Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's June, Ridoc. I start in August. And it's all online anyway," Liam says between thrusts, and I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. I'd look back to check, but we're both focused on the Prius parking in the driveway.

"You can stay with me and Bodhi! Pleeeease? I'll give you a blowjob?" I say, trying to seem less breathless than I am. He's really good.

"You literally just did that," Liam says. I can't help but grin. I did. And that was really good too.

"But that was a 'yay, what a fun surprise you're back!' blowjob," I explain, gripping my cock as if that will somehow slow, instead of bolster, the amazing orgasm I can already feel building. 

"This would be like, 'thank you for being the best, most supportive friend'," I promise him. He doesn’t say anything, but the pace continues. "I would let you win in the best friend bracket," I say. He's still bitter about losing to Bodhi in the house's Best Kisser bracket last month. It was very, very close.

"I would win that anyway. And don't sell yourself short, it was a phenomenal blowjob," Liam reassures me. "Though I did get the feeling you just wanted to see if you could still taste Violet on me."

"That wasn't the only reas—fuuuuuck," I say, the memory of 15 minutes ago putting me over the edge. I could taste her, and it was hot. Liam follows quickly after, and then massages my back as I sit up on a towel on the bay window I've been bent over. We're both a little breathless now.

In the driveway below us, a tall brunette man in a button down and slacks steps out of the driver's seat. "At least he's a hot stranger," Liam concedes, noting the man's chiseled jawline under a short beard, and his intense eyes as he lifts his aviators onto his forehead, surveying the house and the beach while talking on his phone.

I whistle in agreement. "See, it will be fun! I thought everyone would be excited!"

Liam and I watch our new tenant reach into the trunk of his car.

"Those forearms," I say, nearly drooling as the brunette rolls up his sleeves and pulls out something heavy enough to make a vein bulge.

"The stubble," Liam agrees.

"Gods," I say as the tenant—Dave? Damon? I can't remember, it was an old lady who emailed me—makes his way to the door. "Who the fuck wears tailored slacks and a collared shirt to the beach? I don't want to just sit on my hands, but I also don't really want to carry all that stuff for him. It looks heavy.”

"It looks like that's the last of it anyway," Liam says. He would totally go help this guy because he's soooooo nice (he really would win a best friend bracket. Mental note to make one in Canva tonight) and also probably wants to show off his muscly muscles too. 

I'm just not that vain, I guess. I can let others do good deeds, and I can appreciate how good they look doing them. It's really nice of me not to be trying to show off all the time.

"Are we at least making money on this? How much?" Liam asks when I nod. I hold up an assortment of fingers. "How many zeros after that?" he prods.

"Two?"

"For a weekend, that's not bad," Liam says, softening to the idea, his eyes still glued to the attractive visitor.

"Oh. Um. For a month," I say with a slight wince. Thankfully, Mr. Attractive Beard Guy is ringing the doorbell so I have an excuse to jump up and yank my trunks on and not answer further.

"Wait, what!" Liam says after me, grabbing a towel. “It better be a damn good blow job!”

Chapter Text

"You're sure that's the address? Cath, it's an entire" I censor myself from saying godsdamned to the septuagenarian office assistant. " Enormous mansion."

"That's the address! I think it's just one room in the house. Maybe you'll have a cute tour guide living there like in the commercials!"

That would be my worst nightmare. But I just grimace as I heave the surveyor equipment out of the trunk and try to keep my phone balanced. Cath has never been anything but nice to me, so I just say,  "Yeah, maybe."

"It sounded like a very nice young person in the emails," she says.

"Yeah, serial killers tend to do that,” I say.

"Pardon? I couldn't hear—" I’m pretty sure she could. She’s old, but she’s sharp. 

"I said thanks,” I correct and I can hear her laugh. “Did the nice young person, or the reviews, mention which room or anything? If they just left a key this could take a while." 

"No reviews! You get to be the first guest,” she says. “Isn't that exciting!?" 

"No, it's not." And the last, I think, when the host turns out to be a murderer, cute or not. "It is close to the beach," I say, truly caught off guard as I get closer to the mansion and see around it. 

The beach is beautiful, nothing like the toxic wasteland it was described as. Most beaches I’ve worked at are more like nature protection areas than tourist destinations. When this one was on the list of options for the summer, I thought it would be a nice finale for my last summer before joining the corporate world. 

The water is a perfect turquoise, with small waves splashing on a smooth, unblemished beach. There are even palm trees, which I definitely don't remember being there before. 

Then again I don't remember this post modern monolith of a “house” either, so maybe things have changed in ten years.

The tall “Welcome! Magic can happen on the Calldyrian Coast!” sign is still there, and it’s a little worn, but even from here I can read the smaller part below where it says “Brought to you by the Calldyrian Coast Beach Fund.” I remember being so proud that I was tall enough to reach the letters the last time my mom took my picture there. 

"Thanks, Cath," I say as a means to goodbye.

"Have fun! Meet a nice girl! Or boy! You know my nephew—"

"Bye Cath," I say, hanging up the phone and pocketing it before picking up the heaviest of the boxes out of the trunk, getting my suitcase from behind it. 

I carry it up to the door and ring the doorbell with my free hand.

It opens after a beat, the host seemingly out of breath. He's in red trunks with floppy hair and one of those broadway smiles that takes up half his face.

There's a blond guy walking up behind him, more clothed, but even with the T-shirt and shorts I can tell he's just as built as the first. So two "cute tour guides." Great.

And as the door opens wider, it seems the hosts and/or serial killers are part of an entire lineup. The two in the doorway block most of two bikini clad blondes and yet another perfectly built, actually, even more built, homecoming king looking guy.

"Welcome! To! Riorson! House!" the first host says in a singsong voice. "I'm Ridoc and this is Liam! Let me take you to your room!"

Ridoc, because that's a real name of course, moves to usher me in, but it's painfully obvious he's trying to direct me away from the large living room where the others are. The slightly shorter blonde has curly hair with a blue streak and she looks as excited as Ridoc. The taller blonde with braids hasn't looked up from her phone once.

There are three couches and a TV to one side, a kitchen in the far back, and a staircase winding up the left wall.

I get my bag and turn back to see Ridoc talking to the mountain of a man with brown hair perfectly tousled on top of a swimsuit model's body. He's got on red trunks and a white muscle tank with the neck and arms cut so deeply it may as well be a bikini.

The shorter girl with a blue streak in her hair is cute, with her ears pierced up and down. She’s in a slightly more muted red halter suit and has rainbow painted nails that draw attention, as if her perfectly proportioned body wasn't enough on its own.

The taller blonde in braids and a cherry red bikini stands behind him, looking annoyed. She makes brief eye contact, but even as her eyes flick back down to her phone, I'm unable to take my own eyes off of her. While it's specifically her chest that draws me in, her annoyance somehow makes her more attractive than her blue eyes or physique alone.

Maybe this is some kind of influencer model content house? Maybe I should be flattered.

Blue streak is bouncing on her toes as if spectating a really exciting event. A circus maybe. Cath might really care about me, but next time I'm booking my own accommodations.

"I told you! I told all of you on hot tub night!" Ridoc is saying, clearly talking about me.

"Ridoc, no one remembers hot tub night," the taller girl says without looking up. "Well, not that part anyway."

"I do!" Ridoc says. "I remember it very fondly! And I remember telling everyone thaaaaat," he draws it out, "since Mr. and Mrs. Riorson moved out, I rented out their room," Ridoc says quickly, and the silence is stunned on all sides. "For a month."

The hulking muscle guy is almost shaking with laughter, but braids is still scowling, and now texting. Blue streak is as excited as before. 

"Hi, I'm Garrick," the man says, and reaches out to shake my hand.

"We're basically letting him stay for free," Ridoc says. (That explains the real reason Cath picked this AirBnB.) "It's for a good cause! He’s, like, from a non-profit for endangered um...."

"Turtles!" The shorter girl says gleefully as if on a gameshow. I nod, wondering if she was actually the cute host from the email and that's how she knows. Maybe Cath talked me up to her, and—no. I'm not relying on a great-grandmother to matchmake me. I'm not that desperate. 

Yet.

Garrick shakes my hand, making eye contact like it's a contest. 

"I'm with the Turtle Institute Testing Society," I say, giving the elevator speech I've memorized over the five years I've done this.

“Great acronym,” Braids interrupts snarkily. 

I ignore her, though she’s not wrong, and continue. "I'm counting the turtles in a prescribed area to gather baseline data for further research on the effects of the nearby Avil Industries plant on the turtles’ already fragile ecosystem."

"Pity, I'm more of a pandas girl myself," braids says, and turns toward the door, not looking up once. Still, I watch her, catching the glimmer of a ruby red gem in her belly button. Fuck but that's hot. "And Bodhi was ok with this?" she says.

"Presuming he isn't as forgetful as you two! What are you three doing here together in the middle of the day anyway?"

"Same thing you were,” Garrick says with a wink. “Well, would you look at the time, back to work!" He walks out the door quickly, and Ridoc rushes "WellIwasonalunchbreak!" around the closing door.  

"I'm Quinn," blue streak offers, but doesn't shake.

"And this is Sloane," Ridoc says, the taller blonde clearly more pissed that Garrick nearly slammed the door in her face. "Don't let her winning personality fool you, she's just mad she's been caught post-threesome on work hours. Also, she's Liam's sister." Ridoc nods to Liam and I see the resemblance between him and Sloane immediately. Good genes.

Sloane stomps on Ridoc's foot. I feel odd, an unmistakable wave of jealousy. Do I want this blonde stomping on me? Maybe. But more likely I just want someone who would know me well enough to be so casual. I can't imagine being so cavalier with my personal life. Maybe that’s why I don’t have one. 

But the thought of being caught by a stranger post coitus? I would not have come down to meet me, I would have simply thrown myself out the window. Probably. It’s not like anyone’s jumping at the chance to ask me to do that kind of thing anyway. 

As if to confirm that I only exist to the world in a professional sense, I say, "Nice to meet you all. I have to work as well, can I get this stuff to my room now?”

Ridoc gives me a short tour, taking me to my room, and sort of gesturing at other features on the way like a gym in the basement, a sun room, a game room, a library. He disappears the moment I set foot in my room, and I drop off my bag and find my own way back out of the labyrinth of a house. 

When I make it down to the beach, I check the coordinates for where I’m supposed to be looking and settle in, setting up the tripod and the equipment as efficiently as ever. It doesn't stop someone from shouting at me. 

"You need all that to count?" I look up and see a lifeguard with pink hair looking down at me, dramatically over her sunglasses. "You don't have fingers and toes?" She laughs. Even from here I can tell her eyes are a shocking green. I can't look away. But I can't give her the satisfaction either.

"Yep," I deadpan. "If you help, I can get up to at least 40. That usually takes days."

"Maybe I can,” she says. “I even know how to add and subtract.” 

"You can't help,” I say, not wanting to continue the joke. “The only reason I get paid to do this is there are rules and —"

"I'm not here to break your rules or take your surely very high paying job. Gotta watch the beach anyway." Pink hair looks back up, away from me as if to demonstrate. “It won’t watch itself.” 

She leaves me alone after that. Day one is pretty boring, mostly just marking off space with the surveyor.

Unfortunately, her not looking at me means I catch myself looking up at her more often than I would if I was trying to look busy. It's hard not to, the line of demarcation is three feet in front of her chair. So her legs are always in my line of sight. Dangling. Swinging. Smooth. Near reflective in the sun. Long. Muscular.

And then I'm looking up. At her thighs. Between them. There's such a thin line of spandex between her legs, between the softness of the inside of her legs.

When I'm not looking at it, I'm thinking about it. Every so often she blows the whistle and yells and it's pretty hot, hearing her tell people what to do. Hell, I'm pretty sure she yells at one of the other lifeguards for some infraction. And it calls my attention back to her as easily as it does the rule-breaker's. And then I'm thinking about her again.

About if I could reach her from the ground, or if I'd have to climb the first rung to have my head between those thighs, moving that pink stripe to the side, licking what's behind it. If she would appreciate my stubble on the soft skin to the sides of her core. If I could kiss the light scratches it leaves, if I'd feel her slick on my cheek as I did. If she'd put those 10 fingers to work in my hair, her emerald green nails on my scalp, on my back as I go deeper for more, as I grab her ass for better leverage, feeling the heat of the sun on her skin in my hands.

I wonder if I'm fantasizing too much to think I could make her come on my tongue alone, or if I could keep my balance while working in a finger or two, moving my mouth up to her clit. If she would climax with a shout or a sigh.

And they say I lack imagination. 

When the job is done, I take one last long look at her staring out into the horizon, and when she looks down at me for a second, I turn before there's a chance I blush.

I head back to the house to clean up. The shower in the room I have won't turn on. Lovely. I consider checking the other rooms, but decide to stay ignorant in case they have freezers and drains, and I opt for scrolling my phone on a couch instead. 

It turns out Liam was at the house all along, and he emerges downstairs just before Ridoc comes in. He's quickly followed by Sloane who's talking animatedly to — holy shit . Pink hair.

The girl gives me a wink as she and Sloane continue to the kitchen.

Apparently the entire lifeguarding staff lives here, because Ridoc can't even start talking before two more insanely fit, swimsuit-and-lanyard-wearing people walk in.

The first is a statuesque brunette in a black one piece with a severe ponytail. She seems more reserved and serious, but maybe it's just the hairstyle. Even though her suit is a one piece, it's somehow not the least bit modest. Her beauty is classical, but the sharp metallic studs on her straps give her a punk vibe.

She's talking seriously with a stereotypical surfer dude with tousled hair and deep brown skin.

"This is Nyra, our fearless lifeguarding leader, our captain in the storm, our anchor in a sea of uncertainty!" Ridoc says of the first. “And future lawyer.” 

"Great to meet you," she says. "Let me know if you need absolutely anything at all.”

The curly haired guy steps forward far more reluctantly. "I'm Bodhi," he says.

"And?" Ridoc prompts.

"And I'm also a lifeguard?"

Ridoc rolls his eyes. "Glowing. Beautiful. Fine, you're dismissed." Bodhi nearly jogs to the kitchen. "The pink haired one is Imogen. She said she met you already."

"I did," she says with a devilish grin, even though we did not exchange names or actually meet. I'm not sure what her game is, but I don't care enough to indulge her. 

I'm just about to ask Ridoc about the shower in our room, or if he can get me a toolbox, but I hear a voice I immediately recognize as Sloane's shout, "Strip poker in five!"

Imogen says, "You have to go to the kitchen for dinner anyway, might as well enjoy the show," and saunters off to the kitchen, the too-thin straps of her pink swimsuit clinging to her in every indecent place. She’s somehow wetter now than she was on the beach, her tattooed skin glistening and gorgeous. 

Everyone else is in red, except Imogen and Nyra. I wonder if they have special permission. Though if there are any kind of policies, I can’t imagine they include the flimsiness of the bikinis most of them are in. 

I'm not inclined to follow, but I am hungry, so I do. I wonder if she’s giving me some kind of challenge. Maybe it’s a genuine invitation. Or both. 

Imogen's setting up the game at the kitchen table, in front of a sliding glass door facing the shoreline. The horizon is stunning, the sun still far above it, the blues of the water dancing below it. 

Ridoc points to a list of everyone's names on magnets on the fridge. "That's the dinner rotation, Garrick's up tonight!"

"It's gourmet build your own peanut butter sandwich night," Garrick declares from the kitchen island.

"Gourmet?" Imogen raises an eyebrow.

"Yep," Garrick says proudly, handing out beers and ciders to the group. "Two kinds of jelly."

Imogen rolls her eyes and gets a deck of cards. Garrick opens the sliding door to set the table on the balcony. I guess the actual dinner will be there, but the stripping is here. 

"Any of you joining?" Imogen asks. Ridoc and Liam shake their heads, and Liam takes a pile of snacks with him as their footsteps sound up the stairs.

"Strip poker? You just got back from the beach," I say. "No one's actually wearing enough to take off."

"Mm, so clever. I guess we'll stop since you pointed that out," Imogen says sarcastically as she shuffles and starts to deal.

When I don't respond immediately, she pauses, then stretches her arms languidly above her head. I know everyone at the table is watching me, but I can't help the way my eyes track her comfortable movement, how they follow her toned, tan arms, how I admire the tattoo swirling up from her left wrist. "But see," she says, making direct eye contact, "that's exactly the point."

Her left hand stops for a moment on the back of her neck, as likely to be scratching an imagined itch as it is to be pulling the thin string holding her bikini top together.

Then she's back to dealing with a professional efficiency, the tiny scraps of fabric covering her chest still woefully in place.

“So are you joining us?” she asks, despite my commentary. My own thoughts from earlier echo – It’s not like anyone’s jumping at the chance to ask me to do that kind of thing. Well, she might not be jumping, but she’s calling my bluff. And this is my last summer before I have no more summers, so I take the plunge. 

"What was it again?" She wants drama and attention? Far be it from me to withhold. I make a show of looking at her lanyard, following it down between the triangles of spandex and lust to her name tag. "Cardulo? Deal me in."

We play five card draw and Quinn makes conversation, though she doesn't play, opting to paint her nails instead. She asks me about the Turtle Institute Teaching Society (TITS) and she tells me about her experiences with the turtles, though she hasn’t seen any yet this year. The group trades stories about happening upon them in years past. 

They talk about their days and they all shout over each other for Garrick's benefit as he walks in and out of the house. He's painstakingly setting up the sandwich bar on the balcony and tells his own story about rescuing a teen from a riptide.

Sloane is out in the first hand and she kicks off her sandals. I try painfully not to look at her legs, to imagine them around my waist or gods, my face.

Bodhi is out next, but only takes off one sandal. Then he's out again with another sandal.

I lose a round, and kick off a shoe. "Oh come on," Sloane says, whining. "At least go for the shirt, make it even with Bodhi."

"Do you make the rules here?" I ask. 

Imogen rolls her eyes. "This guy fucking loves rules. He told me there are secret rules of counting." I open my mouth to give a snarky response but Sloane continues her tirade until some secret signal I miss, though I’m pretty sure Bodhi’s hand wasn’t on her thigh a second ago. 

Still, my hand sucks, and I'm about to fold, and maybe I will take off my shirt, so there Sloane , but while I drag out the moment, Bodhi folds instead.

The curly haired man stands, all eyes on him as he reaches slowly for his waistband, his hand tracing the edge of the V leading to it, and he shimmies out of his red trunks. Tight black boxers remain. "Oh come on!" Sloane says. "Buy the ones with the built in underwear!"

Bodhi laughs. "Let's pretend I did. I'm out, I lose."

He throws the trunks over his shoulder as he heads for the bathroom, which must have a working shower, because I hear the water start. Sloane's head is still turned after him.

Imogen deals again, and Sloane folds almost immediately. "Sloane, this was your idea," Imogen chides.

"Well, I lost," Sloane says, following Bodhi's footsteps and pulling her bikini strings as she walks. While her bare back isn't much different from her bikini clad back, it sends a shiver down my spine seeing her swing the neon red top at her side, hitting her hip on every sway, and then untying the bottoms as well. She turns into the bathroom, the fabric falling just as she's out of sight.

"Are they…?" I ask as Sloane slips into the bathroom and a cloud of steam billows out. I'm trailing off less because I don't know what to say and more because I'm wishing I had listened and lost sooner. Imogen smirks again and deals blackjack.

"Definitely about to do it in the shower right now? Yes." she says. "Exclusive? No. You're welcome to join them, probably."

Quinn giggles. I stiffen in more ways than one and take a sip of my drink. "I think I'm good for now, thanks." 

"Suit yourself. We've got about an hour of hot water, so we usually play a game for shower order. And they usually overlap."

What. I cough, and Imogen smiles wickedly. "Unless you want to shower at 4 a.m. like Nyra, you're going to have to figure something out."

"Wait," I say, it is not adding up at all. “How do you not have hot water? But if the loser showers, then why doesn't everyone just lose on purpose?"

"They do lose on purpose," Quinn says in a stage whisper, and as if on cue, a consistent thud begins from the direction of the bathroom. Oh. “And we’re all lifeguards, not plumbers.”

"Usually we're a more competitive bunch, but this particular game doesn't usually last long." Imogen flips over two tens, and gestures to me. I check my cards, then unbutton a couple more buttons, and pull my shirt over my head, pleased to see both Imogen and Quinn staring when it's off. 

Imogen loses next and fishes her bikini bottoms out from under the table, setting them next to the deck. If she means to intimidate me, it works.

Between the now varying sounds from the shower and the fact that Imogen's absolutely bare not even feet away from me, I am distracted. I overplay my next two hands, losing socks (both at once, so there Sloane) and then pants, until I'm down to my tight teal boxer briefs.

The bathroom door opens, and a giggly Sloane comes out wrapped in a fluffy towel, barely staying up tucked in around her breasts, which somehow seem even more tempting than they did in the red halter. I gulp, willing the towel to fall with every fiber of my being. Bodhi follows, a black towel slung low on his hips and a pair of small clear rimmed glasses on his face.

"Shower's free if you want it," Bodhi says, nodding at me. I can barely nod back.

"No, he has to play for it!" Sloane pouts, rearranging the towel again, giving me almost-flashes of her chest that will absolutely fuel something later.

"Yeah, just like you did?" Imogen asks sarcastically. She gestures for me to take the turn Bodhi’s offering, and I pick up my neatly folded clothes and head in.

Garrick takes my place at the table, and Imogen deals him in as I enter the bathroom.

I locate the towels and toiletries, and start the water, which has a myriad of settings for 3 separate shower heads. This place is way too fancy to have plumbing problems. The hot water feels amazing and I quickly relax into it. As soon as the glass fogs up, I hear the door open and close.

"Looks like I lost,” Imogen says. I freeze. I contemplate turning the water off, but that would be playing right into her hand.

"Oh yeah?" I say instead. "That's hardly fair, Garrick just joined."

"Right. Let me go explain that, and miss my turn in the shower,” she quips. I want to mutter that the whole game makes no fucking sense, but before I can, Imogen's blurry body outside the glass comes into sharp focus inside of it. 

Of course she's naked. Of course she’s as hot as I could have imagined, maybe hotter. It only makes sense that her body would be perfect, what with the lifeguarding and the indoor gym and-–I take a deep breath.

"I mean, who am I to deprive you of your only available hot water?" I ask dryly, but my voice is rougher than I mean for it to be. 

"Now that's a good houseguest," she says, stepping in. This close, I can take her all in. I knew she was hot, but seeing her nipples pucker in the water, and the dip between her legs, I'm already half hard. Who am I kidding, I've been half hard since those bottoms hit the table and I imagined her fingers grazing herself to get them off.

I try to stay back and admire the view as she lathers up and washes her hair. She gets closer to me, and takes the washcloth out of my hand. I let her, for obvious reasons. She begins on her body, first looking me up and down while she washes, and then turning around slowly, her ass on my cock as she does.

"Feel free to jump in any time," she says, not looking back. I reach for her back, and begin to massage it. Her skin in my hands is so soft and her muscle so firm. It's enough just to be touching her.
I run a hand over her breast and the nipple is perfect in my hand, better than I could have imagined. Hell, I’m not even sure I imagined them earlier, but gods know I will for the rest of my life after this. 

She lets out a cute little noise of appreciation, and I pull her into me. She leans her back into my chest, the water hitting her chest as I dip a hand between her legs and she gasps. I pull away immediately. I thought I was following her lead here, but maybe I’ve misread everything. 

"Good gasp, not bad," she says, and places her hand over mine, and puts it back between her thighs. Fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever felt. 

I still haven't quite worked out what is happening in this house, but at the moment while I'm feeling her wetness on my fingers, on her fingers, I don't care at all. I kiss her neck and she moans again as I work my fingers into her warmth.

"Fuck," I say, realizing how truly wet she is. "I thought you were just trying to piss me off."

"I was, but I've got to shower sometime," she says in a mocking voice. I give her ass a playful slap with my other hand, then return it to her nipple, squeezing and circling.

"Gods, you are so fucking hot," I say, and she arches in to me at the praise.

Still, she's as cocky as ever when she says, "I know. You're very lucky." She puts one hand on the wall in front of her to brace herself, and the other she snakes behind her back, running it along my cock.

"I am," I breathe, "the luckiest man alive right now." I'm so fucking hard against her back, she has to feel it, but I'm not about to do anything for myself when she's letting me give her all this pleasure. But then again, we're in the shower anyway, if I were to come. Not that I am.

"Fuck, I'm close," she says, and I snap back to focusing solely on her, thrusting two fingers from my right hand while my left finds her clit and begins rubbing small circles. She takes her hand off my cock and I focus more sharply, though when her hand joins mine inside her, I'm so close to the edge I would lose it if she didn't first.

Her climax clenches around me, well, us, and she comes with a sharp intake of breath. I groan in sheer fucking pride. What an honor.

After a moment of catching her breath, she spins to me and puts her hands on my chest. "I can't blow you in here, let's go to my room," and I nod as if I can possibly understand any words at all when every single thought in my head has been erased by the blood running to my cock.

I’m no stranger to sex, but this is absurdly hot in a way most of my encounters, careful, prepared, quick, are not. Maybe it was the way she challenged me, or maybe I’m sunsick, but I cannot stop this train in motion. 

She wraps herself in a towel and tosses me one before pulling me out of the bathroom's other door into a sitting room, then up the stairs to one of the closed doors in my hallway. I can barely take in the large bed, the large chair, the beach view, before she has the towel off, and my erection in her hands. I'm pleased to see the cold from exposure hasn't done much to my size.

She's on her knees instantly, her mouth so perfect and round and I can feel the heat of her breath so close to my weeping cock—and the door opens.

Fuck.

Garrick's eyes meet mine and I fall back on the bed as if hit by a physical blow. "The fuck, Gen? In our room?" the bear of a man asks.

I'm scrambling for something to cover myself, mumbling apologies. "Sorry, got carried away," Imogen says, shockingly coolly. "What happened to build your own sandwich night?"

"I built it," he says, and everything is so bizarrely casual, but I still feel like an intruder, like the larger man is going to take a swing at me at any moment.

Stupidly, I didn't bring my clothes up here, as entranced as I was. Shit, is this something where she seduced me so they can tie me up and slather me in peanut butter and send the photos to my dad?

I've got the towel tight around me, finally, and I attempt to slip toward the exit, as if I'm not the object of the conversation.

Before I can open the door, Garrick's large hand is on my bare shoulder, his black tattoo making the whole thing even more menacing. "May I?"

My eyes go wide so quickly I can feel it. "Um. What?" May he what? Put me out of my misery? Please, gods above. I have every intention to walk directly to the car and drive until I hit the Poromiel border and never look back. Ever. 

"May I join?" Garrick clarifies, and if I thought my eyes couldn't go any wider, well, today is full of surprises. 

"Um." This can't be real. This has to be a trick. So I turn to Imogen, who is smug but not smirking. "Ladies' choice?" I say weakly, and her grin turns feral. 

"Excellent." She jumps on the bed. The bounce of her breasts and the promise of what's to come have me nearly hard again as she positions herself on all fours and beckons me over. Her mouth returning to where it had been, warm and wet on my cock, finishes the job. I run my hands through the pale pink of her hair while she swirls her tongue around me.

When I finally look up from the magic that is her lips on my cock, her green eyes occasionally glancing up at me in pure ecstasy, I see Garrick lining himself up. Before I can fully appreciate the view, I feel her moan through my cock as Garrick slides his own considerable length into her. He gives a few test thrusts, and when it's abundantly clear Imogen is more than comfortable with us both, Garrick begins a steady pattern that I can fucking feel echoed in her mouth sliding up and down me, wet and warm and so fucking erotic.

Garrick is watching her and squeezing her ass. "Fuck Im, you're so fucking hot, so fucking wet for me and Dain. You love being fucking railed in both holes, don’t you, you fucking filthy beautiful girl?” he says, and he keeps the compliments going, some filthy enough that I would blush if I wasn't already. Some seem to reference prior sexual events that I try to make note of to ask about later, if things are so very calm and casual here. 

I consider that I am usually the talkative one, but I'm also not usually on the mouth side, or any side, of an Eiffel tower, so I don't interrupt. In fact, I'm nearly afraid if I say a single word, I'll break the spell and possibly come before this absolutely breathtaking moment hits its peak.

My eyes snap between the two bodies in front of me, one lithe and the other all muscle and masculinity. Garrick spends most of his time with his eyes on Imogen, but at some point we look up at the same time. I'm tempted to look away, like I shouldn't be here, as if I'm not an active fucking participant in this, but Garrick is all smiles.

"Thanks man, this is fucking amazing," he says, not casually, but without the panting and shock I know my own voice would carry, and so I just nod and smile too. "Should we, uh, y'know," Garrick says, taking his hands off of Imogen who whimpers - whimpers! - at the loss. An hour ago, I would not have been able to imagine her whimpering at anything ever, but as I’m smoothing her pink hair and she’s giving me a life altering blowjob, she’s whimpering. 

Magic can happen on the Calldyrian Coast. 

I think for the briefest moment that Garrick is going to kiss me. But his hands are up, and I realize what it is, and almost laugh, or as best as I can with my cock so close to the edge I’m teetering. We high five with both hands, and Garrick whoops.

"Alright Immie, it's your show now," he says, leaning in over her, kissing her back, reaching a hand under her. My cock is godsdamn vibrating with her pleasure as she moans.

I put my hand that's not in her hair on her shoulder, massaging a knot while Garrick coos and soothes. Then she's coming, I hope, at the same time I do, her final sensual pulling off of my cock taking every bit of me with her.

"Fuuuuuck," Garrick groans through his own release, following us as we sort of topple into the bed. She's swallowing thickly and I'm completely lost to the bliss of it all, pulling her close in a way that should be too intimate but feels like the natural thing to do in this post orgasm haze. Garrick wraps himself around her from the other side, and his warmth reaches me too. 

"Welcome to Riorson House," Garrick says happily.

When I finally float down and my wits are about me, I venture to speak. "That was amazing. You guys were–I was so scared when you were arguing, I thought —"

"Oh! Sorry," Garrick says with what can only be described as a guffaw. "I just thought if we were going to do a three way, we should've gone back downstairs so we could call it a Shower Tower." 

As absurd as it is, I find myself laughing too. He continues, "Imogen seemed to care more about you than my joke. Unfortunately."

"Maybe next time, Gare bear," she says, rolling into his chest, but not quite away from me. 

I nod, even though there's no way there's going to be a next time. This was hardly even real, I'm certain I'm going to blink and be awake in my teenage bed, the past half hour beyond any fantasy my awake brain could muster. But maybe.

Eventually, what feels like a million years later, when it seems like we're all sort of drowsy, I wrap myself in the towel and walk toward the door.

"Don't forget it's movie night!" Garrick calls after me. "I'm not sure what we're watching but go back downstairs if we haven't completely exhausted you." He winks, and I find myself almost … giddy? I'm grinning as I walk down the hall to my room.

I change into charcoal joggers and a black v-neck. I rummage around in the small closet to see if I can find any tools for the shower. When I open the bathroom cabinets, I find bottles of lube and sex toys. Despite the experience I just had, I’m still a little surprised. I had already gathered they were fairly open, but I still try not to think too hard about who might have had this room before, or who’s still using these silk handcuffs, butt plugs, and vibrators. They all seem meticulously kept at least.

Thankfully, before I can investigate further, though I do find a screwdriver in the drawer and put it on the counter, Ridoc's voice shouts up the stairs. "MOVIE NIGHT!" 

I run my hands through my hair with a quick glance in the mirror on the wall and check my phone before going down the stairs. I’m a little surprised my dad hasn’t checked in. He definitely knew I would be here. Well, in Calldyr at least. Not that I reached out to him either. But still. Even Cath has texted me to make sure I settled in okay. 

"We are not watching Star Wars again," Sloane protests. "It's like a hundred movies long. That's a multi-week commitment." 

"Babe, I think we're losing this one," Bodhi says with a hand on Ridoc's back. "Plus, she's kind of right, I wouldn't want Dain to be gone before we could finish them all." Do these people think I haven't seen Star Wars? I try to think of a tactful way to say that I won't be left hanging, but they continue. 

Ridoc pouts, turning to me, and says "Movie night is Thursday. Fire night is on Wednesdays. We go into the city on Sunday nights. And Tuesday is game night. Just FYI."

"He isn’t going to remember that," Bodhi says. "It's on the calendar," he offers to me, as if that's more helpful. Maybe they sent Cath a convenient sex resort event calendar she neglected to forward me. Threesome Thursdays are the days we invite our guests for threesomes, before we sit for films and then canapes in the garden. 

I'm sitting on a love seat near the TV. (Now eating my own-built peanut butter sandwich, with two types of jelly. "At the same time?" Garrick had said, wide eyed. "A visionary." I thought that was the whole point of the two jellies, but I took the compliment.) "And there's also a hot tub in the back we use most of the other nights," Liam adds. 

"Is this like a sex summer camp?" I ask, taking a sip of the beer Garrick hands me before he goes back to shaking cocktails.

"We're here all year!" Ridoc says brightly. "And it's more like an orphanage, a collection of young people living together, making their way in the world!"

“Babe, that’s not really how an orphanage works,” Bodhi starts but Garrick is laughing and cuts him off. 

"Yeah, I'm sure Dain’s getting real Annie vibes," Quinn says. "What with the squalor and servitude we live in." She gestures to the high ceilings and modern, state-of-the-art, well, everything.

"OK, but maybe the second part of Annie? Maybe we were all taken in by a rich…" Ridoc trails off. I try to remember the plot to help him out, but I can only think of the SNL sketch where the rich guy was a cannibal.

"Daddy?" Sloane says after a sip of her very tropical drink, complete with umbrella. "What? That was his name, Daddy Warbucks. Please, Ridoc, please, call Xaden Daddy on FaceTime and see how he reacts. That would be a great option for tonight's entertainment."

Imogen has already drained her first pour and Garrick is shaking her another.

"I will leave that to Liam, and he can report back," Ridoc says. "In great detail. Excruciating detail."

Garrick smirks, and then Sloane and Imogen both dissolve into laughter, and I even see a small smile on Bodhi's face.

"My cousin, his parents owned this house and they lived here before they died. So I guess he was the orphan Ridoc meant? He's the one who just moved out of the room you're in, with his wife, Violet, because she took a job in the city. Liam, um," and here Bodhi seems like maybe might regret trying to explain. "Liam stays with them a lot."

Quinn nods, “I think Dain has already figured out that no one here is particularly monogamous,” she says. Even the married ones, apparently. 

Ridoc picks up the story with far more dramatic flair.

"Xaden’s wealthy but dead parents left him the house," Ridoc puts a hand over his heart very dramatically, "and an attached trust fund to maintain it." (No phone number for a plumber though, apparently.) "And he let all his bestest childhood friends move in and then they all got hot matching tattoos." 

"The barrister in black, the blue streaked beauty, and I were late additions,” he continues. “I got this kickass dragon though," he says, taking the excuse to pull off his shirt to show me. Fuck, these guys are all so ripped. I really need to check out this “basement gym.” 

"Dain has one like that!" Quinn says excitedly and I almost want to quiet her, so Ridoc will continue the production, this backstory on people so at ease with themselves.  

Sometimes I remember not everyone lives with constant, all consuming guilt like I do, but rarely do I see it so evidenced as I have today.

"Show them, show them!" Quinn sets an empty glass on the side table next to her, and I see the move mirrored by Sloane and Imogen. I was so lost in my thoughts, I apparently missed a group shot. 

Reluctantly, with all eyes on me, I pull off my T-shirt, revealing the large red dragon over my shoulder and bicep. I suppose Garrick and Imogen are intimately familiar with it. But Ridoc and Liam aren't, because it's Liam, I think, who lets out a wolf whistle. 

"Yeah, that's hot," Sloane says in agreement and with her approving eyes on me, suddenly the pressure isn't so bad.

"Damn, Ridoc, you need to work on your tattoo showing off skills. That was like a fucking striptease," Liam says. 

"Oh! This is good!" Ridoc is excited again. "This is good, OK boys against girls. Best stripper picks the movie."

"What if I want Magic Mike?" Garrick asks, carrying shots to the group in twos and threes. This time I notice and accept when he offers me one. 

"You don't want Magic Mike, you want Star Wars!" Ridoc says.

"I want Magic Mike!" Sloane shouts and everyone taps their shot and tosses back. No one notices or cares that I'm a beat late, both because I'm trying to catch on and because I've also just realized something.

"Wait." I say as the alcohol warms my throat. “Riorson House? Any relation to a Fen Riorson?” I almost can’t believe I’ve said it out loud, surely I’m not that drunk. But I remember the name from my dad’s files.

"Yes, that was Xaden’s dad," Bodhi says. "You know of him?" I shake my head vehemently, hoping everyone is too drunk to remember I asked.

"It's strip time!" Sloane shouts. "Oh!" she adds, "I know what I need!" She scans the room and her eyes land on me, and I swear the alcohol has already reached my brain for the way it empties when she says, "Dain?"

My name in her mouth, so simple and yet so perfect. What did she say she needed? I'll give it to her. Anything. Fuck. "Yes?"

"Can we go through your stuff for our outfits? I don't think any of the guys here even owns a tie, and I'm guessing based on—" she gestures generally at me "—that you do."

"I'll have you know, I own several ties," Bodhi interjects.

"Can we use them in a striptease?" Imogen asks.

"No."

Both women turn immediately back to me.

"I've got Deverelli ties—" Liam starts, but Sloane cuts him off immediately.

"Neck ties. Like Don Draper. Not Christian Grey," Sloane says.

"For now at least," Imogen adds with a wink.

"ANYWAY, thanks Dain!" Sloane says, despite my not answering, and she and Imogen bolt up the stairs, all giggles and whispers.

Nyra sits next to me while Bodhi refills her wine from what I recognize as a particularly expensive vintage. “Xaden and Bodhi's dads created the Calldyr Coastal Beach Foundation, though thanks to more frivolous Avil Industries lawsuits, it may be on its last days," she says. So she did hear my question. Well hopefully they have more of that wine. 

"What do you mean its last days?" Ridoc says. "How will we get money!?"

"From Xaden's estate. From other jobs." Nyra laughs as Ridoc recoils. "Minimum wage does not this lifestyle upkeep." She nods to the bottle Bodhi holds, and Ridoc looks at it, clearly pretending to know what she means.

"But my dignity in work! I can't just be a trophy boyfriend!" Ridoc protests. Bodhi kisses his forehead playfully. "Just kidding, I'm a trophy boyfriend! OK, Dain, are you fraternizing with the enemy? We need to plan our attack, and I'm not too proud to say it sounds like you're our lead act."

Fifteen minutes later, everyone is ready to go. The sun is setting and the light through the picture windows is fading. 

"I'm a bit confused on who your target audience is," Nyra laughs, as Ridoc sashays across the room in a metallic red Speedo and a boa.

"I'm just a dancer here, OK." He winks at me, where I'm leaning against the entryway between the kitchen and living room, looking exactly as I did before, except my pants might be slung a bit lower on my waist. And I might have let Ridoc put the lightest bit of kohl on my eyes, "just to make them pop even more!" as he said. 

"I would have him smolder at you like we've been practicing," Ridoc continues to Nyra, "but it's so good, you would turn straight, so we'll save it."

Imogen and Sloane come down the stairs with the enthusiasm they went up with, complete with Imogen swinging a tequila bottle. But it's Sloane, carefully stepping down the stairs in the thinnest of stilettos who has my eyes widening.

She's in my shirt from earlier.

Well, she's half in, her ample cleavage on full display with the tail tied under a very lacy red push up bra. The necktie I pack every summer but have never had reason to actually wear is loosely tied, the black point at the end an arrow down to her bejeweled belly button like an unholy beacon.

Her stomach is bare, and her skirt short. It flounces with her last two steps on the stairs, and I swear I catch a flash of red underneath. I gulp, but my mouth is dry.

"Oooo, it's giving Britney, but like, slutty," Ridoc compliments, and Sloane attempts a wobbly curtsy. Yep, there are definitely panties that match the bra. I take a levelling breath. It doesn't work.

"I think Britney was considered slutty in her time," Nyra counters, appraising Sloane herself, with no small amount of interest. Quinn is impressed, but watches Nyra more than Sloane.

"Okay," Imogen says, "We have to go first." She narrows her eyes at Nyra. "Wait, what did you two even do!?"

"Put our full faith and trust in you," Nyra says solemnly.

Imogen sighs. "Anyway! Girls win because no matter how this goes, we are sloshed and will either fall asleep or enjoy heckling your dumb movie."

"It's not dumb," Sloane says, "They're just long." 

"You don't strike me as the type to complain about length," Imogen says with a raised eyebrow, then fires up a speaker, and Sloane’s in control enough to begin a catwalk across the room. Garrick whistles and she turns to him and blows a kiss. She walks up to Bodhi and runs a finger down his chest with a come-hither look. I'm nearly in pain, the column of drywall behind me doing more to support me than I would have hoped. But I am not part of this world, part of whatever this is.

Until she turns and saunters over to me.

She slowly takes the tie off over her head, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. She holds it up, and as if on instinct, I tilt my head down so she can loop it over my head. This puts me in a position to look down at her chest and fuck if I'm not already hard, just inches from it. I can feel the heat, I could stick my tongue out and, gods, It may not even be a push up bra. 

She puts a finger on my chin and tilts it back up, and for the briefest moment, I pray she's going to pull me back down, to shove my face into the warmth of her chest.

But she whirls on a heel and pulls me behind her, not that it takes much to convince me, to the couch. Then she turns again and shoves me, both hands on my chest, down. I sit. She climbs up next to me on all fours. I can't even gulp this time, I can't even fucking blink.

"Is that allowed?" Ridoc asks, but no one answers, everyone (except for Liam, who conveniently went to get a snack) watching the show in front of them. On her holding the tie taut and slowly pulling herself closer, crawling across the seat and into my lap.

"Did you get to practice this?" Ridoc asks Imogen in wonder and Imogen gives a wicked nod. 

Then Sloane takes the tie into her mouth, inches away from my face. I can hear Ridoc, though his voice is starting to sound further away. "Is that weird? Is this getting weird? Is this part of it?"

"I think he likes it," Bodhi says, also still rapt with attention as Sloane begins grinding into my lap. She has to be able to feel me, I'm so hard it can't be adjusted away. Gods know I can feel her, and it's fucking hot the way her ass feels through the thin lace. I have to be imagining it, but even through my pants, I'm pretty sure she’s wet. 

She finally leans in and whispers in my ear. I don’t quite follow what she’s saying. 

"Are they kissing? Are they just talking? What is this? I don't think it counts as striptease if she only takes off one thing," Ridoc says.

But she does seem to hear that, and Sloane's hands move from my hair, and she unties her, my, shirt, then leans back, peeling it off her arm and thrusting her breasts out, farther from my face, unfortunately, but offering a spectacular view. The red lace against her skin is so fucking hot. She flings the shirt at Ridoc, landing it squarely on his head.

I'm completely undone when she leans back in. The urge to bury myself in her chest is so strong, but there's also the insane need to grab her ass.

"Can I touch you?" I ask into her ear.

"No," she says simply, wickedly. "I think we're following real stripper rules now. And I hear you like rules."

I groan, hoping it comes off as annoyance and not the fucking lust that it is.

"I think the girls win," Garrick says. "And also I don't think Dain is up to performing."

"Oh he's up to perform alright," Imogen says with a laugh. 

"Come on," Liam says from the doorway, and this time people do turn toward him. 

Neither Sloane nor I even blink, her grinding continuing, even if not as rhythmically any more, her hands making their way up under my shirt. She smiles at the feeling.

"There's a TV in Bodhi's room. We could watch Lord of the Rings? Is that a compromise?" Liam offers, and there's some conversation about if it's worth watching a movie at all after that, especially since Ridoc informs them that the extended version is the only version allowed in Bodhi's room—and he insists it's not an innuendo.

And then Sloane leans in again, and puts her head on my shoulder, and her arms slide down my sides. I turn toward her, ready with a snarky remark and maybe a kiss. But she's out. Passed completely out, hugging onto me.

"Um, you can probably watch in here," I call to the group, and everyone swivels to where I'm gingerly lifting a completely passed out, half naked Sloane up. Garrick and Bodhi are there in an instant, but I have her cradled in his arms. (If only because carrying her conceals my way-too-hard-for-just-a-lapdance boner.)

Imogen leads me up the stairs, and to a small room with a twin bed. When I raise an eyebrow, she shrugs. "She's the youngest."

I set Sloane down softly, and kneel to take off her heels, placing them side by side at the foot of the bed. I try desperately not to imagine her stepping over me in them. It doesn’t work. 

Still, I’m able to pick an oversized t-shirt from a stack on the floor and clumsily dress her, then pull the covers around her carefully. I'm tempted to smooth her hair, to kiss her forehead, but I don't.

Imogen turns off the light, and I follow her out. 

After the movie (we somehow wind up watching The Winter Soldier.) I realize most everyone is curled up in someone's arms. I'm not sure who's asleep or who's making out, so I go up to bed. I brush my teeth, careful not to open any drawers this time. But I’m too antsy to sleep immediately, so I busy myself with the screwdriver and the shower dial while I think about the day. 

It’s all so surreal. They live on a beach, they fuck, they eat peanut butter sandwiches. What a life. 

My first instinct is to think they’re wasting time, but I can recognize that as my father’s influence. He thinks everyone but him is wasting their lives. He was a little interested in me getting my MBA, but the PhD was definitely deemed a waste. And now that’s done, so he’s confused as to why I’m with TITS again this summer when I could have started with the family business already. 

But I’m with TITS for one last summer because I owe it to them, to the turtles, to the planet.  It’s me paying my debt to society preemptively. It’s me doing something good while I try to make peace with my future, which will probably be doing something not good if I follow my dad’s plans for me. Which I sometimes consider not doing, but what else would I do?

Maybe I could get another degree. My mom’s trust fund is almost used up on the ones I already have, but maybe I could take out a loan for the next one. One loan for four degrees is a pretty good deal in academia. 

Sometimes I think there’s got to be something other than the corporate world for me, I just haven’t found it yet. 

They’re out here saving lives. Garrick’s story about the riptide was treated like everyday conversation, but I know how vicious and deadly riptides can be. And I heard Nyra’s studying for the bar exam, and Liam’s going to start online college in the fall to prep for nursing school. There are other options. But time’s running out to find one for me. 

The fall is coming fast. And if I don’t report for work on August 1, I don’t know what will happen. 

But until then, the turtles won’t count themselves. 

I try desperately to focus on only that while I fall asleep.

Chapter Text

I wake to the warmth and comfort of touch. Wait, what? It's still dark, but there's something in the bed with me. Some one. He's half snoring, but he's also half holding me. I try to roll carefully to see who it is.

Liam. 

"Hey, uh," I say, but me rolling seems to only make him hold me tighter. His muscles are as rippling as they looked earlier - I can feel his abs against my side.

Fuck. I can feel his abs against my side.

I shift again to move away from him, but he's like a vise.

Fuck.

He runs his hands up my back. I shiver. This seems to be what finally wakes him. 

"Sorry," he admits blearily, and his hands are off of me. "I used to stay in here and I think I just came in out of muscle memory and passed out. Also I was possibly drunk.” 

I shiver again, unsure how I feel. Maybe it was just the warmth in sleeping, but maybe it was something more. 

Here goes nothing.

I move my hands to his sides and he puts his back where they were on me. I sigh in relief and comfort. And then I feel his cock on my leg, and the relief and comfort is something else entirely. 

He is completely unashamed pressing it into me, and maybe it's the biology of sleep boners, but he's fucking huge. Liam's hands move lower down my back, and he leans in and starts murmuring into my ear. It's sleepy whispers again, and my mind is spinning. Then he's kissing my neck. I hear myself moan involuntarily, and I can feel his smile in response.

"Just making sure you're ok with this," he says and I can't tell if it's a question, but I nod and then manage a "yes."

"Mmmm," he moans, his hand slowly rounding my hip, where he's going to find how very positive that yes is. "If we keep going," he says. "there's all kinds of stuff in the bathroom cabinets."

"Get my bag, it's closer," I manage to grit out as his hand grazes my cock, and then he turns to lean off the edge of the bed. I swear he was about to grab me and now we're barely touching. I should've just let him keep talking. But this is good too. He's laying prone on the bed, his back muscles visible in the moonlight. I hear the unzipping of my suitcase. Five, four, three…

"Oh," he says in surprise just as I thought he might, holding up the packing cube with my bottle of lube and toys. "Oh. Aretian Reserve? You're rich?"

I burst out in a laugh. "Well, I think the key takeaway is that I'm ready." I start crawling over his back, as if to look in the bag with him, but mostly to feel him again.

"I gathered that already, from how fucking hard you are for me," Liam says. I've kept this part of my life very, very private, so while it's a big admission for me, of course no one here would be phased by it. I can hear the grin in his voice and I want to kiss it off of his face, but instead he's still on his stomach, rifling through my stuff and I'm nearly laying on top of him, holding my hips just above his ass.

After putting some lube in his hand, he pushes up with his other hand and rolls over suddenly, and he's caged in by my arms, face up. And he is smiling. Seeing him under me like this is a feeling unlike any other. It's heady and all consuming and hot.

I duck down and he lifts his head to meet mine, his lips softer than I expect, the kiss harder. Maybe he even has ripped neck muscles. He reaches up and tangles his hands in my hair and I lift a hand to cup his face.

He pulls me down so I'm fully on top of him, our skin touching nearly everywhere, even more so when his tongue begins exploring my mouth. Despite the feel of his muscle and his warmth, I'm zeroed in on his hand, now traveling down our abdomens and fuck under my waistband.

I finally press up with my free hand, unfortunately breaking the kiss, but fortunately leveraging my body so the angle thrusts my cock fully into his hand.

He hums in satisfaction and begins stroking and I realize I'm meant to be reciprocating. There's something about being here (probably the thing where everyone apparently wants to have sex with me) that has me two steps behind. 

That changes now.

I reach for him and groan as I find him still as hard and ready as I am. I roll us over so we're side by side.

"Fuck, you're good at that," I say, and I can see his teeth flash in a grin in the moonlight.

"You're not so bad yourself," he says, matching his rhythm to mine, then fuuuuuuck speeding it up just right. Does everyone here have to be so damn competitive?

But two can play at that game, and I try desperately to distance myself from my own pleasure so I'm not coming, and instead I focus on his breathing.

I adjust my tempo, my grip, my stroking in time with the way his breathing hitches, finding the moves that make him moan and pursuing them relentlessly.

I put my head in the crook of his neck and whisper to him about how big he is, how perfect his hand feels, how I've fantasized about this since he first appeared with Ridoc at the door yesterday, which is true.

He gets a bit flustered at that, finally, but instead of coming or resisting, he fucking kisses me again. I'm moaning into it and our tongues intertwine immediately this time, his strength and softness alternating against my mouth.

Before I realize it, as wrapped up as I am in the kiss, he's moving my hand, and then he has his hand around us both.

Oh. The sensitivity of my cock is divine up against the smoothness and the hardness of his, all enveloped in the strength and warmth of his hand.

He strokes while I reorient myself, and then I join him, and then we're taking turns. I can't tell if we're still competing or if we're cooperating, and I do not fucking care as long as it doesn’t stop for one single second.

Soon we’re both frantic, and while I feel I might be more on edge, he’s definitely close too. Thank the gods he confirms, I’m not sure I could form English words right now. 

"You ready?" he asks into the shell of my ear, and when I nod—all I can manage and thankfully he gets it—he nibbles at my ear and kisses into it. His hand is wet with our precum fucking mixed together and—"Then fucking come," he says, and I do.

And he does. And finally he shows a sign of being a mere human when he rolls onto his back and lets out a near pant of a deep breath.

"And there's only one working shower?" I ask through my own labored breathing, staring up at the ceiling, my arm still comfortably around his back.

"I could lick it off of you?" Liam offers, and we turn to each other at the same time. 

I don’t think he’s kidding. 

He gently rolls me onto my back and cages me in between his arms. His head bows and I prop myself up on my elbows to watch. He grins up at me, like he’s eager to taste me and makes moonlit eye contact, holding my gaze for a beat before bending again. 

His face disappears from view, and I realize I miss that devilish smile, but then I feel his tongue, flat and warm against the tensing muscles of my stomach. 

Godsdamn, he really was not kidding. He starts at the base of my cock, slowly licking the trail I can feel dripping down my shaft as it twitches beneath his touch. Then suddenly, he takes all of me in his mouth at once, an amazing feeling on its own, and then he’s fucking slurping down the remnants of my release with one satisfied sound. That is so much hotter than it should be. Next, he sucks a trail straight up my chest, winking as he once again looks up at me. 

“Almost done,” he teases and then he’s back down there, licking up each side of my V in long slow sweeps of his tongue, and I suddenly forget how weird this all is and start wishing his tongue was on other parts of my body instead. 

“I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he purrs. And he’s right. I do. 

I think I really, really like it here.

—

When I wake up, Liam is gone. I put on basketball shorts and head downstairs, hoping there's coffee. I'm not hungover, per se, but after all the events of yesterday, I need something strong.

I don't see anyone downstairs, but I do find the coffee. There's a whole counter set up with an espresso machine and a mini fridge and various frothers and tools because of course there is. Someone must be awake, the machine has clearly been on. I play with all the bells and whistles, managing to make a fairly good flat white. I sip it while I read the bulletin board and calendar with everyone's shift schedule and the theme nights Ridoc mentioned.

The bulletin board also has fliers for anti-Avil Industries protests, along with some notices from the Beach Fund about reduced hours for the public. Shit, there's even a printed out email to Nyra from some family who doesn't "feel comfortable returning to the beach this year." 

I imagine a pushpin in the dismal results of my turtle count report will finish painting the picture here. It's one I've sketched in my head many times, made real in front of me: Calldyr Beach, crown jewel of the Navarrian Coast, beloved vacation destination for families for decades, is probably going to be condemned in the next few years due to toxic dumping from nearby Avil Industries factories. 

Instead of dwelling on it idly, I head for the door to dwell on it while running. Guilt has done more for my body than any vitamin. But before I get to the door, I think about the basement gym again. It makes sense that they wouldn't have the bodies they do from saving lives alone, and if Ridoc mentioned it, it must be available, so I take the stairs down.

The gym is nice, like everything in the house, with a mirrored wall and weights, and a few machines. Hell, there's even a stack of towels. I pull up a crossfit sequence on YouTube. But when I look up from my phone, I've passed the stack of towels and I can see the weight rack.

Though it takes a second to figure out what's happening on the bench.

The first thought I have is that I wonder if Nyra was the one who started the coffee.

The second is holy fucking hell .

The third thought is probably along the same line, but it's interrupted because Nyra turns and makes direct fucking eye contact with me.

From where she's laying on the weight bench.

Naked.

With Quinn between her thighs.

"Quinn, come on up," Nyra says calmly, and Quinn does, kissing her way up Nyra's stomach, stopping to lick at her breasts. She takes each one in turn, kissing them, pulling them into her mouth and moaning.

All while Nyra stares me dead in the fucking face. I can’t look away. Her eyes dart down to my shorts exactly once, and I'm not quick enough to position my towel over what she obviously sees, evidenced by the way the corners of her mouth turn up.

Quinn works her way up Nyra's neck, still completely oblivious to me, and Nyra finally turns to her and says softly, "We have a visitor." Quinn doesn't turn immediately, though she flushes. She looks over as if she knew, and I'm not sure who she's expecting, but she's at least a little surprised when it's me. "Join us," Nyra says, sitting up.

"Oh!" Quinn says. "Good idea."

"Sure," I say, and Quinn grins. My decision to be more active is paying off already. If I've learned anything in the past 12 hours, it's to say yes.

Nyra's off the bench in an ethereally smooth glide and gestures for me to get on. I straddle the bench and look to Nyra for direction. "I'm not terribly into men," she says. I had wondered. "But I am incredibly into Quinn getting off."

"I am also into Quinn getting off," Quinn says with her perpetual smile. Nothing is new to them. Except me.

"Dain," Nyra says, "If you'd be so kind as to let Quinn use you?"

"I'm at your service," I say. I'm already rock hard from the display and from the way they're both so shamelessly naked in front of the mirrors.

"Excellent." Nyra gestures for Quinn to join me. She also picks up my coffee and drinks it as if it was hers all along, gracefully.

Quinn seems awkward for the first time since I got here, but it's short lived.

"I'm already, um, ready, but if you're okay with it, I'm dying to have that beard between my legs," Quinn says. I nod and lay back.

Nyra looks up at us over my mug, now in an untied robe. "She has. I'd be almost jealous if I wasn't so intrigued."

"Thank the gods. There are some men here who still won't go down on a girl," Quinn says. "And they're all so … smooth." She sits on my abdomen and leans down to rub my cheeks like I'm a cute animal. I wonder if this is something I'd be embarrassed of if I wasn't feeling her slick on my stomach. She wasn't kidding about being ready. I can fucking smell her and I can't wait to taste it.

Plus the view is incredible. Her chest is just as hot from this angle, her nipples absolutely begging to be in my mouth. Her hair is a halo around her head, golden curls with the blue streak breaking it up.

"Quinn, bend over onto him," Nyra says. Quinn obeys immediately. Interesting. But I don't have time to think about the dynamic as her breasts are on my face, overwhelming me. They are just the right size for my mouth, and I suck one in. She moans, and I palm the other. Nyra hums approval. I switch sides, lavishing the next with the licks and sucks I gave the first.

"That's enough," Nyra says, and Quinn straightens immediately. Very interesting. "Scoot up, Quinn. Soak his beard like you want to." 

Quinn complies.

Fuck. She tastes as heady and complex as she smells and I'm practically drowning in her.

"Isn't she delicious?" Nyra asks, and I hum my own approval. She is. I lick and suck, and dip my tongue in as she shudders and whimpers. "Is it as good as you'd hoped, Quinn?"

"Fuck yes," Quinn says, rocking her hips over my face. "There's so much fucking friction everywhere. And he's using his tongue like you like. I think you'd have a good time if you wanted to try." Fuck, do I want her to try.

"Good, good,” Nyra says. I can’t quite get a read on her, especially since I can’t see her. “I do think I can still hear him though. Can you sit a little lower?" I can't hear what happens next because Quinn clamps her thighs around me and I'm cut off from the world, my breathing thin. And I couldn't care less. All I care about is getting more of her, of feeling her chase her pleasure against me. The muffled sounds I make are freeing and I hope she can feel them all.

When she sits up, I take a deep breath. "Beautiful," Nyra says. "Quinn is so close to coming," she muses and I lift my head to bury it again, but she tsks. "Not yet. So willing, so handsome," she says. "Dain, isn't she addictive?"

I nod, and my face is on Quinn's soft thighs again, we're still so close.

"He's so hard for you Quinn. He's enjoying this as much as I am, as much as you are." I nod again. I get the feeling I'm not supposed to talk.

"Quinn, would you climb on his cock? I'd like to see what everyone's on about." I shove off my shorts and underwear as quickly as I can so she has access, and I watch Nyra smile at what she sees. There’s something she's said, or implied: that there's some kind of group chat where I've been discussed, and I feel an odd sense of pride at that.

Quinn slides down my chest and abs, and the chill of the AC hits the mess we've made of my face. She grins at it.

I turn my head. I've caught glimpses of us in the mirror but now I can see the full picture. Her: so fucking pretty naked, chest bouncing as she grinds on my hips just above my cock; and then me: panting, every muscle tense, my beard glistening, my cock nearly vertical against her perfect ass. And Nyra: in a thin robe, her own nipples protruding, directing us. Walking over to me, running a finger across my face and then sucking it between her lips, savoring the flavor of Quinn. 

"Fuck, she's good," Nyra says as if she can't help herself. Quinn beams. Nyra puts her finger in my mouth and makes that searing eye contact again. "Don't you think so, Dain?" I groan in agreement, but apparently that isn’t enough.

She presses her finger in deeper, her eyes narrowing with terrifying intensity. “I said, don’t you think so, Dain?” 

“Yes,” I manage to gasp, even with her finger depressing my tongue. 

“Good boy,” she purrs.

Quinn takes that as a cue to slide back and position herself over my cock. The sound she makes as she sinks down will live in my head forever.

As Quinn lolls her head back, finding and setting a rhythm, Nyra turns closer to her. With Quinn's eyes closed, I feel I'm seeing something near sacred as Nyra gently kisses Quinn, who turns toward Nyra and fervently reciprocates. Near sacred maybe, but beyond fucking hot as the kiss deepens and Nyra takes her hand back, stroking Quinn's bare breasts, my mouth entirely forgotten.

Or maybe not. Without any acknowledgment whatsoever, Nyra swings a leg over my head. Fuck . She's dripping and I eagerly lap her up, bringing my head to meet her as she settles in, never once breaking her kiss with Quinn.

Nyra’s thighs are strong, crushing, hot. The world is muffled again, and I'm lost to her pleasure and my own as they both ride me, their paces matching and diverging and syncing and changing. I keep up, if just barely, devouring Nyra and canting my hips for Quinn.

I move a hand to Nyra's clit and she swats me away. Right. I'm for their use. I don't get to decide.

But I am not going to get to decide when my overstimulated cock, throbbing with need inside Quinn, erupts.

A whine escapes me. There are a lot of firsts happening right now for me, and that's another one. I don't think I've ever whined before, during sex at least.

Nyra gives a low chuckle and coos at me. They must not be kissing anymore, but I get the feeling they're both very occupied.

"He's really good, right?" Quinn says. I can hear the breath in her voice. They've got to be as close as I am.

"He is," Nyra says. "He wants to come so badly." I try to say something, probably "please," but Nyra goes back to her rhythmic rocking, though she keeps her hips open wide enough that I can hear. "Quinn, can you put your hand—" she must gesture, because I can't hear the rest but I can feel Quinn's hand on my chin, her fingers finding Nyra's clit.

Quinn giggles. "This is new. It tickles."

"He's still going strong," Nyra says, and I'm probably deluding myself, but she seems impressed.

And then Quinn moves her hand the other direction, and Nyra climaxes on my tongue. Quinn's arms are around her instantly.

Nyra sits up some, allowing me a view of the room and space to take a full breath.

"Please," I pant.

"Quinn, it's your turn," Nyra says, ignoring me. To be fair, my thoughts are so jumbled I may have been begging her to sit on my face again as easily as I was begging to come.

In response to Nyra, Quinn begins rocking again. She had slowed while Nyra was coming, but she's back at it, her pace becoming punishing.

"It's a phenomenal cock," Nyra says, climbing off me and sipping my coffee again. "But is it enough?"

She sets the coffee down, and goes to stand behind Quinn, between my legs. I can see most of them from where I lay and all of them in the mirror, and neither of them gives me even a passing glance. Quinn tilts her head back to kiss Nyra, and Nyra wraps one arm around Quinn's chest, grabbing a breast, and the other wraps around Quinn's abdomen, so her hand is between Quinn's thighs. 

It's so fucking pornographic I'm moaning, not that either of them pays me or my arousal a bit of attention. 

Quinn comes in moments, and I hope I've permanently seared the image of them together on me into my brain. Nyra helps Quinn climb off, Quinn nearly shaking. They embrace and start walking toward the door, Nyra wrapping Quinn in another robe that was hanging off of a machine.

A sound comes out of me I'm not proud of, and Quinn glances back.

"He's got hands," Nyra says simply.

"Aw, but he's so hot," Quinn says. "One sec."

She takes the few strides toward me, then wraps her hand around my cock, still wet with her slick. She gives a few pumps, then reaches her head down and takes me fully in her pretty little mouth, then pulls off slowly, her lips lush on my sensitive skin.

"Dain, come," Nyra says, and the command in her tone is final. Not like I needed it.

Quinn's head is up and her hand holds my cock, directing everything onto my own abdomen. Quinn smiles sweetly. "It was really good," she says and walks back to Nyra, who throws me a towel. I try to clean up, the two of them gone and back in moments, dressed in their swimsuits, now laughing and joking as if nothing has happened. 

"Let me guess," I say. "There's no more hot water?"

Nyra laughs as she puts her lanyard over her head. "There is not. It's a blessing and a curse isn't it?" she winks. "We'll all probably do a pier jump though, if you're up for it."

"We do one every day before work with whoever's awake," Quinn explains.

"Cool," I say. Everything is normal again. For a brief moment I wonder about if it weren't. If instead the tables turned and I was the one telling them what to—no. I may be an active participant, but I won't be with ideas like that. Being invited to the pier jump seems inclusion enough. 

"So you're ok with getting in the water that often?" I ask. "You believe Avil, that what they're dumping is safe?"

"I don't believe that sleazeball as far as I can throw him," Nyra says, starting on sunscreen. I think about offering to help, but I'm still recovering and she has hands. "But I do keep up with their public filings. And I know it's technically safe for now, just getting worse at an unsustainable and exponential rate."

"My thought is," Quinn adds, adjusting her straps, "if we quit lifeguarding or the fund goes under, or people stop coming to the beach, then they can say, 'well no one's here anyway, let's dump everything,' and then not only have we lost the beach but the turtles and stuff lose it too. I'm guessing that's kind of why you're here."

That is why TITS is here, sure, to count the turtles to prove even the current levels of toxins are harming wildlife. Why I'm here is not that simple, but I nod. I'm here because of guilt mostly, though I have become fairly attached to turtles over the years. I will miss them when I start the job in August, if I start the job. 

I freeze. I'm not sure I've ever put an if in front of that statement before.

—

I change quickly and meet Nyra, Quinn, Imogen, and Garrick on the porch, and we walk to the pier, talking and laughing. Ridoc and Bodhi are there already, taking turns climbing up and down the ladder of one of the lifeguard towers as if demonstrating something.

"Are we interrupting?" Imogen asks.

"Ridoc wishes," Bodhi says.

"I was just pointing out that the lifeguard chairs are perfect for—"

"We know Ridoc. You point it out as often as you can," Garrick says.

"Maybe our handsome guest," Ridoc says pointedly toward me, "has not yet considered the humble lifeguard chair, perfect for—"

"I actually did," I reassure him. "It was like the first thing I thought of."

"See!" Ridoc stage whispers to no one in particular. "I knew he would fit right in!"

"You swimming or just trying to seduce him?" Imogen asks.

"Can't I do both?" Ridoc asks. “I am multifaceted.” 

"Just jump in the water Gamlyn," she says. We're at the edge of the pier. "Three, two… one."

I don't hesitate this time, and there's a synchronicity in us all hitting the water at once. Any other time in my life, I would have hesitated, and then, if I jumped at all, I would have missed out on Garrick's first whoop, on the sunlight hitting every drop of water flinging from Quinn's curls as she bursts out of the water. On being almost maybe a part of something.

When we're back on the sand, everyone's laughing again, calling Garrick the “Salty Stallion” and Garrick offering rides to anyone who’ll have him. 

They're all so indescribably hot, the water dripping and glistening on perfect bodies and tan skin, and those black tattoos. And I am with them. And they are looking at me. I'm— oh . Shit. They're looking at me.

"You, uh, swim in those much?" Bodhi asks.

"No," I admit.

"Those are very, very sheer," he says. The group has split. I realize the rest of the giggles are a bit farther off, and Imogen has in fact climbed on Garrick's back.

Godsdamnit. Not only did I wear seersucker into the water like an idiot, but also I left my phone in my pocket. "Not that I mind," Bodhi says with a wink, and I wish I could appreciate it, but I can't see my phone screen.

"Shit, I can’t even tell if this is on. Ugh, I have to go to the shade, it's too bright." I hate myself for caring so much. But I'm overprotective of my phone because it's the only place I have everything stored. 

If I lose it, I have no choice. And suddenly, I desperately want a choice.

"You OK man? Is it for your job?" Bodhi asks, steering me toward a pavilion.

"No, it's—" I've never told anyone, and I'm not sure starting now is a good idea, even if I know they would be excited about it. "It's personal." I say.

"You gonna lose some good nudes?" he jokes.

"Something like that," I say, trying not to sound like a complete lunatic, but also trying not to hyperventilate.

I cannot lose this phone. It's my only leverage, if I were to decide to not follow my dad’s plan. I try not to think about it very often, but I never consider saying no because he won’t take it for an answer. When I’m honest with myself, which is rare, I know the only way would ever actually, truly let me go is in those files. 

My breathing hitches. The fear of losing the blackmail folder should not be this high.

I think, in the back of my head, that this is probably the confirmation I need. That if I'm this desperate for a backdoor out of the "family business," I should take it.

But right now, I need to make sure that the backdoor isn't flooded. Or something. I can't mix metaphors when I'm nearly jogging. As soon as the sun is hidden by the canopy of the small picnicking pavilion, I shake my phone and press all the buttons. I'm about to scream, when a warm brown hand is on mine, carefully taking it from me. 

Bodhi’s other hand goes to my back, rubbing light and then deeper circles. I'm freaking out. He can tell. I don't need to open my mouth and prove it. I just need the phone to work. Excruciating moments later, Bodhi tilts it back toward me, and I've never been happier to see a stupid apple as it turns on. 

"Oh my god," I say, more breathless than I should be. "Thank you. Thank you."

"It's okay. Sometimes you have to press it a long time, or do a like full ten seconds off," he says. His voice is still smooth, calming. His hand is still on my back.

"Gods. I know I sound out of my mind, but just. Thanks," I say, my breathing calmer, my whole body at ease faster than it ever has been in a case like this. “I owe you,” I say. 

And his hand is still on my back. "If you need to relax, I can probably think of a way you can repay me," he says, and while his voice is that perfect neutral, I remember his comments before the phone incident and my face heats.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. He's closing in on me, or I'm closing in on him, I'm not sure, but we're nearly touching now. Nearly kissing.

"If it would help," he breathes, and I think for a split second about being an active participant and saying yes, and then my mouth is on his. 

It's as smooth and steady and charming as the rest of him.

He puts a hand in my hair as if in reassurance that he wants it too. And probably because he knows it's hot.

I push us to one of the columns, barely as wide as me, and then he's pushing me against it and his free hand is on my waistband, and his tongue is in my mouth, as warm as the rest of him and tasting faintly of coffee.

I need to be as calm, and chill, and casual as they all are with this. The idea of ENM is not unknown to me, but seeing it, being a part of it in practice is still new. So I allow myself to not be calm, chill, or casual as I moan when his hand follows my abs down the line of hair that leads lower.

"You don't have to," I say, pulling away.

"I know," he says, wearing that same soft, reassuring smile, but with his hand sliding into my trunks, it's the most arousing smile I've ever seen. Thank the gods my cock is not bothered at all by the chill from the wet, and is hardening rapidly as his hand reaches it.

"Is this like a public gazebo?" I ask.

He laughs softly, his free hand roaming my sides and back. "Kind of. But it's a weekday morning at 8:30 a.m. and everyone with a metal detector is on the other side of the beach."

"Right," I say. I got the feeling that he and Ridoc were into public sex, but this seems secluded enough.

I run my own hands up and down his sides. He's more lithe than Liam but he has no fewer abs. He kisses me again, and I'm lost in it instantly, though not so lost I don't feel the millisecond his fingers brush the base of my cock. He doesn't either, giving a lusty sigh as he slowly wraps his hand around me and slides up and down. He "hmms" as if in approval, and I find myself quite proud to have earned it.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and while I think it's a romantic move, he responds by grabbing his lifeguard rescue float one handed. He tosses it to the ground in front of me, then sinks to his knees. Fuck. I mean, I was pretty sure that's what he was getting at, but I hope he didn't think I was trying to rush it. Maybe I was, subconsciously. The knee rest seems to be a well practiced move, and I wonder what stories it could tell. 

Whatever prompted him to do it, I'm glad. His tousled hair is just as perfectly curled from above, and when he looks up at me, I think I might sink to my own knees. He's so fucking hot, I can't even think straight. 

I reach for his hair, and he seems to nestle his head into my hand, as if to encourage me.

And then his mouth is on my cock and I'm gone.

If this was truly meant to relax me, it's fucking working.

If it was meant to distract me while he steals my phone for evidence, well, let me walk him through it and provide witness testimony—he laps up a bit of precome, fucking hell —on the record.

Fuck. He licks and swirls and I swear I can see stars as I clench my eyes shut. He hums happily. Ridoc is a very lucky man.

I run my hands through his hair, trying to come off more encouraging than needy, despite the need I feel bubbling up. But he seems content on my cock, sometimes grabbing my thighs as if for stability, sometimes my ass. He's so close in every way, and the support beam is so wide, I almost don't feel exposed.

The view is what reminds me. The waves slowly crashing on the perfect sandy shore, palm trees swaying the morning breeze. This is a postcard come to life, but I can only glance at it when Bodhi's deep brown eyes are looking up into mine, his mouth completely full of me.

I rub his shoulders-warm, of course-and fist my hand into his curls. They're softer than they look, already almost dry and still looking perfectly styled. His genetics are the envy of every surfer. I really need to ask if he surfs. Later. When his tongue is available to talk. Right now I'm too greedy for the way he wraps it around me as he bobs his head.

Finally, I can't take it any more. He's smiling around my cock when he looks up this time. I try to nod, to let him know I'm close. But he knows and he's not speeding up or going deeper. Not that he could, I'm already up to the hilt in him.

He reaches for my balls and his hands are so fucking soft. How? I should've studied the toiletries in the shower better. He cups them, and like the rest of him, the warmth is palpable, especially somewhere so sensitive. Is this man made of fucking sunlight? Why is he so naturally warm? Questions for another day, and for me to simply appreciate right now.

I almost don't realize I've moaned, until his eyes turn devilish and he finally increases his speed. Just a bit, but I notice, hyper aware as I am of his velvet lips and seemingly never ending jaw strength and agility. 

"Fuck that's good," I say quietly, and he humms in satisfaction or thanks, and the vibration adds a new dimension. "I'm close," I say. I half expect him to respond, but he is full of my cock, and my hand on his head has become maybe a little more greedy and less “gentle encouragement.” He couldn't pull all the way off unless I let him.

Shit. I let go and return my hands to his shoulders, and thank gods he doesn't take that as a cue to break. Instead, he goes faster and faster until I say, louder than I mean to, but thankfully lost to the beach wind, "Bodhi, I'm coming," and before he can change his mind, I'm bracing myself on his shoulders and shooting ropes into his mouth. To his credit, he seems ready for it, swallowing quickly.

I slump against the support beam, and reach an arm down and help him up. He smiles and it's the same radiating kindness, as if an earth-shattering blowjob is just something you do to help a friend. How thoughtful. Maybe I should write a thank you note.

He picks up his rescue float and flings it over a shoulder.

"Glad I could help," he says.

"Me too," I say. "Maybe I'll throw my phone in the ocean more often." But even saying it, I wince.

"Well, for as long as I am employed by the Calldyrian Coast Beach Foundation, I will rescue it. And you, as needed," he says with a grin.

"You really think the Beach Fund is going to go under?" I ask, a pang of guilt resurfacing, in spite of the phenomenal job Bodhi just did relaxing me.

"Yeah," he says, a hint of sadness in his otherwise even voice. "We've used up all our legal defense funds, and most of the other funds in the past few summers. Between the money being spent on lawyers, and the money not coming in from families who think their kids will start glowing if they get in the water, it's not looking bright. This latest round of lawsuits are completely bogus, but to even get to a court to throw them out costs more than we have left."

"You manage the fund?" I realize. Nyra may be the lifeguard team lead, but Bodhi runs the entire fucking beach.

"Something like that," he says, flashing an exceptionally bright grin that fades quickly. "For now anyway."

"Hey now," I try, stupidly, to make light of it. "The turtle counting non-profit that couldn't afford to get me a real hotel room is on to them and their shenanigans."

"Well, if the turtle counting non-profit has a team of lawyers or maybe some standard issue blackmail, I'll take anything they’ve got," he jokes back. “Maybe TITS can find us some really super scary turtles I can send after their CEO.” 

I stiffen, and not in the fun way, at how close to home he hits. He's looking ahead and thankfully, I hope, doesn't notice the beat before I force a laugh. It really would be funny, if I weren’t me. 

"Well, I'm off to guard the beach from the threats I can," he says. "Like running toddlers and errant drunks. Let me know if you count any turtles," he says. "I really do like those little guys. They're like cute beach mascots. Or they used to be." 

I promise him I will, and Bodhi heads for his post at a jog.

I watch him as far as I can, then hike back to the house, we'd gone farther than I realized. I pass the flagged off space where the turtles will be counted. We aren't even sure there are eggs around, but it's not my job to count eggs. This is already going to be a sad enough season without noting unhatched or damaged eggs. I'm not ignorant, I know I'll be lucky to see anything at all. But I still slow to see if there's any movement in the sand yet. There’s not.

Chapter Text

With most everyone at work, I'm surprised to hear voices at the house. When I open the door, Liam is on the way out, his head still turned back as he shouts something to someone inside.

He sees me in the doorway in passing and gives me a knowing grin. Except I don't know. But I grin back anyway. 

Starving, I head for the kitchen, and open the cabinet I saw Ridoc pulling snacks out of. I grab a protein bar and open it, but I can barely take the first bite when I see Sloane sitting on the dining table on the balcony, the sliding glass door open. 

She’s on her phone, swinging her legs back and forth. And she’s wearing nothing but the shirt I put on her last night. 

Fuck. There's something about seeing her in a shirt I selected and dressed her in that hits a new, and very quickly aroused, part of my brain. 

I try to abate it by not getting too close, but like a moth to a flame, I have to walk toward her. 

"What was that about?" I ask, referring to Liam’s shouting, which, by process of elimination, must have been at her. 

"Sibling rivalry," she says without looking up.

Normally I would shrug and give up, but her chest is bouncing with her swinging legs and I suddenly have a deep need to know if she's still wearing the red lingerie.

I step out onto the balcony. Now she grins without looking up. Is this funny to her? 

It almost feels like flirting, especially with the way she bites her bottom lip, but I’ve misread cues before. 

"Rough night?" I ask. When she doesn't respond, I continue. "Hungover?"

She gives a noncommittal shrug. I step toward her again. I'm getting aggravated, but I'm in too far to stop now. I need her to acknowledge me.

"Can I get you coffee?"

"Got it myself," she says, and taps the rim of the mug next to her on the table. Perilously close to where the hem of the cherry red shirt meets her tanned leg. I'm briefly glad she doesn't look up to see how hungrily I'm eyeing that contrast on her smooth thigh. 

But still, aggravating . I take another step.

"Sloane?" She finally looks up. Her sky blue eyes catch me off guard. They aren't bored at all. Fuck . She definitely likes this. She crosses her legs pointedly. 

"Sloane," I test, my voice lower, my eyes on her. She grins sweetly but her eyes are still on fire.

"Yes?" she responds. And her voice is a challenge, but a challenge to what?

The loose shirt drapes over her chest so the neckline hints at the cleavage I know is there.

"Put your phone down," I say, and to my surprise, she does instantly. The rush that goes through me at her obedience … this could be dangerous.

"Good girl," I say. She fucking preens. I'm proud of my choice in the shirt I put on her last night because the fabric is thin enough that I can see the exact outline of her nipples through it.

"You took off your bra," I observe. She nods. "Talk out loud. If you want this to continue, I need you to respond."

"Yes sir," she says, and I think she means it to sound like a joke, but I hear that fucking obedience in her voice again. Gods.

"Too bad. I was so enjoying it last night." I pause, maybe she's primed enough to apologize, but she doesn't. We'll get to that later then. "Last night—When you wouldn't let me touch you. I listened. I was good. But now, you're trying to seduce me aren't you?"

"Yes," she says simply.

"And I can touch you now?" I reach slowly for her thighs.

"Yes," she says quickly, and I land both my hands on her lap, my palms on her bare skin, my fingers on the soft shirt, aching to be under it.

"Ah, but sir sounded so good," I muse, moving closer into her space, playing with the hem, seeing how far I can push. Or pull.

"Did it? Maybe you'll hear it again later," she says inches from my face.

"I should be so lucky," I say drily, and step back. She shifts again, but uncomfortably this time. She misses me. Cute. "Now I wonder," I say, raking my eyes up and down her. "If you took that slutty thong off too. The one you were riding on my thigh last night. Uncross your legs, Sloane." 

She complies, so readily, so temptingly. I have to ask. Maybe it will kill the mood, but if this is some kind of fantasy, well, it would be a shame to miss out on something I’ve only ever fantasized being bold enough to do. 

“Do you like being told what to do?” I ask, and she nods. Fuck. “Oh. Interesting. Because you seemed like quite the brat last night.” She doesn’t say anything, but a smile plays on her lips. 

"Are you wet for me, Sloane?" 

"Yes," she says after a beat.

"Took you a second," I say. "Do you need me to check for you?"

"Yes, sir," she says more quickly this time, and the sir sounds more like an accident than a joke. It also sounds erotic as fuck. 

"Put your finger inside yourself," I say, and she does instantly, as if she’s been waiting for me to ask. I stride toward her quickly. "So pretty for me. Let me taste it." Momentarily I consider that we are outside, but the balcony is walled in on three sides. 

I forget about the fourth entirely as Sloane holds up her glistening finger for me, and I lick it. I take her whole finger in my mouth, groaning. It's delicious and I can’t pretend I'm not affected.

"Divine," I tell her, and she smiles coyly. I maintain eye contact as my hands are on her thighs again, and I hitch up the shirt until I'm holding her bare hips. I’m glad she told me about the thong or I might be caught off guard by the fact that she was out here in almost nothing, likely waiting for me. 

I reach my hands under her ass, and I'm tempted to keep them there, except I know what's coming next will be even better. I set her down closer to the edge of the table. 

"If you haven't already figured it out, I'm going to spread your legs. And devour you,” I say, and I’m glad to see her eyes light up. 

I sink to my knees and hook her legs over my shoulders, then it takes every ounce of restraint to look up at her expectantly before diving in, my breath hot on the inside of her thighs.

“Sloane, I need to hear you say that you want this,” I prompt. 

"Yes, sir," she says.

"You're learning," I say with a smirk, and then follow through. I lick a stripe up her, and then put my whole mouth on her, as if a kiss, my tongue exploring every soft surface and dripping slickness.

I moan into her. She fists my hair and it's like a volume knob turning me up. I don't want to shy away from expressing my pleasure any more than I want her to.

And she does, her hips rocking into my mouth, her thighs gripping me so tightly between them. Heaven.

Her groans and whispered "fuck, yes, that"s guide me, and I can tell she's getting closer as I add a finger, snaking my other hand up her shirt to a perfect nipple. I take a breath, a break to kiss the soft skin between thigh and pelvis. She kicks at my back manically, whining. I smirk and I swear she can feel it. 

"Do you want to come, sweetheart?" I murmur into her thigh.

I can practically feel her whole body nodding, but the sounds she's making aren't coherent enough to be words. It's almost painful for me too, but I pull back. Thankfully I've still got a hand palming her breast.

"Sloane," I warn, looking up into her face, my own very messy, covered in her, and thankfully she gets it. I'm squeezing her nipple, and she's nearly contorted in enjoyment.

"Of course I want to fucking come, asshole," she pants.

"You're lucky these are so perfect," I say, palming her breasts, and then without thinking, because gods they are, "or else I'd have you over my knee for that."

I still. Fuck, why did I say that? What happened to my patience? I expect her to freeze, but instead she rocks forward again. Interesting. "Please gods," she murmurs almost too low for me to hear it if I wasn't so closely tuned in for her reaction. Fuck, but that is a good sign. 

Immediately I’m back in, and I move a hand to her clit. The other I put on my own erection. 

"Dain," she breathes, and that's the only warning I get before she climaxes on my tongue. It's a wave through her body and then her strong thighs and clenching hands are completely boneless. I carefully climb out from under her, and take the liberty of picking her up off the table. 

She nuzzles into my chest and I carry her inside to a couch. "You're strong," she says drowsily. I think to say that there are three other guys here who could probably pick her up, but instead I take the compliment, and settle in with her in my lap.

I'm the one with her now. I'm the luckiest guy in the fucking world. I'm also hard to the point of pain.

I try to move her off of me, but she snuggles closer as she comes back down. "You're hard," she says into my chest.

"Mhmm," I say.

"Can I?" She asks, looking up at me, her eyes wide, and I might be imagining it, but they almost look pleading.

"Yes, when you're ready," I say, smoothing a hand over her hair.

This minx fucking grinds her perfect ass into my erection. "I'm ready," she says, "How do you want me?" Her face has regained some of its mischievousness. I can't imagine her body has.

"Oh, Sloane," I say, trying to stall. I need her fully recovered. "That's quite the question. I don't know if there's a way I don't want you. I do know you called me an asshole. That wasn't very nice was it?"

She shakes her head, "No."

"And I still let you come. I could've stopped then. But I didn't."

"Thank you," she says.

"No," I say. "I don't think that's enough. I think you need to learn not to call very nice men who worship your body, and kindly ask for consent, assholes. Very unladylike."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not—" I put a finger to her lips.

"Sh. I know you're not a lady. And I know you weren't just about to talk back to me. That's far too many lessons for one day," I say, surprising even myself with how calm I'm being despite the fact that she has fully sucked my shushing finger into her mouth and is swirling her tongue around it.

"You'll need something bigger than that to keep you quiet," I say, pulling my finger out. She wipes her drool off her lips, nodding vehemently.

"Yes, please," she says, slipping out of my lap and onto the floor in front of me, and she’s literally licking her fucking ful and perfect and red lips in anticipation. 

"Very, very good girl," I say. She nods again, and the sight of her blonde hair between my legs offering herself up? I almost can’t continue. "So eager. So beautiful between my legs.” I almost sigh at the perfection of the image before me. “Unfortunately, you’ll need to be across my legs before you can taste me. Even needy brats have to be punished before they get filled.” 

"Yes, Dain," she says, and it's better than sir, and she’s across my legs in an instant, her perfect ass only partly covered.

“Mmm, so polite now, aren’t you? Where was this when I was being so very kind as to let you come? So fucking vulgar from such a pretty mouth,” I say, putting a finger in her mouth as if to illustrate, and she immediately goes to sucking and licking it. “Now you’re so very formal with your ass in the air for me.” 

"I'm so sorry," she pulls off my finger quickly to respond. "I should've begged you to let me come instead." She takes two fingers back into her mouth.

"Mhmm," I say, pulling my hand off her perfect ass, and she tenses, knowing what's coming. "You should've." My hand hits home with a satisfying smack. Fuck. She yelps and then moans, and the sound goes straight to my already too-hard cock. I rub my hand softly over the red mark. 

"You're always welcome to beg, sweetheart." She nods vehemently as I give a second smack. She shudders. I smooth.

"You can grovel, and you can ask, but I really don't think calling names is appropriate. In the future, you will not speak to me that way." Slap. Shiver. Soothe. Her tongue has slowed on my fingers as she’s taking in the pleasure, but I don’t let her pull her mouth off as she garbles a “Yes, sir,” around them. Fucking heavenly. 

"Surely three is enough this time," I say, her red ass hot in my hands. "I wouldn't want anyone asking about bruises when you wear those skimpy swimsuits." I slide my hand from her ass to her drenched opening. 

"Oh Sloane," I say, helping her up into a sitting position, and showing her my wet fingers before I lick them. "You're a gorgeous fucking mess for me. We're going to have lots of fun this summer, aren't we?"

She nods wickedly, and moves herself over me. "Can I please?" she asks, sticky sweet. Maybe three wasn't enough.

“No,” I say. “Polite, but you’ve teased me enough with that tongue that you aren’t getting out of this without putting it to better use. On the floor.” She hesitates. Whether because she didn’t understand or because she doesn’t want to, I don’t know. Or care.

I fist her hair to illustrate and encourage. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

This time she drops instantly, and I assist her in stripping my straining trunks off as she goes. The rush from her listening and obeying cannot be understated, and I’m a mess of precum already as she wraps her plush lips around me. 

Her tongue is as good as she promised on my finger, and there’s a pure pleasure in her eyes when she looks up at me while completely full of me. She bobs her head perfectly, and it's a hellish torture to have to guide her off of me, but as much as I want her to swallow me down, or to paint her face, I want her on top of me even more. 

She’s wiping her mouth and looking up at me for direction, but her eyes are dancing in excited anticipation. What a perfect, perfect needy little brat. As much as I like the shirt, it needs to come off so I can get those perfect nipples in my mouth, and I pull it up over her head. 

“On my cock,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to maintain my composure with her completely bare for me. I help pick her up into my lap, if only to get her up to the couch faster. 

She slides down onto my cock, and I swear I see stars. I take a breast in my mouth and suck, and she moans, her rhythm faltering. I test this, pinching her other nipple and swapping sides, her pleasure easy to recognize when she pauses or her breathing hitches. 

When I’m not teasing her, her pace is perfect, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride in watching her enjoy herself on my cock. I reach a hand for her clit, and her eyes roll back as I make small circles. 

"Dain," she whispers, and this time I know to put a hand behind her head, to hug her into me as she comes in a wave, and slumps down in bliss. I follow immediately, releasing into her. 

We sit like that for a few minutes, her head on my shoulder, my hand in her hair. I lay her down on the couch next to me on top of her shirt, with the intention of cleaning us up, but she isn’t shy about leaking. When she sees me notice my release dripping out of her, she moves her leg so I get a better view. She props herself up on her elbows, then gives me another mischievous grin before using two fingers to push some of it back in.

I should tell her to stop, growl at her, tell her not to do things without permission, but it’s too fucking enjoyable to watch and she knows it. Fuck, she even licks her fingers afterward, and I groan at the sight. 

"This is going to be a really fun summer, isn’t it?” she asks. I nod, probably a little too enthusiastically, and she continues, “Violet and Xaden aren’t coming back, if you just want to stay forever," she muses. I look at her closely. She's serious. Damn. 

But I’m going to give her the benefit of the post-sex doubt. I’m sure it’s more of a compliment on the orgasms than a real invitation.

"My job here ends in a month,” I say. “Unless anything changes with Avil I guess." Like say, they decide magically to revoke the CEO's son's job offer. Or I decline it. 

"Nah, the only way they're changing is getting more evil,” she says. Normally I would wince out of guilt, but I don’t. Strange. 

"Yeah," I say. "Well, off to work to prove it."

She laughs. "See you later. Find lots of turtles!"

“Oh? I thought you were a pandas girl?” I ask.

“People can change,” she says, and then intones, “Magic can happen on the Calldyr coast,” with a wink. 

She kisses me on the cheek as I walk out, likely tasting herself in it. I consider washing my face before heading out, but a look in the living room mirror tells me I look normal, and smelling her all day is not a problem. 

—

Ridoc's in the lifeguard tower by my patch of sand today and he waves. We talk for a while, and he asks surprisingly insightful questions about TITS and the turtles and what my research could mean for the beach. He talks to a few beachgoers and even jumps down from the chair to help with minor injuries.

I mark off a wider radius because I really think we're going to need it to get any kind of count at all. Even though I'm only required to set up and observe one area, I'm getting more worried. Maybe another one would give us more of a chance.

When I’m done recording all the environmental and geographic data, and the zero turtles found, I change into dry clothes and drive to town for a late lunch. I bring Ridoc back a Happy Meal (his request) with a side of an actual adult meal and two McFlurries (also his request.) 

I go back to the house and eat my own lunch–a wrap from a local spot next to McDonald’s–and respond to work emails, letting my boss know not to expect much, and pointedly avoiding the Avil Industries onboarding email that's been sitting in my inbox for a week, as if it will go away if I don't open it.

But maybe there is another way. I open a Teams chat with Cath, the TITS admin assistant. I scroll through a few stories about her kids–she tells me tons of stories about her three kids to “save me from paying the dumb tax,” which I think is a way of saying they don’t listen to her, but maybe I will. And I usually do. Her kids seem pretty dumb, so the stories are entertaining. But right now I need to type something before I can stop myself. 

Hi Cath. This place you got me is amazing. Thanks. Are there any year-round positions with TITS opening this summer/fall?

The three dots pop up, but I close my laptop before I can see her response, realizing I’m scared of either option she could respond with. 

I explore the house and its various patios and balconies, finding the hot tub, and a pool with a fountain and a slide that wasn't even mentioned in the tour. Damn, this place is amazing.

Around 5:30, the lifeguards start trickling in from the beach. Quinn is back first, and she heads to the kitchen to make dinner. She seems to be working hard–there may be an actual vegetable involved in this one.

It's strange how it already feels familiar, the talking and laughing. Everyone waves at me as they enter, asking if I've seen any turtles, sharing my disappointment that I haven't.

No riptide rescues today, but there were a fair amount of jellyfish stings that kept everyone busy, and while Quinn cooks, they swap supplies and restock their first aid kits.

Tonight, I eat on the balcony with them, happily in the chair closest to where I was on my knees this morning. We watch the waves and feel the ocean breeze over pita with an assortment of toppings and dips, the complex flavors a far cry from the sandwich bar of last night. I find myself thinking about what I would cook if I had a turn in the dinner rotation, if I had a little magnet with my name on the fridge. 

Chicken pot pie, I decide. I’d dig up my mom’s recipe.  

"Alright, what are we doing for showers tonight?" Ridoc asks. "I think at least two people I helped had already peed on their legs by the time they found me." He makes a disgusted face that is mirrored around the table.

"OK, on three, everyone hold up fingers for how many lives you saved, or uh, beachgoers you talked to, and winner goes first, ties share," Ridoc calls. "One, two, three!"

Most have eight or nine. "Wait," I ask, despite having zero. "What if you did more than 10?"

"Yeah, this looks like 7 but it's 25," Garrick clarifies, clearly lying.

"Then I guess you don't get to shower with Imogen," Ridoc says.

"Yeah mine was 52," she rolls her eyes and switches her 2 and 5 to two middle fingers at Garrick.

"I'm first anyway because I got 10. You all need to be more outgoing," Ridoc says, and gets up. "I'd be gracious enough to share if anyone's interested," he says as he waggles his eyebrows.

Bodhi pushes his chair back and follows Ridoc back into the house. 

The rest of the table falls into easy conversation lamenting how prolific the pee-on-jellyfish-stings advice is. 

My phone pings. It's my dad. I'm usually not the type to ignore real life for my phone, except when it's him. For so long he was all I had. And I thought I was all he had. So I'm wired to text back immediately, to assuage whatever problem is going to pop up when I click.

For maybe the first time in my life, I consider not clicking the text. But I'm me and I do.

Dain - Hal tells me you have not accepted the offer letter. The intern title is just a formality, you'll be on my team. Sign and return upon receipt of this message.

Dain - If the hippies don't have a printer, you can stop by.

He's always called TITS "the hippies." When I initially joined I thought it would shock him, but he didn't even blink, organizations like it not worth a second thought. My future so obvious to him that anything along the way was irrelevant. 

I still can't say no, but I can close my phone which seems like a good first step. “Upon receipt of this message.” I almost want to poll the table on if this is normal parent-child interaction. But I know it’s not. It’s CEO-employee interaction.  

Ridoc and Bodhi return in soft shorts and tees, and sit down where they were before, next to me. They're deep in conversation. Liam and Quinn are already in their shower. Imogen and Garrick are bickering at the other end of the table and Nyra and Sloane are working on the dishes.

"But why not? It's not that much more public!" Ridoc says. "And like right now, the only other people out there are doing the same thing."

"Yeah, off in dark lagoons or something. Not on a fucking lighthouse," Bodhi says with a laugh.

"But they're getting sand everywhere," I chime in, my tiny rebellion emboldening me.

Ridoc makes the grossed out face again. "Yeah!"

"I'll do it," I say. Both of them raise their eyebrows.

"Do what exactly?" Bodhi says, as if he's testing me.

"Blow Ridoc on the lifeguard tower," I say simply.

"Hell yeah," Ridoc says and jumps up. Bodhi laughs and stands. "BYE EVERYONE!" Ridoc shouts so the girls in the kitchen can hear too. "Don't wait up on us!"

I chug the rest of my wine—Nyra offered me a pour with dinner, and it is exceptional—and follow them down the steps from the balcony. 

Ridoc is nearly dancing and Bodhi laughs as he follows.

"You're coming too?" I ask.

"Maybe if you put on a good enough show." Bodhi winks.

"He's the public in our public sex kink," Ridoc says. Ours? The outspoken host is less like me than almost anyone on earth. But I guess we can share this one thing, given this morning's events as well. 

We talk on the way, about how good dinner was, and they fill me in on who's the best cook (Liam) and who's the worst (Imogen apparently ranks even lower than peanut-butter-sandwich-night Garrick.)

We get to a lifeguard chair, and Ridoc climbs up.

"That's it? You're just ready?" Bodhi asks.

"You, of all people, know it doesn't take much. I've been rocking a semi since Dain volunteered." Ridoc puts his hand in his pants and starts pumping.

"I think that's my job," I say, pulling up to the first rung of the ladder. This does put me in the perfect position. I test my balance. I don't have to have a hand on the arm of the chair, but it certainly helps. I move up to the second rung. 

Ridoc looks down at me, and we both help maneuver his shorts down. "You know, I don't even think I could get fired for this. I should be making overtime, really," he says.

"Nope," I say, and it feels a little mean but I really need to concentrate. Still, I look over to Bodhi and joke, "You might want to think about Human Resources for the lifeguards."

They both laugh. It's dark enough that even with Ridoc's shorts down, I couldn't quite see what he was packing, but when my hand finds it, I'm impressed. And he's moaning already.

"That's why I said no," Bodhi chuckles, his head on a swivel at the sound.

"I'm sorry, most partners enjoy positive feedback," Ridoc laughs as I'm feeling him, wrapping a hand and then both around him in alternating strokes.

Then I put both hands on his thighs, then the arms of the chair, and dip my head.

He's bigger than I realize and I’m gagging a bit before I can get settled in on him. 

He does not seem to mind. The fullness of him in my mouth is thankfully distracting from the lights that are definitely moving along the beach. He runs his hands through my hair and I grip his thigh, bobbing my head as much as I can. 

The moonlight reflects beautifully on his abs and the look on his face when I glance up is a kind of happiness I don’t know if I’ve ever seen, or ever felt. It’s joy and freedom and ecstasy.  

As the rhythm builds, I take breaks to lick and swirl, and breathe. Ridoc alternates between giggling like a maniac and groaning. Normally I’d angle for more groans, but in this case, I’m working hard enough to stay balanced.

But while the work is hard, it’s not unenjoyable by a long shot. I hum in pleasure, my own cock pleasantly growing in arousal to his sounds, his length. And maybe to the idea of getting caught, or maybe to the idea of sharing a kink with someone so obviously comfortable in a way I never have been. But maybe it’s a way I am becoming. 

As I hear a group of drunk party goers walk by–yards away, but still other people–I grin. 

“You’re doing great, Big D,” Ridoc says and ruffles my hair. 

It’s affectionate, but I don’t want affectionate. I put everything into it, sucking and swirling until he’s adequately unable to talk, something I thought impossible. But just as I think he’s getting close, I notice his eyes catch on something behind me. Before I can turn my head, I feel someone, Bodhi, pulling himself up to the rung below me. 

“You know what else lifeguard chairs would be perfect for?” he says, surprisingly brazenly. 

I pull off briefly and turn to see Bodhi as he’s stepping up and putting his feet on either side of mine. He presses into my back and I can feel his erection through his soft shorts. Fuck. I guess he decided to join. For a second I think I might fall off the ladder in shock, but Bodhi is now pinning me in so I wouldn’t go anywhere if I did. 

His hand reaches around and up, and Ridoc seems to understand what Bodhi’s doing because Ridoc pulls a tube out of his pocket and hands it to Bodhi. 

I try so hard to focus on Ridoc, at first thinking I can get him off before Bodhi starts. But Bodhi doesn’t seem to have the same idea, and I feel the tip of Bodhi’s lubed index finger pressing against my entrance. Oh gods, am I really about to get more of this soft, beautiful man? Inside me? 

It’s hard to think straight with Ridoc’s enormity filling my mouth, but suddenly my attention rushes to my ass as Bodhi’s finger pushes in, and I involuntarily arch my back as I groan. Fuck. 

“You’re going to take us so well,” Ridoc praises from where he is perched on the chair. “You already are.” His voice is a little breathy, and whether he is getting off on my tongue in overdrive for him, or from watching Bodhi prepare to enter me, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it’s clear this is surpassing even his wildest lifeguard chair fantasies.

Bodhi continues pushing his index finger in and I moan around Ridoc’s cock. When Bodhi’s finger finally makes it all the way inside, I squirm against it.

I’m pretty sure I hear Bodhi whisper “Prepare your anus,” and that’s when he inserts another finger. And I give another moan, this one vibrating from somewhere deep within.

“Gods, whatever you’re doing babe, keep doing it.” Ridoc is clearly enjoying the way each guttural sound I make reverberates against his sensitive tip, which is practically lodged in the back of my throat now.

A third finger enters me. And this time, I’m pretty sure the sound that escapes me is not entirely human. I’d probably be embarrassed if I wasn’t so wrapped up in the euphoric pleasure of it all. I can’t even think of this as public sex because Bodhi and Ridoc and I are the only people in the universe right now. 

“Oh my gods, this is so good,” Ridoc says gleefully. I’d concur if I had any way to. I attempt to make my agreement in moans, but I can barely do that, as occupied as I am being sandwiched between two of the most good-looking men I’ve ever seen. 

Well, technically I’m sandwiched between one of them and the rungs of a whitewashed wooden lifeguard chair, my face buried deep between the other’s thighs, but logic has no place in this situation, and any blood I had left in my brain has long since rushed down between my legs.

I tense as I feel Bodhi line up with my hole, slick and ready from the work of his lubed-up fingers. Gods, do these men carry a bottle with them everywhere?  That tracks, actually. And I can respect being prepared. Fuck, I’m grateful for it. 

And even though I know it’s coming, every one of my thoughts escapes me and I can’t help but let out a primal growl as Bodhi grips my sides, pinning my body hard against the rungs of the ladder and pushing into me slowly. Gods, how strong is this guy? I can feel the tension in his hands as he grips my hip with one hand, clinging to the wood with the other, holding us both in place. 

I realize I’ve let go of the chair entirely, distracted by the absolute exquisite feelings radiating through me. And because I’m physically fucking suspended between them, both my holes gloriously filled.

Fuck, it’s hot. 

Bodhi pushes in torturously slowly, and gods I wish I could see his beautiful face, that warm smile and run my hand through his soft curls. But there is nothing soft about him right now. 

I look up, and see Ridoc smiling down at us, his expression somewhere between pleasure and glee. 

And when we lock eyes, his grip tightens and then he’s coming and I’m swallowing, and then Bodhi is coming and the whole thing is so erotic I’m not sure I’m going to make it through. 

But I do, if barely. After my own orgasm shudders through me, and I do black out momentarily, I untangle myself from this absolute fantasy. I'm feeling completely and totally blissed out. 

I climb down still in a haze, and offer my hand to Ridoc to help him down after he pulls up his trunks. I pat my pockets instinctively for my phone. It must have fallen out of my pocket during the acrobatics. 

“I thought you’d wait at least a day before I had to rescue this again,” Bodhi jokes, already on the ground and using his own phone’s flashlight to fish mine out of the sand. He freezes instead of handing it to me, a look of concern on his face. 

"Dain," Bodhi asks carefully. "Why does it say you have a text from Cornelius Aetos?"

My knee jerk response of “because my dad is very formal and put his own full name in my phone when he purchased it for me” is not what he is looking for.

"Oh." I don't know what to say here, I hoped I would never have to.

"Wait," Ridoc says. "Isn't that the guy who’s suing us? From Avil?"

"Yes." Bodhi says, still holding my phone.

I can't say "He's my dad, he's all I have in this world," because that's dramatic, and makes me sound pathetic, but it's also not true anymore.

Yes, he's my last living relative, but that doesn't make him my family.

Cath has given me more and better life advice than he ever has, whether I asked for it or not. Everyone here has been kind and welcoming and interested—not just in sex, though that has obviously been fucking amazing, but in the turtles, and in me. 

I may not know exactly who I am becoming, but I know for a fact my dad has no idea who I am.

What great post orgasm clarity.

And now to lose it all.

"He's my father," I say quietly, but it's very clear they both hear me. 

"Dammmmmmn," Ridoc says.

Bodhi doesn't give me my phone back, but starts back toward the house. Ridoc gives me a pitying grimace and jogs to catch up with Bodhi.

I follow slowly, trying to plan a speech or something, but there's nothing I can think of to say or do. I have no idea what they'll say, if they'll believe I have changed my entire paradigm on life in the past 24 hours. 

If I could, I would go straight to a hotel. But I can't even book one since I don't have my phone. I need my laptop too, there's no way TITS can afford a new one.

I walk slowly back to the house. But fuck my fucking life, I trip on something on the way and completely faceplant. I guess I’ll be covered in sand after all.

When I go back to see what I tripped on, so I can curse it too (along with my stupid genetics and my inability to exist without causing harm to those around me) there's nothing there. I pull out the flashlight on my keychain, refusing to believe on top of everything else that I'm also clumsy.

But the reason there was nothing where I tripped is because the thing I tripped on is moving. Slowly.

It's a turtle.

I watch it find its way in the sand, tempted as ever to help it. But five years of better training wins out and I let it go. I turn off my flashlight now that I've found it, and just watch it head for the ocean, instinctively going where its meant to, the place it has never been but the home it was made for.

“Hope you make it to the beach, little guy,” I say. “Hope the world doesn’t fuck you over. Prepare your anus, cause it probably will.” The metaphor is a little weak given my own currently well prepared and delightfully used anus, but the common sentiment is there. Also, it’s a fucking turtle, so what’s it going to do? Correct me?

Once it's too far gone to see in the dark, I continue my own journey back to Riorson House. 

At least I found a turtle. The count won’t be zero. Even when they send me packing tonight. 

I get to the porch and the door is open. I take a deep breath and slowly walk in.

It's a fucking intervention, with all eight of them sprawled across the couches, looking at me.

Bodhi hands me my phone. I half expect he's going to like, force me to tell him the password or something.

Nyra speaks first. "So, your last name is Aetos?"

"Yes," I say, and then I'm spilling my guts. "I'm so sorry. I didn't - I don't— I'm sorry." It's all I can do, and it will never be enough. But she gives me an odd look.

"Wait, sorry for what?" Then I'm giving the odd look. For deceiving them, for I don't know, they probably think I'm spying on them or committing fraud or something. "You can't help who your parents are," she says.

Oh. She's not mad. "Yeah. I guess. It's just, This doesn't look good," I say.

"I think it looks very good," Ridoc says, holding his hands up like a picture frame around Nyra, Bodhi, and me.

"We wanted to see if you would ask him to drop the charges," Nyra continues.

"Oh." Despite not being truly malicious, I am still disappointing. "He won't." 

Faces fall across the room, but this is it. If ever there was a time, this is it. 

"I mean, he won't listen to me. He still thinks I'm going to work there at the end of the summer.” I feel a grin, surprisingly. I thought I would only do this under duress, the stress of just thinking about the stress it would cause to stand up to my father has kept me up at night frequently. “But, I do have something."

Even as I connect my phone to the TV, it isn't stressful. Sharing incriminating evidence of my father's unethical and illegal business practices with eight people who were strangers yesterday is the most freeing thing I've ever done.

I've let the guilt eat me alive and for what? So he could have some family left? I'm not all he has, not at all. He's got Hal and Avil and a team of sycophants, and all the secretaries in the email threads I flash on screen, the ones he swore to that he would leave my mother for. 

And now I have this. Eight people who watch me rapt with attention, Nyra even taking notes, all asking real questions and offering insightful commentary with no judgement on me. Eight people who trust me after just a day of knowing me. Eight people who care.

When I've gone through all the files, it's late. I air drop them to Nyra. I feel hollow, but in a weirdly good way. There's nothing left. I've done all I can do.

Bodhi and Nyra will make any threats or arrangements. They will use this to convince a lawyer that the cases Avil's brought are worth taking to court, especially knowing they can file their own using what we all now know. Taking down Avil will mean a huge payday, and Bodhi will make sure the beach fund gets some of it too.

I won't necessarily be implicated, but I won't be working at Avil either. Now that I've said it out loud, it seems so obvious. But it also means I can't change my mind. 

Quinn and Nyra leave first. Liam peels off with Bodhi and Ridoc, and I kind of hope they do talk about me. Imogen and Garrick are bickering again, but I think they go up to the same room.

"Need me to carry you to bed again?" I ask Sloane.

"I mean, I don't need it. But I wouldn't mind." she says. "Not to my bed though."

"Of course not," I say with a small laugh. "Oh I almost forgot! I found a turtle!"

"No shit," she says, sounding a little surprised. "I want to see."

"Well it’s probably in the ocean by now. But if we’re lucky there will be more."

"Well you’d better find another one fast,” she laughs with a yawn. “I’ve been considering changing my mind again. The kakapo is looking awfully enticing.”

“You’re looking awfully enticing,” I say reflexively, and laugh. I do want to commend her on her knowledge of endangered animals, but instead I just kiss her forehead and offer her my arm to help her up. “One sec, let me close this out,” I say, leaning down to my laptop.

Because before I can pick her up and do unspeakable things to her in a bed that supposedly fits four, I want to officially reject the offer letter, if only so I can’t chicken out of this plan in the morning. 

Cath’s reply notification is the first thing to pop up. 

Calldyr Beach, where you are now, has a year round assignment. I can look for others if you don’t want to be close to Avil for that long.   

Normally I would be very careful not to bother Cath late at night, but without even thinking I’ve responded. 

That would be amazing. I really like it here. Not too many turtles though.