for shore. When the water is shallow enough, I stand and face the horizon and try to catch my breath.
The exercise didn’t do a thing about the boner in my shorts. I slip my hand past my waist band, fist my aching dick, and groan at the first stroke. It feels good, but there’s no relief in it. This should be Regan’s hand, or mouth or pussy. I don’t know how I managed to blow things so badly.
“Stone!” Her shout carries over the wind and my heart nearly jumps out my chest. I yank my hand out of my shorts before I turn toward the beach.
She’s right at the water’s edge, sitting close enough that the tide laps at her shins. She’s resting her chin on her knees, her head cocked to the side. From this distance, I can’t make out her face, and I hope she couldn’t tell what I was doing.
The thought is humiliating enough to do what my swim couldn’t. By the time I reach the shore, my dick is as limp as the clumps of seaweed that dot the beach.
I drop down on the sand next to her, prop my body up on my elbows and drop my head back to stare up at the dark purple sky and try to order my thoughts.
Neither of us say anything as we sit, stuck in whatever quagmire of misunderstanding we’ve found ourselves in.
“The moon looks like a pearl sitting on a throne of diamonds, doesn’t it?” She says, her pensive voice breaking the silence after a few minutes.
I follow her gaze to the horizon. The moon is low and glowing and the glittering stars that spangle the sky around it, do look like a congregation of courtiers paying homage to their sovereign. But if we’re going to talk, it’s not going to be about the fucking sky.
“You called me back, are you okay?” I ask, my patience fraying badly.
“Why did you ask me to come with you?” There’s a gravity in her husky voice that belies her casual tone and matter of fact inflection.
“Why are you asking me a question you know the answer to?”
“Humor me,” her voice is clipped.
I sit up, but keep my eyes facing forward. “Because, you needed to get away.”
“I see.” Her voice is barely audible, but the hurt in it resounds.
I turn to look at her.
Her jaw is clenched tight and her throat works as if she’s swallowing down something thick and dry.
“Regan, what’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you want me anymore?”
Her question is as shocking as an ice bath after a hot shower. I stare at her, dumbfounded for a few seconds.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growl and stand up.
“Where are you going?” she gazes up at me from her perch in the sand.
“Nowhere, come on,” I stick my hand out to help her up, too.
“Okay,” she drawls before taking my offered hand and rising to her feet.
I let go of her hand, and peer at her, trying to see if she’s serious. Until I see the frustration I’m feeling mirrored in her dark eyes.
I lay a hand on her neck, and she sighs in pleasure, but that hurt expression is still there. “I’m going to forgive you for asking me that because I can tell something is wrong. But you have to know, that me not wanting…that’s not a thing that could be.”
Her eyes snap open, the sadness and confusion is gone, and she glares daggers at me. “I practically waved my pussy in your face just now, and you didn’t even look up from your damn book,” she snaps, and arches her neck to evade my grasp.
“Oh, I looked…but you took your dress off to shower. I would never presume you wanted—"
“Did that girl you walked away with, the one you were helping with her flaps,” she puts air quotes around the last word, “did you presume she wanted you to stay and hang out or did she ask you to?”
Her jealousy, misguided as it is, is delicious.
I frown in feigned bemusement. “Hmmmm, I’m surprised you noticed given how engrossed you were with your harem of geriatric perverts.”
Her lips curl into a scowl. “I was trying to have fun. You turned into a moody grinch as soon as we got here, and then you left me to go off with your little band of man stealing whores.”
I laugh out loud.
“It’s not funny, I walked right past their tent and I could hear you talking, them laughing,” she snaps and arches