Page 79 of Chasing Sunsets

The four of us settle in at the picnic table, plates piled high. The food is simple but good—fresh, full of flavor. Anson takes a bite of the grilled zucchini and gives me an approving nod.

“Damn,” he says. “Maybe I should start eating weeds.”

Pete barks out a laugh. “She’s got you learning too, huh?”

“Apparently.” Anson grins, nudging my knee under the table.

The conversation flows, like it always does here. We talk about nothing and everything—the latest repairs around the campground, the new couple who just pulled in from Montana, the best fishing spots this time of year. It’s easy. It’s home.

When we’re done, Pete heads to the firepit, stacking wood and striking a match. Flames flicker to life, crackling as they grow. Other campers start to drift over, drawn by the fire, the company. Someone brings out a guitar, another a cooler of beer.

The sky fades to a deep indigo, the first stars winking into view. The ocean is a dark, endless stretch beyond the dunes, waves rolling in gentle, steady rhythms.

Anson settles beside me on one of the benches, his arm stretched along the back—close, but not quite touching me. I sip my beer, watching the flames dance.

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

I glance at him. His face is relaxed in the firelight, his usual sharp edges softened by the glow.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, “it is.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, passing stories, laughter, drinks. But eventually, the crowd thins, and the fire burns lower. Pete claps Anson on the back and thanks us both for dinner before heading toward his house, Freda following with a warm smile.

And then it’s just us.

Anson stands, stretching. “I should probably get going too. We have an early booking in the morning.”

I hesitate, then nod, standing. We walk in comfortable silence, the sand cool beneath my bare feet. When we reach his truck, he turns to me, eyes searching mine.

I should say good night. But I don’t.

Instead, I step back, tilting my head toward my RV. “You sure you can’t come in for a bit?”

A beat of silence. Then …

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Yeah, I can do that.”

I lead him inside, past the half-finished painting propped by the door and the dried flowers hanging from the ceiling. Then, I sweep up the stack of books from the bed and move it to the dinette table.

He closes the door behind him and reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and I launch myself at him.

Anson

Balancing myself with one hand on the doorjamb, I catch her with one arm.

She buries her face in my neck, and not bothering with lights, I walk us straight to the counter. In a flash, her swimsuit top and my tee are gone, and we are bare chest to bare chest.

I set her down on the Formica and step between her legs. Her hand slides between us and tugs at the string holding my swim trunks up until they loosen and I kick them to the floor. She takes my cock into her hand, and I watch as she strokes me. Her breath quickens, and her stormy-blue eyes meet mine.

I take her mouth and then pepper kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and to her breasts.

“Fuck, I’m addicted to the taste of your skin,” I growl.

Her back arches, giving me better access. I lavish both mounds with attention before moving lower. She raises her hips, so I slide her shorts down. I spread her legs wide so I can get a good look at her before guiding one of them over my shoulder.

I lower my mouth to her and run a line through her wet folds with my tongue.

“Mmm,” I hum against her flesh.

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