Page 68 of Off Court Fix

“Shit.” I squeeze the pole tighter as my other hand winds into her hair, normally heavy and straight but now lighter, wavier after being drenched by the salty sea. “That’s it,” I encourage because I know she likes it.

I know there’s a place deep within her body and soul that both wants to make me feel good andknowjust how good she is at it.

I’ve got my tongue damn near poking a hole in my cheek. “I wish you could see yourself. I wish you could see howgoodyou take it.”

Her response? Another approved violation of my orders—Maxinepurrs.

That tingle begins to creep up my legs, each moment pulsing more toward the middle. Maxine can read me well because she syncs her movements with mine, catching as I push forward, rolling her tongue against the bottom of my shaft. My eyes roll to the back of my head, but I force them forward and open because I’ll be damned if the thing I see the moment I peak is the back of my own lids. I want to see all I can of Maxine.

The second our eyes meet, I explode, tightening my grip in Maxine’s hair, holding her firmly as my body locks up and releases deep down her throat.

Her lips pop when she pulls back, hands sliding from my hips. She leans back against the wood paneling behind her before her nails rake up and down my calves, drawing shivers and shakes.

I reach down to pull up my trunks and beckon her with my hands, so I can hold her and kiss her and taste myself from her mouth. I no longer care if she’s tired and on a flight in a few hours. I’m going to bend her over the wheel of this boat.

“Hey, you alright over there?”

I press a hand to Maxine’s head, keeping her down, when a light bounces off the still waters of the bay right into my eyes. She clutches at my leg, and I stroke her hair, shielding my eyes from the blinding beam with my free hand.

“Yeah,” I call out when I see the harbor master. “Stargazing,” I say, even though there’s a canopy over my head and a cloudy sky above it.

“Don’t need a tow in?” he asks.

Maxine nuzzles my knee with her nose, and I bend ever so slightly so I can cup her cheek. I should get whiplash bouncing between the walls of protectiveness and punishment. But I’m finding I enjoy the windy ride.

“Appreciate it, man. I’ll stay out a little while longer. Rougher on land than sea, right?”

The man gives a nod. “You got a slip?” he asks.

“I hope he doesn’t ask for your boating license,” Maxine teases from below me, and I tug her hair.

“Number eight. Dave Smith.”

“Alright then. You take it easy and have a good night.”

I give a curt nod and wait for him to turn his boat around. He circles, heading down the harbor.

After a minute, I release my hold on Maxine before I help her up as she pushes from her knees. Stepping to the side, she raises her arms above her head, stretching like a cat waking from a delicious nap. The glow of the warm light lets me see the tinge to her cheeks—from the earlier sun, the adrenaline, I’ll never know.

I wait until I can no longer see or hear the harbormaster’s boat off in the distance before I start the engine, looking down the harbor, wondering where Hunter and his gang went off to. I try not to give too much thought to the woman alone with two men on a quiet, sleepy night, but it sours my stomach.

But that feeling becomes something of the past when Maxine wraps both arms around my waist from behind. I sigh and rest my hand atop hers, locked around my middle. Her body shifts and stretches upward when she presses her lips to the back of my neck and nuzzles the base of my hairline.

Our bodies sway together gently, matching the bob of the boat on the dark water. Maxine tightens her grip on my waist and her cheek rubs against my shoulder blade, and I know she’s doing the same as me, trying to hold onto a stolen, safe moment, a tease of what life could be like when you meet the right person at the right time.

When we dock and walk to my car side by side, hardly touching, I know what I told the harbormaster was correct. Sometimes, life is rougher on land than sea. And for Maxine and myself, it’s full of longing and a torturous type of missing—yearning for—someone who is right in your face and still out of reach.

“Knock knock.”

I look up from my desk. “Now who’s breaking and entering? The clubhouse closes at nine,” I tell Maxine who slips into my office before shutting the door. I lean back in my chair.

Maxine shrugs and smirks. “Arrest me.”

My eyes scan her bare legs beneath the cutoff shorts she wears. “If I had handcuffs, I would’ve used them on you already.” I push back from my desk, giving her space to slide into my lap.

“Why are you still here? I called you.”

I look at my phone sitting by the window, charging. “Shit.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I pull off my glasses, pinching the bridge of my nose, and apologize. “Sorry. It’s on silent.”

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