Chapter 34
Sadie
It’s been three weeks since we started this arrangement, and it almost feels normal now—if anything about what we’re doing can be called normal.
They’ve never fucked me. Boone is the only one who takes me that way, grounding me, splitting me open until I can’t think straight.
But I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve come on their hands and mouths. Over and over and over again, until I’m boneless, until I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
We’ve found a rhythm, the four of us. Boundaries we’ve drawn, lines we’ve respected. Somehow, it works.
Right now, Gabe and Boone are outside by the grill, the smell of charred fish and smoke drifting in through the open window.
Shepard has me straddling him on his sofa, my knees pressed into the cushions, his mouth buried between my thighs.
I rock against him, every nerve pulled taut, shivers skating down my back.
His hands grip my ass, squeezing me, holding me exactly where he wants me. My fingers twist into his hair, my head tipping back as the coil in my belly pulls tighter and tighter.
They invited me over to celebrate the finalizing of the mural. Weeks of work, long days in the sun, and it’s done. Bright, bold, a compass that seems to glow even when the light fades.
The town’s obsessed, flocking to see it, snapping photos, tagging every shot. Driftwood’s buzzing, caught up in its own new energy.
But in here, in Shepard’s quiet apartment, I’m caught up in something else entirely.
He groans against me, the vibration punching straight through me, and I gasp his name. My thighs tremble, the pressure unbearable, and then—
The door swings open.
Two sets of footsteps. Boone and Gabe walk in, beers in hand, smelling like smoke and salt.
“You haven’t come yet?” Boone asks, his voice warm with amusement. He leans down to kiss me, tasting my ragged breath.
“I think Shep’s edging her,” Gabe drawls, setting his beer down. His eyes drag over me, dark and sharp, like he can feel every tremor in my body.
“Assholes,” Shepard mutters against me, his voice muffled by my skin.
Then he slides two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right, and I break. The orgasm rips through me so hard I scream, my nails digging into his shoulders. My whole body shakes, the release tearing me apart in wave after wave.
“Goddamn,” Boone mutters.
“Goddamn,” Gabe echoes, his voice lower, heavier.
Shepard doesn’t let go until I’m slumped against him, my chest heaving. He finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and calmly slips his glasses back on like he didn’t just destroy me.
“Are you okay?” he smirks, eyes glinting.
“Uh-huh,” I manage, still trembling, reaching for the wineglass I’d abandoned earlier. My hand shakes as I lift it, sipping greedily.
Gabe sits on the arm of the sofa, his expression softening. “I’m so happy for you. Can’t wait to see the finished thing in the daylight.”
“You’ve practically seen the whole thing already,” I tease, still catching my breath.
He shrugs, smiling faintly. “Doesn’t matter. Seeing it finished is different.”
Boone settles onto the cushion beside me, tugging me into his side. His lips brush my temple. “I’m off work tomorrow. How about we all go celebrate?”
I glance at him, amused. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Shepard leans back in the chair, his expression thoughtful. “I was thinking of something different. A change of scenery. Getting a small yacht and taking it out on the water.”
My head snaps toward him, eyes wide. “A yacht?”
“Don’t get too excited.” His lips twitch. “It’s not mine. I’m friends with someone who owns one. He lets me borrow it sometimes.”
“Julian?” Boone asks.
Shepard nods. “Julian.”
Then he looks between the three of us. “So? What do you say? A day out on the water. Just us.”
I can’t help it—I grin, a laugh bubbling out of me. “Yes. God, yes. Absolutely.”
The thought of it thrills me. Sunlight on the waves, wind in my hair, all of us untethered from Driftwood for a little while. Just us.
Boone squeezes my hip. “Then it’s settled.”
Gabe raises his beer in a mock toast. Shepard tips his glass. I sip from mine, the taste of wine and salt still lingering on my lips, and think that maybe I could start a life here, with them.
I want to stay.
Gabe’s driving. His arm rests easy on the open window of Boone’s truck, wind slipping in and pulling strands of my hair loose from the clip I shoved it into this morning.
Boone sits beside me in the back, his long frame stretched out, sunglasses covering his eyes. The sun is already sharp, bouncing off the hood of the car as we cruise along the coast road.
We pass by the lighthouse, its white stone bright against the blue sky. I find myself staring at it, struck with the realization that it’s been months—maybe longer—since I let myself just… be.
No sketches half-finished in my bag, no scaffolding, no brush in my hand or paint on my skin.
My life has been narrowed down to walls and deadlines and the four of us tangled up in each other. I’ve been so caught up in surviving and producing that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a day stretch wide in front of me.
“Baby,” Boone murmurs, low enough that only I hear.
I turn to him. “Yeah?”
He slips his sunglasses down his nose, those eyes finding me, soft but lit with something mischievous.
“Excited?”
I smile, nodding. “More than excited. I think I really did need a vacation.”
He smirks like he already knew that answer, then nudges my thigh with his.
We drive into the harbor. The rebuild is obvious—scaffolding, new boards stacked, workers moving in the shade of half-finished beams.
I lean forward between the seats. “Why’s it all being rebuilt?”
Gabe glances at me in the rearview, one hand steady on the wheel. “There were supposed to be a couple of resorts put in down here, high-end stuff. The money dried up when the market dipped, so everything got put on hold. The town’s been arguing for years about what to do with it.”
“Hmm.” My gaze drifts over the bare skeletons of buildings, imagining them finished, full of tourists, or just left empty like ghosts.
We pull into the lot and park. The harbor smells like salt and diesel, gulls crying overhead.
My pulse jumps a little when I see Shepard already standing near the dock, talking to a man I don’t know. The sun hits his hair in a way that makes it look too golden for someone who insists on being serious all the time.
He looks up, sees us, and lifts a hand. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I call back, sliding out of the truck. Boone’s already circling to help me down, even though I don’t need it. His palm cups my hip for a second longer than necessary, and I grin at him.
The man beside Shepard turns as we approach. He’s older, with skin browned from years on the water, hair streaked silver. He shakes Boone’s hand, then Gabe’s, and gives me a small nod. Shepard makes the introductions.
“Julian’s the one doing me the favor,” Shepard explains. “He’s letting us take her out today. Crew’s already on board, so it’s all set. No work for us, just the ride.”
We turn toward the yacht.
And it’s stunning.
White hull gleaming, lines sleek, sails furled but ready. It’s not massive like the ones you see in magazines, but it’s big enough that it feels like a different world.
The deck stretches out in polished wood, ropes coiled neat, chrome fittings flashing in the sun. The water slaps gently against the side, green and blue and endless.
“Holy hell,” I whisper.
“Not bad, right?” Shepard’s smirk is small, but he’s proud.
Gabe offers his hand as I step down onto the dock, steadying me even though I don’t wobble. His palm is warm, his thumb brushing mine before he lets go. The gesture feels more intimate than it should.
Julian waves toward the deck. “Crew’ll look after you. We’ve got a skipper running the boat and one deckhand. They’ll stay out of your way unless you need them.”
We climb aboard. The crew greets us politely, all crisp polos and easy smiles, showing us the layout. There’s a small lounge inside, cool and shaded. A galley. A table already laid with cold drinks and fruit. The upper deck wide and gleaming.
The harbor falls away behind us as the engines rumble to life. Soon, the yacht is slipping out past the breakwater, the town shrinking into a blur of rooftops and scaffolds.
The water is gorgeous, a jewel spread wide under the sun. Clear enough that I can see flashes of fish darting below, the wake frothing white behind us. The horizon stretches endless, and I breathe deeper than I have in weeks.
I slip below deck to change, tugging on the bikini I shoved into my bag that morning. Black, simple, nothing flashy—but when I come back up, the way their eyes flick to me makes my skin hum.
Boone whistles low, and Shepard coughs into his drink like he wasn’t staring. Gabe doesn’t say anything, but the heat in his gaze says enough.
I stretch my arms over my head, pretending like I don’t notice the way they’re looking at me, and laugh. “God, this is perfect.”
The boat cuts across the waves, smooth and steady. The wind tangles my hair, sprays cool against my skin. I lean over the railing, soaking in the sunlight, before the temptation becomes too much.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, then dive.
The water closes around me, cold and shocking, and I laugh into the salt as I break the surface again. My limbs burn with the sudden chill, but it’s freeing, my body weightless in the blue.
Boone strips his shirt off and dives after me, his splash bigger, louder. When he surfaces, shaking water from his hair, I grin at him.
“You’re insane,” he says, but he’s laughing.
“You followed me,” I shoot back, splashing at him.
We tread water together, the yacht floating like a dream behind us, the sun beating down. Gabe leans over the railing, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. Shepard watches too, arms crossed, but even he can’t hide the way his gaze softens.