’t seem wise, noticing how beautiful she looks right now. That ivory skin with its subtle curves, the bare-lipped half-smile like she’s got a good secret.

Something tightens in me, and I sit up.

“Emerson?” she says.

“Just thinking,” I say.

Her silence is a question in itself, an opening. But I get up and go start up the motor.

The breeze hits all of me, and I remember.

Shit.

I pull on my clothes, then sit down, steering us to where we’re headed.

Wynona’s voice is a quiet accusation. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“You just drive us out somewhere secluded so we can screw on your boat, then it’s time to go back?”

I turn to look at her. “No.”

Her scowl is unconvinced. “Really.”

“Really,” I say. “That was part one.”

“And you were planning on telling me...”

“Didn’t think of it,” I say, turning back to the steering wheel.

If I’m going to get us there, I’m going to have to pay attention.

I can’t say why this mood has come over me. I don’t want to think about it.

It’d bring me back to those first weeks without her, all those years back.

When it dawned on me.

Just what I’d done.

The uselessness that followed that phone call. The months of fighting with myself. Regret like a noose I hanged myself on each and every morning.

By the time I got better enough to check up on her... she was better too.

Better enough that I knew I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to, get back together.

The months after that were the worst. I could hardly play piano, could hardly sleep.

Every girl seemed glaringly off with how much she wasn’t her.

Everyone was sympathetic at first, kept saying things about time.

Time just laughed and gave me the finger.

Time just reached into my body and gave my heart a wrench every time I thought about her.

And back then, I swore—never again. Never a-fucking-gain.

And now...

No.

I give my head a determined shake.

Better not to think about it.

I breathe in the sea air wet with spray, stretch my hot palms on the cool wood of the steering wheel, and steady my stance on the buzzing boat floor. I pick out the landmarks that I marked in my mental map when I looked up the route earlier today.

There’s the rocky shoreline of the small island. There’s the far-off pale purple-green peak of Mount Maggie.

“Nearly there,” I tell Wynona.

When we pull up on shore, I drop the anchor then help her out of the boat. We don’t have far to go to reach the mouth of the cave.

It’s a rocky hill that looks out of place. Like it has no business being here.

It took me an hour of random online searching of forums before I stumbled upon it.

It looks even bigger than I expected.

One step inside, and I’m stopping, peering further in. The beam of my flashlight reveals an endless-seeming cavern with stalactites like fangs hanging from the ceiling.

“This is cool,” Wynona admits as I take her hand and we venture further in.

“Not still mad at me?” I tease her.