Chapter 7
Zero
Salay leans over further, black and white polka dotted bikini covered tit actively brushing against my bare chest in a way that my dick can’t resist.
Straight facts.
I’m only fucking human!
And if I wasn’t human?
If we were on some animal kingdom, animal planet shit?
Her little boob graze here – that’s made her nipple as much as my cock stiffen like it did earlier when we were eating ice cream – would be the Gentoo penguin equivalent of her accepting my smooth pebble for her nest.
We’re bonding.
I mean, we definitely spent all afternoon that way.
From making out in front of the ice cream place to making out in her jeep to making out in the sand while the waves kept our feet cool – plus cleaned them – we’ve done quite a bit of physical pairing up for breeding season.
Not that I’m trying to breed her.
Or think she wants to be bred.
Or that chicks have a season like penguins do.
I just meant…that um….this…whole…treasure hunt for your life adventure thing is basically our version of that.
She’s my penguin.
And I vibe with having someone I can share a nest with.
Even if it’s only temporary.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” she casually begins, finger pointing to the left side of the screen. “This side is the currents map for the time the ship went down-”
“Hypothetically,” leaves me in an instant.
“Using my own program, I took the information I could scrape together from various sources, fed it through a filter, applied additional variables, tweaked a few things using the previously unknown information the royal prick provided – including the supposed positioning of the moon which affects the tides – and managed to reconstruct something theoretically similar.”
“Uh-huh,” Salay brushes off with an amused eye roll, “and this side,” she gestures to the other half, “is the current currents map for the area we’re going to be exploring-”
“Secured from an advanced satellite system intended for naval missions.”
“Naturally, John King,” escapes the beauty on a giggle.
“Who?”
“The youngest pirate on record.”
“I think I’d be a good pirate.”
“You’d be a terrible pirate,” she playfully announces, bright beam remaining.
“Receipts?”
“You don’t even know the different types of ships.”
My mouth aimlessly bobs for several seconds prior to nodding in concession. “That tracks.”
“I’m aware.”
More laughter freely bounces between us reminding me of how we spent the afternoon when we weren’t in mating mode.
While I love big cats – shout out to the Siberian tiger – I vibe with learning about all types of creatures, and it just so happens that our own Little Mermaid here knows some shit about some shit when it comes to marine life.
We shot the shit about whales.
Dolphins.
Lobsters.
Both rock and electric.
We laughed and argued and laughed again.
It was the best unofficial first date I think I’ve ever had.
Shoving crab imperial stuffed mushrooms into my mouth while verifying banking data during a vintage car auction with Garcia easily comes in as a close second.
At least Salay can admit she’s attracted to me.
And at least I know at the end of our night, she’s probably not gonna end up banging one of the models over the hood of a fully restored 1958 Jaguar Roadster.
Her arm drapes itself across my lower stomach at the same time she asks, “And what exactly is the point of all this?”
“To help narrow down where you’ll start diving.
” It’s impossible not to tug her closer.
“Plus, once I find a rough draft of the ship’s manifest or inventory list or whatever they used to call it in the ancient days, I can get a better idea of exactly what it is you need to bring to the surface to serve as enough proof we’ve found the sunken ship and didn’t just fake some shit to get Weslington’s foot off my hard drive. ”
She struggles not to smirk over my word choice. “What are you thinkin’?”
“Probably a painting?”
“Unlikely to be found undamaged enough to generally be accepted as a non-forgery.”
There’s no stopping my nose from scrunching. “Jewelry?”
“Something like what that crazy bitch threw into the ocean when her and Leo didn’t work out?”
My forehead crinkles in confusion.
“Is this where you tell me you’ve never seen the movie Titanic?”
“Is this where you leave my arms if I say I haven’t?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
Additional snickers leave us both along with her playfully attempting to pull away.
Unfortunately, a deep, familiar voice grunts, “You two look…” Garcia waits for our gazes to cut over to where he’s standing in the coastal themed room’s doorway, “acquainted.”
Guilt pushes me to create distance, to prepare to explain, to soothe his ego, to tell him whatever it is he wants to hear, yet is dismissed courtesy of the cut off shorts bearing female in my arms. “And you look…” she cocks her head sassily to the side, “constipated.”
Shock mixes with mirth encouraging my mouth to briefly become agape.
“I’m not,” insists the man across the room.
“Oh, so you’re jealous.” Additional snark slithers through her expression. “I tend to confuse the two when it comes to you.”
He leans his unbuttoned shirt covered shoulder against the frame. “Perhaps I’m simply disgruntled because I wasn’t invited to…” one hand flails around before defiantly falling in front of the dress pants he changed into the second we left Ravencroft’s estate, “whatever this is.”
“Perhaps because you said you wanted to drink alone,” she refutes.
“A polite offering could’ve still been made.”
“And a polite shot still could’ve been saved.”
It’s his turn to let shame slip into his stare.
Huh.
How does she do that?
How does she just…become the apex predator of the apex predator instead of his prey?
“What do you hate more, Counselor?” Another snarky expression slips onto her face. “That I don’t give a fuck about what other people think or that you do?”
He slowly shakes his head in tandem with folding his arms across his chest. “Veo que sigues siendo el pequeno rebelde sin causa de papá.”
“I may be ‘Daddy’s little rebel without an alleged cause’-”
“I thought you didn’t speak Spanish,” escapes in a whisper.
“-but you’re still Corporate Daddy’s little yes man without any balls.”
Rage narrows his glare along with his tone. “Tengo pelotas.”
“Would those be the ones Zero didn’t get to lick earlier?”
Both of our jaws crack open in surprise.
“Is that really why you’re so fucking pissy we’re in bed together? Because he might get his dick sucked again today when you haven’t even busted once?”
Time to decode whether her words were a promise or a threat or simply a mindfuck tactic – that’s fucking with me too – isn’t presented.
No.
The fiery female that even the coldest parts of the ocean couldn’t cool off callously leans closer in his direction and continues to goad, “Your inability to answer my line of questioning – again – counselor, tells me that you haven’t changed. One. Fucking. Bit.”
“Neither have you.”
“Why fuck with perfection?”
An unconscious flash of agreement occurs from me.
“You know,” her approach shifts to one that’s noticeably more menacing, “to be so fucking brilliant in the courtroom, you’re pretty fucking dumb out of it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I could die at those depths during my under the sea moment, Boo Boo over here could get the worst Jellystone treatment possible from literal royalty, and you run a very real probability of being captured by non-Disney approved pirates – who will without a doubt ransom you for around the same amount it took to make that shitty cartoon in the 50s – yet instead of considering any of that shit, instead of letting any of that shit dictate the decisions you’re making for the next couple of weeks, you choose to be steered by the fear that someone you swim in the same circles with will discover that you like cock as much as you like cooch rather than the fear that the cooch and cock you do like may not make it out of this shit alive. ”
“Poética,” is airily groused.
“Like a Greek tragedy except they weren’t afraid of celebrating their sexuality.”
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip but doesn’t argue.
Again.
How does she do that shit?!
How does she get him to just…listen?
And she’s not yelling!
Or screaming!
Or flashing her tits to keep his attention!
She’s just…talking.
And he’s just…listening.
There’s so much to fucking learn here.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” challenges the woman I find myself more and more amazed by.
“Tell me you don’t want me in that bed.”
“I don’t.”
There’s no ignoring the disappointment that darts through each of our gazes.
Oh.
Shit.
Is this going to be one of those things where I have to have her or him?
Split screens?
Then again…there technically isn’t a him situation to be splitting.
He’s not interested in me.
Not really.
I’m sure earlier was just…confusion.
Typical eat or be eaten jungle shit.
“What I want…” Salay salaciously begins at the same time she peels her arm off my stomach, “is for you to come stand next to Zero and let him suck your cock while I watch.”
Any ability I had to breathe completely disappears.
“Time to even the score, boys.” Sitting completely upward precedes her adding. “A suck for a suck.”
My head and mouth move in tandem Garcia’s direction, ready to insist otherwise, reassure him I know he was just faking shit earlier, that he really wasn’t into me or it, that the cum on his pants was just an involuntary reaction, when I catch him executing a less than subtle dick adjustment that effortlessly overwrites my planned statement with a filthier one, “Please, Master.”
An animalistic growl reverberates around the small guestroom.
“Please, let your little fuck toy return the favor.”
The soft moaning from the female near me gets immediately overpowered by the groaning and stomping towards me.
“Please, fuck my face the way I fucked yours.”
There’s almost no hesitation to dig his fingers into my cheeks.
To tug at his belt.
To pop open the button.
To rip down his zipper.