Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

Mac used the bow thrusters to turn them in the marina basin. They cleared the marina and idled down the Anclote River channel toward the Gulf of Mexico. An hour later, they motored into open water and watched the sun set on the horizon in front of them. With the closest vessel in sight more than several miles away, they were virtually alone. Mac set the autopilot and radar guard alarm before he turned to Sully.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Mac held up a leather collar. “Don’t make me tell you.”

Sully rolled his eyes but reached for the collar.

“Oh, don’t even do the eye roll, buddy,” Mac playfully warned.

“That’ll earn you another ten.”

When Sully had the collar fastened around his neck, he turned so Mac could affix a small, silver lock to the buckle. “Now what?” Sully asked.

Mac pointed to the wheelhouse door. “You know what I want.”

Sully walked outside to the railing and bent over, placing his hands on it and spreading his legs. “Like this?”

After grabbing a couple of straps from a storage nook, Mac stepped behind Sully. “Damn straight.” With fluid, practiced movements, he securely bound Sully’s wrists to the railing.

Sully looked over his shoulder at Mac. “It’s cold out here.”

Mac pressed his body against Sully’s ass and gripped his lover’s hips. “Yeah, but you’re damn hot, buddy.” He reached around, unfastened Sully’s jeans, and shoved them down his hips. Sully had gone commando. His bare ass prickled with goose bumps in the chilly evening air.

Mac ran his hands over Sully’s ass and squeezed his cheeks.

“Gonna warm that up for you real fast.” He stepped to the side and spanked him, leaving the skin red and warm.

Sully tightly shut his eyes. “Don’t fucking tease me, man,” he groaned.

Mac laughed and ground his hips against Sully’s ass. “Payback’s a bitch, and so am I.” He reached around the other man again. This time he grabbed Sully’s hard, throbbing cock and squeezed it. “Doesn’t seem like the cold air’s bothering you too much.” Sully tried to rock his hips against Mac’s hand, but Mac squeezed even harder, which drew a pained moan from Sully. “Uh-uh. No you don’t. You get to come when I say so, and I’m not ready to let you do that yet.”

Sully groaned again.

Clarisse realized three things immediately upon awaking—the engines were running, from the way the boat rocked she knew they weren’t at the dock anymore, and that her entire body hurt like a motherfucker.

She groaned as she slowly sat up and scrubbed her face with her hands, then glanced at her cell phone to check the time.

Holy crap.

The fact that she’d slept more than twelve hours shocked what little sleep remained right out of her system. Despite protesting muscles, she opened the door to the small bow cabin and looked around below decks. No one in sight.

She started to mount the galley stairs to the wheelhouse when through the open wheelhouse door she caught sight of two men on deck. Neither her uncle. The one man…

Oh, shit.

She ducked, her heart racing and her muscles screaming at the sudden movement. In the dim light she couldn’t see them well, but they both looked hunky. A shorter, brown-haired one bent over the rail with his jeans shoved down past his ass, and the other…

Oh, baby!

Was that a collar around the brown-haired man’s neck?

The blond man ground his hips against the other’s bare ass. Then he unzipped his jeans and reached for something. She watched as the blond man slicked his cock with lube before sliding it inside the other man. Her throat went dry as she watched his firm, tight ass clench and relax as he thrust into his partner.

“Jesus, you feel like you’ve got bigger,” the man on the receiving end said.

Blondie laughed. “You just haven’t been fucked enough lately.

You need to get out on the boat more often with me.” He leaned in close and pressed his still-clothed torso against the other man’s back.

“I take your cock without a second thought. I sure as hell don’t complain. Don’t tell me you’re whining?”

The other man bucked his hips backward to impale himself even more deeply. “I can take anything you dish out, buddy. Bring it on.”

Blondie grinned. “I hoped you’d say that.”

Clarisse realized that she stood out in the open. As much as she wouldn’t mind watching the two handsome hunks go at it, she realized that might not be a good idea.

She turned and started toward the front bow cabin. She spotted, in its usual place, the familiar blue plastic envelope where the boat registration and documentation papers were kept. Clarisse grabbed it, raced to the front cabin, and softly closed the door behind her.

Unfortunately, one thing hadn’t changed—the latch on the cabin door still didn’t work. It would stay closed, but she couldn’t lock it. She jammed her suitcase into the space between the bunk and the bottom of the door. Wedged against the base of the bunk, it would slow someone down for a few minutes, at least. Not that the thin cabin door would hold if one of those buff guys wanted to kick it in.

She risked turning on the small reading light. With trembling hands, she opened the envelope.

State commercial fishing licenses and permits, vessel registration and documentation papers, captain’s license paperwork, and other official permits and documents.

The Dilly’s new owner: Sullivan Nicoletto, forty-two. The captain: Brant MacCaffrey, thirty-eight. PO Box address in Tarpon Springs.

She wondered who was who. Well, one of them had to be MacCaffrey, because the captain’s and commercial fishing licenses had been issued in his name.

With the situation fully striking home, Clarisse closed her eyes and fought another round of tears. It’d been a long shot, sure, but when she’d seen the Dilly in her slip, Clarisse thought her luck had changed for the better.

Where is Uncle Tad?

Even over the deep throb of the twin diesels below decks, Clarisse heard one of the men shout something. She shoved the paperwork into the envelope and shut off the light.

Hopefully they won’t be interested in me. A nervous giggle escaped her. That absolutely had to be stress. Not a damn thing funny about this situation.

Maybe exhaustion had finally gotten the better of her. She’d been physically and emotionally beat to hell and back. No catch in the looks or sex department himself, Bryan had accused her of infidelity enough times she’d been tempted to go out and actually do it for real, if she could even find someone interested in a “big girl” like herself.

Standing there watching those two guys…

Yum.

Clarisse curled up on the bunk. The cabin felt warmer than it had earlier. They must have turned on the heater.

Why were they out on deck?

Not as cold as Columbus, but still chilly enough out there. Why not take advantage of the warmer below-decks area?

Hopefully they wouldn’t discover her. The master cabin had a much larger bunk where two big, hunky guys could easily…

Cripes.

She shook her head to clear it. She hoped she’d be safe in the tiny bow cabin. Except now, she had a problem.

She had to pee.

Holding her breath, she moved the suitcase and carefully peeked out the cabin door. No sign of the men below decks.

With the forward head door right there, she ducked inside.

Keeping the light off, she relieved herself and started to reach for the flush lever when she stopped.

Dammit. They might hear.

She cracked the head door open. She caught a glimpse of Blondie’s ass, still on deck.