Page 177 of Better When Shared
I hadn’t worked up the courage to tell Makai that his Wedding Lady was my wife before he’d dropped me back at my hotel. Hadn’t worked up the courage to say much of anything, really. Knowing that he found her sexy, that he intentionally egged her on just to be able to talk to her, was driving me crazy, and not in a jealous way.
His casual conversation about his sexual preferences was burned into my brain. It kept playing on repeat in my mind, making mydick hard every time I thought about his desire to fuck my wife with me watching.
And it wasn’t helping matters that I’d seen him naked. Or that his dick was quite large, even soft. Or that he kept his pubic hair neatly trimmed. I simply had way too much information to use while masturbating. Surely that was the problem.
Needless to say, sitting in his truck with him the next morning was quite awkward. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the sexy flex of his shoulder muscles, or the strong, sure lines of his hands, or the bulge between his legs. I drank in every detail, filing it away for the next time I was alone.
“Here we are. The Salish Sea Adventure Tours main office.” Makai’s cheerful announcement interrupted my inappropriate train of thought as he turned onto a gravel drive.
I leaned forward, taking in the property as it opened before us. A weathered red barn dominated my view, surrounded by wildflower-dotted meadows that stretched toward distant trees. There was a newer cabin to the left of the barn, and to the right, sat an old farmhouse, beautifully restored.
“This is yours?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. I hadn’t expected his place to be so charming.
“Mostly. My business partner owns a share, too. That’s her cabin, over there, and the main house is mine. We use the barn as our office and training center.” He pulled up beside the barn and killed the engine.
“Is your business partner here?”
“Nah, Skylar’s off-island today, meeting with some eco-tourism network thing to see if we can be included in their listings.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Yeah, she’s great at marketing, logistics, and booking. We’d be nowhere without her. All I do is guide.”
“You’re an excellent guide, though. She’d have nothing to market without you.” I followed him out of the truck, taking in the property. It was peaceful, removed from the touristy bustle of Friday Harbor or Hollis Cove, quiet except for birdsong and the soft rustling of trees.
“So,” he said. “You up for something new? The surf report this morning didn’t look good, so I have another fun idea.”
“Like what?” Over the past three days, I’d learned that Makai’s definition of fun often involved activities I’d previously considered life-threatening.
“Ever been dirt biking?” He was already moving toward the barn doors.
I followed, because I couldn’t seem to say no to this man. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?” He slid the heavy wooden doors open, revealing the barn’s dim interior. “It’s the best way to see the beauty of San Juan Island. We’ve got a trail system that runs right along the edge of the property, through meadows, forest, even some great viewpoints overlooking the water.”
I followed him inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. The barn had been converted into a combination workshop, exercise space, and equipment storage. Kayaks and paddleboards hung from the ceiling, wetsuits dangled from hooks, and against the far wall, was a rack of bikes.
“Electric dirt bikes?” I approached the rack where six sleek machines were plugged into charging stations next to a dozen or so conventional mountain bikes in various sizes.
“Yep.” Makai ran his hand along one of the frames with obvious pride. “We have some Hondas out back, but I like the electric ones better because they are so much quieter and less intrusive. And they’re still fun. They have crazy torque.”
“I do enjoy torque.” In reality, I had no idea what torque was, and Makai’s expression told me he was well aware of that fact.
Dirt biking was so far removed from anything in my regular life that he might as well have suggested we fly to the moon. But I was tempted.
“I’ve never... I wouldn’t know how...”
“It’s easy.” Makai began pulling out protective gear, cheerfully assuming I was going to go along with his plan. “We’ll start you on grandma mode. Super low power, easy to control.”
As he bent to retrieve something from a lower shelf, my phone rang. I knew it was work, but I was caught up in staring at the curve of his ass in his shorts. I jerked my gaze away, my face burning, and pulled out my phone, staring down at my client’s name on the screen. I didn’t intend to answer—wished I never had to answer a work call again—but it was a well-timed distraction from my raging libido.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was a happily married man. My wife was a beautiful, brilliant woman. I’d flown thousands of miles to surprise her. And instead of spending time with her, I’d spent most of last night alone in a hotel room, picturing her being fucked by my surf instructor.
“Here.” Makai held up a set of knee pads, and I pocketed my phone, turning back to him, as he tossed me the pads, then a chest protector of some sort. “These should fit you.”
I caught the gear awkwardly, staring down at it as I wondered what I needed armor for. “How dangerous is this dirt bike?”
“It’s perfectly safe, but since you’re new to it, we’re taking all precautions.”
