We played around in the water, floating and laughing for a bit, then Stuart grabbed the snorkel gear and we swam for what felt like hours, diving down to look at the reef and the fish.

It was so perfect, and I had to keep reminding myself he was a client.

A client who, I had no doubt, I would be having sex with later that night. As far as sexual tension went, we were now off the Richter scale.

He was back to his grinning self, bright-eyed and enthusiastic about everything he found under the surface. At one point, a fish startled him, and I laughed so hard I had to pull up to the surface for air. He followed up and pulled off his mask just to tell me to piss off and splash me, but he was smiling.

And his demeanour now, his happiness, was vastly different from how he’d been this morning. He’d kind of played it off as being a bit hungover, but I doubted that was it. He’d been pale when he went into his room for a while, and it hadn’t looked like a hangover to me. There’d been something in his eyes that told me otherwise. So I’d left him alone, thinking he just needed some downtime, but by lunchtime, he still hadn’t come out, so I knocked on his door. I hadn’t thought he’d be asleep. As soon I realised he was, I pulled back, but he stirred.

The sheet was covering him, though I could see a partial thigh and hip. He looked peaceful for that briefest second. And absolutely beautiful. Then he sat up, the sheet tangled around his hips, his hair was kind of mussed, and he squinted and scratched his head.

It was adorable.

I’d wanted to climb into bed with him and muss him up some more.

Same when he climbed up the ladder into the yacht before me. I got a glorious view of his arse in those red briefs, and when he met me at the top, he handed me a towel. He scrubbed his towel over his hair, making it stick up all over. His smile was devastating.

And those red briefs were pretty spectacular dry, but wet? I wanted to meet Calvin Klein and kiss him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, a curious smile in his eyes.

“That Calvin Klein is a genius.”

He looked down at himself, then back up at me and grinned. “Mr Klein can’t take all the credit.”

I snorted. “No, he can’t.”

He laughed too, then looked out across the reef and sighed. “Are we on the move again? Should we pull up the anchor?”

“Yep. You wanna be in charge again?”

His smile became a smirk. “I’m always in charge. But if you mean do I want to be the one behind the wheel, then no. You can drive this time. I’ll sit and watch the master at work.”

“Always in charge, huh?” I countered. “That’s not what you told me before.”

He tied his towel around his waist, sat down, stretched out, and crossed his legs at his ankles; relaxed and comfortable. “No, I said I liked to be fucked into the mattress, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in charge.”

I barked out a laugh. “If you say so.”

He put his head back, closed his eyes to the sun, and smiled. “I can show you later.”

My dick perked up at his words, but I let the subject drop for now. He was right; we did need to move. “Come on, look alive,” I said, patting his shoulder as I went past. He opened his eyes as I stepped up onto the deck. “I’ll get the mainsail. You get the anchor.”

Not long after that, we were sailing. I was behind the wheel, but he sat with me, watching our course, checking our depth, and as always, asking questions.

We headed north and set a steady pace toward the east side of Arlington Reef. It was tourism central, even on a bad day, and there were plenty of boats around. But the winds were on our side, and if I needed to change tack, Stuart held the wheel and listened to every instruction. It was a solid few hours sailing, but I wanted to shelter inside the horseshoe of Arlington Reef, behind Oyster Reef for the night. The water would be calm, we could drop anchor in the sand without worrying about reef damage, we could snorkel, swim, then grill some steak.

Oh, and have shots of tequila and lick the salt off each other’s bodies.

Yeah, let’s not forget that.

Stuart’s face when we were sailing, though, was pure joy. As soon as we caught the wind, we cut the water like a knife, and it felt like we were flying, and his smile could have lit up the entire eastern seaboard.

He lifted his fist into the wind and let out his freedom cry of “wooooo” and it made me laugh. And it restored his energy, because when we finally dropped anchor, bright-eyed, and right or wrong, he wanted to do everything. “A swim before dinner,” he suggested. “We can snorkel the reef, even walk in the shallows if we can.”

I checked the time. “If we’re quick.”

He disappeared and came back fifteen seconds later with our snorkel gear in his hands and a grin plastered on his face. And half a minute later, we were snorkelling. Arlington Reef was popular for good reason: it was spectacular. Most of the Great Barrier Reef publicity photographs were taken here. There was even a permanent pontoon where charter boats could stop and let the flocks of tourists off.

We kept our distance from that. Stuart didn’t have to say he preferred privacy—I saw disappointment on his face every time another boat came within a cooee. The reef itself was huge and we’d picked a remote spot, so in the waning afternoon sun, we were on our own.

And he was a pro at snorkelling underwater now. Stuart’s grin got wider with every different thing he saw: the fish, the coral, the stingrays, the turtles. He’d mastered the whole diving down thing, and he even understood my hand signals.

Being with him like this was special. I rarely got any personal time, and even though this was technically a job and he was my client, it didn’t feel like it. I felt as though I was on holiday, that I was showing a friend the reef for the very first time and we had the entire Coral Sea to ourselves; just him and me.

It felt incredibly personal.

And as we made our way back to the yacht, I was trying to come up with valid excuses why that was a bad thing.

I couldn’t think of one.

Next week, he’d be going back to his life in Brisbane, and I’d be picking up my next charter tour. Life would go on. So why not just enjoy this for what it was? Why not think of this week as a paid holiday?

Stuart certainly wasn’t opposed.

And from the ache in my balls and my permanent semi, my body wasn’t opposed either.

“Here,” Stuart said, taking my snorkel mask. We’d just climbed back on board the yacht and I’d barely finished wrapping my towel around myself. “I’ll go clean these. You start dinner, and when I’m done, I’ll get us a drink.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I forgot, you’re in charge here.”

He shot me a grin over his shoulder as he went about his business. But, I did as he suggested, and when he came below deck, he was only wearing his red underpants; his towel was gone. He noticed that I noticed. “Towel’s drying in the sun,” he said. He looked down at my crotch. “Want me to take yours?”

“Not right now,” I answered. “I don’t fancy cooking whilst semi-naked.” I also didn’t fancy pulling the towel away to reveal the semi-problematic semi I was sporting.

“Fair enough.” He looked around the galley. “Where can I cut some lemons?”

I put the steak on the griddle pan, waiting for the sizzling sound to settle before I spoke. “Isn’t it a bit early for lick, sip, suck?”

He grinned. “I was actually going to grab some beers first, but if you want to start with the hard stuff, I won’t say no.” He licked his bottom lip and his eyes gleamed with mischief. “I bet we’re covered in salt. Might take a lot of licking.”

I tried not to smile too hard. “Lemons are in the fridge; cutting board in the cupboard next to the sink. And a beer’ll be fine.”

He found everything he was after, then sliced up a lemon while he talked about the incredible turtle we’d seen while we snorkelled. He marvelled at the magnificence of it all, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d seen before he grabbed two beers from the fridge, popped the lids, slid in a lemon slice, and handed me one.

“Do you ever get complacent with it?” he asked, taking his first sip. “Do you ever just think, ‘Meh, seen it all before’?”

“Never.” I shook my head and turned the steak. “You can’t take that for granted. I don’t take any of it for granted. Not the reef, not the weather, not this job, none of it. And anyway, no two trips are the same. It’s different every time.”

He took a swig of his beer. “How so?”

“Well, I might come to the same reef, but the sunsets are never the same. The people I bring out here are never the same.”

“Ever have a client you considered throwing overboard?”

I smiled and sipped my beer. “Nope. I’ve been pretty lucky. Had some language barriers, but smiles are universal. And funnily enough, so is the theme music to Jaws.”

He burst out laughing, but then he asked, “Have you seen many sharks?”

“Oh, sure. Most are harmless, but not all of them.” I turned off the griddle plate and dished up some leafy greens and potato salad. “Sharks are just an occupational hazard. Some idiots used to try and get real close to stingrays too. Until Steve Irwin. Now they respect them a bit more.”

He nodded slowly. “I bet they do. Ever had any client try and take coral?”

“Once. Now I make sure they know the rules. People are pretty good about it.” I slid our plates onto the table and we took our seats.

“This looks really good, by the way,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m surprised by how hungry I am. I mean, back home, I never eat snacks, and I certainly wouldn’t eat carbs like this,” he said, shoving a piece of potato salad in his mouth. He hummed his appreciation.

“You’d be surprised how much energy you burn by swimming and snorkelling.” Then I added, “You don’t need to worry about your diet out here.”

“Well, carbs are my enemy. But protein,” he said, waggling an eyebrow. “Now shots of protein are always on my menu.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then the steak will do you good.”

He laughed, and we ate the rest of our meal talking about what was going on in the world. He cleaned up the galley after dinner, and I went up to the cockpit to double check everything was good for the night. When I walked along the deck by the coach housing, he was coming up from the galley with a plate of cut lemons in one hand, the bottle of tequila in his other. “Dessert is served.”

I let my head fall back and groaned, and as soon as I was back in the cockpit, he handed me the bottle. “Don’t be a spoilsport.” Then he looked out over the ocean at the setting sun, and more specifically, at the lack of other boats. “Oh, would you look at that… everyone’s gone. That means we can play this game out here.” He handed me the plate of lemon slices, stepped right in close, kept his eyes on mine while he bent down and licked from my nipple to my throat, sending a shiver right through me, then took a swig of tequila. He shoved a piece of lemon in his mouth, shuddered, and grinned. He shook his head and groaned. “Man, that’s good.”

He was still only wearing his red briefs. I could see how good he thought it was.

“Your turn, but first,” he said, then pulled at my towel, revealing my underwear and that damn semi-hard-on I’d had all day. “Mmmm. That’s so much better,” he whispered. Then he held a slice of lemon between his teeth and held his arms out wide. “Lick me.”

So I did.

I licked along his collarbone, took the tequila bottle and had a swig, then opened my lips and slid the lemon piece into my mouth. He surrendered it quickly, gripping the back of my neck and kissing me, the lemon going from his mouth to mine.

He didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. He licked up my neck to my ear, sucking the lobe between his lips, then pulled off to sip the tequila. I could barely even think straight, let alone get a piece of lemon for him. He grinned and, pulling out the elastic of my briefs, popped a slice of lemon so it stuck out the top, just below my navel. “Oh my, would you look at that,” he said gruffly before sinking to his knees. He knelt before me, his hands on my hips, and nudged his nose to the ridgeline of my cock in my underwear, then snagged the lemon between his lips and pulled it out.

The cheeky fucker.

He tongued the lemon, and keeping it in his mouth, he then rose to his full height. His eyes locked on mine, full of heat and dare. I was done with games. I pushed him so he sat on the bench seat, his surprise quickly dying as I took his nipple in between my teeth. He arched his back, jutting his hips forward, searching for any friction I could give him.

He snatched the lemon out of his mouth. “Oh fuck,” he cried out when I rolled his nipple between my teeth. He gripped my face in both hands and brought me up for a kiss. Our mouths locked, tongues twirled and tasted. But it wasn’t enough, our bodies couldn’t touch like this. It was nowhere near enough.

So I pushed him, gently urging him to lie down along the bench seat, and he pulled me down with him. We were a tangle of limbs and tongues; I was leaning over him, our cocks aligned, our chests, our mouths. My God, he could kiss.

He roamed his hands over me, my back, my arse, grinding me on top of him. It was kind of awkward, not an ideal position, but I was too turned on to stop. If I pulled away now, it might very well kill me.

Then he slid his hand between us, and after a little fumbling, he had our cocks in his fist. Sliding, slick with precome, and it was magical.

So, so good.

“Oh fuck, you feel amazing,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. Then he groaned and bucked his hips like he was close.

I crushed my mouth to his, and he took my tongue, moaning and pumping, and it was all too much and far too good. I fucked his fist, his cock hot and hard against mine, slick and slippery, and so fucking good.

I broke the kiss so I could speak. “I’m gonna come.”

“Fuck yes, come on me.”

I pulled back, and we both looked between us, our cockheads slipping through his fist, over and over, and my orgasm crashed over me. Pleasure rolled through my body, sweeping and all-consuming, and I shot come onto his chest and belly. His grip tightened as he came, his pulsing cock milking the last of my orgasm from me as his come pooled with mine on his skin.

He shuddered and shivered, then let out a pained laugh. “Holy fucking shit,” he mumbled.

Unable to stay upright anymore, I fell forward, smearing the mess between us, and buried my face into his neck. He smelled of the ocean, of sex, of us, and I inhaled for all I was worth. “You good?” I finally asked.

He chuckled again. “Very.”

I nuzzled in and closed my eyes despite the odd angles of my legs. “I should get you cleaned up,” I whispered. “Don’t know if I can move though.”

“We could just jump in the ocean,” he suggested. “I would say we could shower together, but there’s no way we’re both fitting in the showers on this boat.”

I pushed up off him, my boneless body protesting every movement as I stood. “The ocean it is then.”

He looked directly at my cock, hanging half-hard from my briefs, then up at my belly and chest to where our come now covered my skin. “Fuck, that’s beautiful.”

I chuckled, a little embarrassed, but then I noticed his cock was poking out of his briefs, his belly covered in our come. We were lit only from the lights in the cabin, and it gave him a warm glow. “Yes, it is.”

He grinned, stood up and pulled his underpants down, and stepped out of them. “What?” he answered my questioning look. “It’s completely dark. No one can see us.”

Not as game as him, I tucked myself back in but jumped into the ocean with him. Only when I surfaced, he quickly found me, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, his legs around my waist, and he kissed me.

I couldn’t tread water for too long, and as we began to sink, we broke apart laughing. “I should swim naked more often,” he said, grinning. The moonlight made his teeth gleam.

“Except that fish might mistake you for a tasty sea worm. Especially at night.”

His eyes went wide and he swam for the yacht, but my laughter must have given me away. He took hold of the ladder in one hand and splashed me with his other. “Not funny.”

Except it kind of was.

I followed him out of the water, not before I watched his glorious naked arse in the light of the moon. Water beads shone like diamonds as they ran down his body, and I wanted to catch them, taste them… He thrust my towel at me, distracting me from staring at his naked form. “Like something you see?”

I patted my face and held his stare. “You know I do.”

His lips curled up on one side, and he stared for a long second. Then, abruptly, he looked out over the water and dried himself before tying the towel around his waist. He was covering himself, protecting himself, and I knew he was about to ask me something that left him vulnerable.

He did this every time.

When he was on show, when he was luring something he wanted, he’d proudly show off his body, suggestively leaving his semi on full view in his Speedos or briefs. But as soon as something became personal or he felt vulnerable—like he did when he asked if I was seeing anyone—he covered himself up. Apparently modesty went hand in hand with his vulnerability. I wondered if that was why he was so ruthless in a boardroom; his expensive suit was an armour. But here, and right now, he was exposed. He shook his head and gave me a tight smile before he turned to go into the cockpit.

I grabbed his arm. “Did you want to ask me something?” I prompted.

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“Sure?”

He nodded, so I let his arm go. He stepped down into the cockpit and picked up the bottle of tequila. He held it up in one hand, the lid in his other. “Want another drink?”

I snorted. “No. I need water.”

His smile was back. “Me too.”

We went down into the cabin and I pulled the door closed behind us. Stuart put the tequila back in the liquor cupboard, then grabbed two bottles of cold water and handed one to me.

“Thanks,” I replied. “So, you’ve got a day on the mainland tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly and took a long pull of water from his bottle. “Yeah. I’ve never been to Trinity Beach or the SkyRail. Heard it’s pretty cool. Have you been?”

“Not for years. It’s amazing. You’ll love it.”

He nodded again, an odd expression on his face. “What will you do while I’m away?”

He’d already asked me that… “A bit of cleaning, do some laundry, restock the fridge. You know, all the fun stuff.”

He took another long drink of water, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in the most distracting of ways. Then he gripped the sink behind him and I wondered if he was off balance, but no, it seemed he was steeling himself.

“You could come with me? Do the day tour through the rainforest. Then we can get whatever food we want at the markets. I’ll even buy you dinner and have you back on board by nine o’clock tomorrow night.”

If I was going by his voice alone, his couldn’t-care-less tone, slight shrug of his shoulder, I might have thought it was a throw-away invitation. But his cheeks tinged pink, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the sink, and he held his breath waiting for me to answer.

Two things were very clear to me in that moment. One, it wasn’t often he asked people questions he didn’t already know the answer to. And two, this question, this invitation to spend the day with him, was not just an invitation to spend the day with him. It was more than that. To him, at least. It was him making himself vulnerable, wanting something he wasn’t fully prepared to admit to wanting. He was afraid of rejection; he was scared I’d turn him down. It was pretty obvious he didn’t put himself out there very often, and I wanted to know why.

I met his gaze and saw the fear of failure in his eyes, the fear of finally finding the courage to ask for something he wanted, only to be told no. The fear of putting your heart on the line, only to be laughed at.

So, Mr Hotshot Corporate Finance Guy was only human after all. There was a chink in his perfectly polished armour. He might think it was a flaw, but to me, it made him better. There were layers I wanted to peel back, explore.

This was becoming more than just a holiday fling. We were going from friends with benefits, to something else. It was feeling more like my pretend boyfriend on vacation fantasy every minute.

Did I want to spend the day with him on the mainland? Hiking, shopping, going out for dinner? Hell yes, I did.

I didn’t care that my smile might give me away. “Sure.”

My answer shocked him. “Really?”

I walked over to him, leaned my body flush against his, and kissed him. No tequila, no water, no games. I put my hand to his face and deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with mine. A long kiss. Heavenly minutes we stood there, holding each other, tasting each other. I ended the kiss, only to kiss him again, soft and sweet, before pulling away. “Yes, really. Sounds great. We’ll need to set sail for port pretty early though.”

“So you’re saying I should be a good boy and go to bed early too,” he asked, his lips wet and plump. “And alone.”

“Oh, yeah,” I answered, stepping back. “If I take you into my cabin, we won’t be going to the mainland tomorrow.”

He licked his lips and smiled, his eyes going from my mouth to my eyes. “But tomorrow night?”

I let out a breathy laugh and had to make myself walk away, or I would take him into my room. Fuck, he was so sexy. “Goodnight, Stuart.”

His huge grin was the last thing I saw before I closed my door.