Page 11 of Hot & Sticky

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“No,” I snarl, baring my teeth at him. “No, I work for—”

“You work for your Gramps,” Matt sneers. “Oh I know.” He smirks at me. “You know the people I know in this town? I could fucking sink that little shithole business of his, you know. Some bad review from me and my pals?” Matt snorts. “Game over, douchebag.”

“Listen to me,” I growl.

“No, you listen to me, fuckwad,” Matt sneers. “Why don’t you mind your fucking manners. I was just trying to get you some pussy, man. Jesus fucking Christ.”

I growl dangerously, and he laughs. “Oh, what, you got a little crush? She’s a cutie man, hey, I get it.” His smile fades, and he shoves me away. My hand falls from his collar, and he sneers at me.

“You ever lay a fucking hand on me again, and I’ll pay someone to cut if off. You understand?”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, prick,” Matt spits. He smooths his shirt, glaring at me. “You want a little fun, you let me know. If not, fuck off back to your shop and get that part back to me first thing in the morning. Got it?”

I frown, silent.

“Got it?” Matt hisses. “I hope you do, because if not, I’m fucking nuking that fucking HVAC business and running your Gramps out of fucking town. We understand each other?”

I don’t say shit, but I back away. Matt grins triumphantly.

“Good boy,” he chuckles. “Now sit. Stay.”

My teeth grind almost painfully, and my fists are shaking with the need to pound him into the pier. But I resist. I hold myself back.

Barely.

Matt strolls off with a final look. He gets into a cheap, rusted looking Corvette, and the gears grind as he skids off into the night. I get into my truck and slam the door shut in fury. The engine roars, and I squeal out myself, off into the night.

I take the beach road down the shore away from the pier. With the windows down and sea air blowing in, I calm a little more. The sun glowing low and red over the horizon takes a little more of the edge off too.

But that’s just the Matt part of what’s twisting me up. Because the other part is Taylor, and no ocean breeze or sunset is going to erase the taste of her lips or the feel of her heat.

I groan, gripping the wheel tight. Fuck, one taste, and I know I’ll never have enough. One moment with her, and I know I’m ruined for any other woman, forever. I glance at the waves crashing down on the beach to my right, and I give the truck a little more gas, roaring back home.

A few minutes later, I pull off the main road down my little sand-swept drive through the dunes. I pull up in front of my little beach surf shack, and I smile. It’s a beat-up looking single story on stilts—grey, weathered wood and all. But it’s been home since I got back from the Middle East, and I fucking love it.

It’s everything I need, and nothing more. A bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a big deck looking out over the ocean. And a rack full of boards and a hook for my wetsuit. It’s no sexy bachelor pad, but like I said, it’s all I need.

I step out of the truck, and I frown. Well, it’s almost all I need. It was all I needed, until today.

…Until I met Taylor.

I groan again at the memory of kissing her, and tasting her—of touching her, and feeling her gasp against me. My cock throbs and aches in my shorts, and I grunt.

Shit, I need to get this girl out of my head. And I only know of one way to do that.

Some guys drink or get fucked up on drugs to forget things from war. Others lose themselves in women or just go pedal to the metal until they crash. But for me, the only thing that’s ever cleared my head is surfing.

I strip down and suit up quickly. The sun is fading purple over the horizon, but it’s all the light I need. I grab a short board and plunge in, grinning as the water welcomes me home. I paddle out, feeling more and more calm as I get deeper. I wait for the right moment, letting a few waves go until I spot the one for me. I paddle, my grin splits my face, and my pulse roars.

I catch it, pop up on the board, and I let out a fucking roar as I ride that motherfucker hard all the way back to shore.

I stay out, catching a dozen more until it’s too dark to see shit. I ride one last wave back in, and this time, I pull my ass out of the water with a huge grin on my face. I rack the board and peel off the wetsuit and swimsuit.

Naked, I grab a beer from my fridge and sit out on the deck. There’s no one out here on the dunes besides me, and hell, if there are, they can damn well look, I guess. I sink in my chair and take a swig of the beer.

I lie to myself.


Tags: Madison Faye Erotic