evening chill away, but my mind twists with what will happen when my father returns from his business trip. The fire extinguishers weren’t the smartest idea, but fuck, being trapped in this hellhole for months is prison. I’m losing my mind in this place, day in and day out. The only reprieves are the few times like these, when I steal away without anyone knowing.
Rushing of water at the mouth of the cave is the first taunt of the rising tide. In just a few hours, this place will be half full of sea water, and the pull of the tide will sweep whatever’s in here beneath the surface and out to sea. For that reason, locals call it Pirates Cove.
A young kid, fourteen, ventured in here a few years back and was believed to have drowned and gotten pulled out to sea. According to reports, he might’ve hit his head, knocking him out long enough for the tide to take him away. Since then, it’s been made off limits to beach goers, and children, in particular. The cave sits on the edge of our property and the state-owned land beside us, so the family attempted to sue my father, but no one files a lawsuit against a Blackthorne and wins.
Jude and I typically hang out until the water reaches our calves, but leave before it becomes impossible to wade through. We once played chicken, the water rising as high as our chests before we were forced to climb out. With its rough and choppy waves that hammer against the rocks, if the sea doesn’t take you alive, it’ll surely take what’s left of you after your body’s been tossed around.
Splashing draws my attention toward the entrance, where two figures stand, and I drop my stick on seeing Jude has somehow manipulated the new maid into hanging out with us.
“Brought a friend, hope you don’t mind.” He guides her toward one of the boulders, the only permanent fixtures in the cave, and plops down on the dry sand at the opposite side of the bonfire. “Solange wanted to see the infamous Pirates Cove.”
I can’t take my eyes off the woman, the way her deep brown eyes and long, curly hair gives her an exotic lure. Her long slender neck and equally slender shoulders dip down to full breasts that, too heavy for such a small frame, strain against the thin fabric of her shirt. From here, I can see her nipples poking through, and my dick lurches at the sight.
“What do you estimate we’ve got? Two hours?” Reaching into his coat pocket, Jude pulls out one of the joints he scammed from Easton and, without wasting time, lights it up. The end crackles orange, and he puffs it twice, turning it around to suck in the smoke, before puffing it again and passing it to Solange. He runs his finger up and down her arm, shooting me a smirk through the flames. She takes one long drag and leans to the side, reaching around the small fire to pass it to me.
“I say we’ve got two hours, max.” Like Jude, I take a couple tugs of the joint, letting the smoke crackle in my lungs, and I close my eyes, tipping my head back on the exhale. While away at school, Jude and I would sneak down into the basement and get high, or wasted, all night. Sometimes it was weed, other times it was alcohol.
“So, what do you do before the tide comes in?” Her thick French accent carries a breathy quality, like a mid-thrust moan. Nothing like the girls I’ve messed around with, stealing away to cop a feel, or a quick fuck. Local girls can be fun sometimes, if I’ve got the time to charm them. Only problem is, they’re looking for a way out. A means to keep from becoming their mothers, and I’d rather run a nail through the head of my dick than make that kind of commitment.
“How ‘bout you take off that sweater, and we’ll show you.” Jude has always been ballsy when it comes to women. Kind of a prick, to be honest, but whether it’s because he’s wealthier than a prostitute in a submarine fleet, or more charming than the devil himself, they never seem bothered by it.
Solange smiles, and her gaze falls on me, for some reason. “Does the young Master wish to see my tits?”
Young Master. Fuck me.
Blowing the smoke off to the side, I give a small nod,