What kinds of noises would she make? Soft, pretty ones? Or is she a screamer?
The thought of my name on her lips shoves me straight into an orgasm.
I smash my lips together and internalize my groans of pure pleasure as jets of my release jerk from the head of my cock and land on the floorboards. It’s a lot, definitely more than a weak two-spurt climax, and I sink my shoulders back against the house for support as my knees weaken.
My brain is fuzzy with the sense of euphoria that can only be achieved after a very satisfying orgasm. But it quickly clears when the woman straightens and looks around, her eyes pausing on the shadows that shroud me for a few seconds before moving on.
Did one of my groans accidentally slip past my lips? Was my ragged breathing too loud?
I look down at my softening dick in my hand and immediately feel pathetic. This lady was trying to enjoy a quiet moment alone, and here I am, jacking off in the corner like a common pervert.
No, I’m a stellar pervert. That one spurt went at least two feet.
Shaking my head at my own lame joke, I watch as the woman opens her back door and disappears from view, but not before the breeze carries a whiff of something fruity and sweet toward me. It mixes flawlessly with the musk of my sex, and I inhale it with the greed of a starving man, knowing instinctively that the scent came from her.
What the fuck is wrong with me? This isn’t me. Hiding and jerking off and sniffing random women. Next thing I know, I’ll be peeping through windows and stealing panties.
You’re just hard up, my man. You saw a stunning woman and took matters into your own hand—literally.
That rings true. Maybe I need to get back out there and have a mindless sexual encounter. But this is definitely not the place to do it. And if the temptress is into sharing or swapping or whatever, then she’s a million percent not the one I need to do it with.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the wall, knowing my vacation is over. I’ll book a flight out tomorrow.
Chapter 6
My eyes are up here, sweetheart
Theysaytheroadto hell is paved with good intentions. If so, I’m headed straight to purgatory.
When I wake up Monday morning, I fully intend to get an immediate flight off Pineapple Island. The only problem? Planes only fly into the small airport on Wednesdays and Sundays. So barring a medical emergency, I’m stuck here for two more days.
Come to think of it, the way I acted last night could possibly be an indication of some kind of brain condition. Perhaps a medical transport off the island wouldn’t be out of the question.
Though for some reason, I still hadn’t changed my flight.
To take my mind off my little back porch indiscretion, I dress in running clothes and leave through the back door of my cottage. I don’t even look at the house next door.
Okay,maybeI peeked over there once or twenty times, but only to make sure the occupant wasn’t glaring at the freak next door who had come all over his porch at the mere sight of her. She’d probably be speaking into the phone.
Yes, officer, I can see the wanker. He’s six-foot-four with dark hair and green eyes. Of course, I’d be happy to identify his penis in a lineup.
The thought of her eyes on me makes said penis perk up a bit behind my black Nike Pros. What color would her eyes be? She’s blonde, so they’re probably blue.
I banish the weird, obsessive images from my mind when I reach the beach, pop my earbuds in, and begin to run. As my feet pound the sand, I contemplate what I want to do about my career.
I could retire from hockey and go into broadcasting. That would completely fuck over Roland Priestner, because without me to trade, he’d lose the high draft pick he’d negotiated. That option appealed to me on a very petty level.
But am I done playing? Am I ready to give up the sport I love so much?
The idea makes my stomach clench, and I know the answer. No.
I’m going to have to suck it up and go to Dallas. It’s my only choice.Trades happen all the time, Swain.Stop being a fucking drama queen.
Though I never thought it would happen to me. At the beginning of my career, I convinced myself that if I worked hard and became the best, I could stay with the Denver Raptors until I decided to retire. That was the game plan. That was the dream.
And now that dream is over.
The heavy metal music in my ears is only background noise to my thoughts, the beat thumping to the same rhythm as my heart. I lift a hand in greeting to a couple taking a leisurely stroll down the beach. They smile and wave back.
