I woke up smiling. I hadn’t done that in years. I ached in all the right places and I felt relaxed and limber. I stretched and rolled over to find my bed empty, but there was the smell of something amazing coming from the kitchen. Or galley. Whatever.

I slipped into the shower, scrubbed myself clean of lube and dried come, brushed my teeth, shaved, and pulled on my swimmers.

When I opened my bedroom door, Foster looked me up and down, saw I was wearing my Speedos and nothing else, and laughed. “You are merciless.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“I was hoping to have this cooked before you woke up.”

“It smells good.”

“Omelette with mushrooms, capsicum, bacon with toast. How are you feeling?” He slid a coffee across the counter to me.

“I feel good.” I sipped the coffee and hummed. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead.” He slid the omelette onto the toast on each plate and we sat at the table. “How about you?”

“Like I was thoroughly had.”

He smiled as he chewed. “Yes, you were.”

I ate a few mouthfuls. “This is really good.”

He nodded slowly. “Are you… sore at all?”

“In a good way. Are you… okay? With… what we did?”

He made a surprised sound and blushed as he studied his plate. “Uh, very.” He looked at me and swallowed hard. “Very okay.”

“So there’ll be more thoroughly having later, then?”

Foster sipped his coffee and smiled at me over the cup. “When you’re up for it.”

I looked at my non-existent watch. “Lunchtime good for you?”

He laughed, and after a happy moment of silence passed between us, he changed the subject. “So, I thought we’d head out to Ellis Beach today, then be back out along the reef tonight. How does that sound?”

I nodded. “Sounds great.”

“You wanna help me sail out of the harbour?”

“Hell yes.”

He laughed. “Well then, finish your breakfast and we’ll up anchor.”

Thirty minutes later, we were heading up the coast past Palm Cove, where we’d had dinner, and on our way to Ellis Beach on Double Island. It was stunningly beautiful; white sand, palm trees, rainforest greenery, and water so blue it didn’t even look real.

It was also a tourist hotspot, with a few dozen charter boats in these parts on any given day, and while I would have loved to have one of the beaches to ourselves, it just wasn’t possible.

Foster didn’t ask me to pull the mainsail down, so I asked him, “Are we stopping here for a swim?”

“Well, you can,” he replied. “But those nets off the beach are for Irukandji jellyfish. And they do get the odd three-metre saltwater crocodile swim over from the mainland.”

I blinked at him. “So, that’s a no.”

He grinned. “On the bright side, that means there’s less likely to be sharks.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. “Why did you have to mention sharks? I’ve been in there, where there could be sharks? Jesus Christ.”

He cracked up laughing. “Do you honestly think I’d let you swim in waters known for shark sightings? You’ve been swimming mostly on the reef shallows, which are actually pretty safe. Only reef sharks and the occasional white tip, which aren’t to be confused with the great white. Though there is the occasional tiger shark or hammerhead, but they’re rare. And we all get warnings if there’s been a sighting, so I would have known.”

I blinked again. “I’m never swimming in the ocean again.”

Foster laughed some more. “Yes you will. You’ll be fine. I promise. In six years, I’ve never even seen anything but small reef sharks, and they’re afraid of humans. Anyway, the more dangerous sharks prefer the deeper, colder waters in the southern states. We’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to see any kind of shark.”

His grin widened. “It’s the ones you can’t see you need to worry about.”

I thumped his arm. “You’re not helping.”

He just laughed and nudged me with his elbow. “I’m just kidding. I promise.”

“Well, I’m still not swimming again.”

He took his hand off the wheel and cupped my face. “Yes you will. I’m sorry, I was just joking around. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulled me in for a kiss, which was new for us. It was unprompted, early in the day, and there was no tequila or lemons involved. “And anyway, if you don’t get in the water, how will I lick the salt off your skin?”

He made me smile, despite me trying not to. “I can think of something else you can lick if you want something salty.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed, and he began to pull away but then stole another quick kiss before going back to the wheel. “We can head straight out to the reef, but I want you to plot our course.”

“What?”

“On the GPS. I want to head northeast, to the top of Oyster Reef and the bottom of Michaelmas.” He took in my blank stare, then shooed me toward the digital screens. “And I want you to tell me how to get there.”

I’d watched him do this, and I’d listened as he’d shown me, but I’d never done it by myself. So I took a deep breath and found the place he was talking about, punched it in, and relayed the coordinates. I had no doubts he could find his way there without the GPS; he was doing this for my benefit, not his.

“Wind direction?”

I searched the multi-purpose screen for the correct wind information. “Um, southerly.”

“Speed?”

“Five knots.”

“Okay, what is my point of sail?”

Shit. I tried to remember what he’d said… “Um, broad reach?”

He smiled, so I knew I was right. “What’s my VMG?”

“Your what?”

“Velocity Made Good. The speed and the direction to our destination.”

Fuck. “Yeah, about that. When you were explaining that part, I tuned out when you started with physics and trigonometry.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “It’s the boat speed. On the screen, bottom corner.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I shot back at him. “Four point six.”

He flashed me a handsome grin. “See? You’ll make a sailor yet.”

“Oh, please. The only sailor I’d make is in Fleet Week.”

He laughed and I sat on the bench seat beside him. He was standing at the wheel, and as much as I loved sunbaking and snorkelling, I loved this part the most. The sea breeze in my hair, the glide of the yacht in the water, the sound of the wind in the sail. I loved the speed of it, the sleekness, the hydrodynamics of it all. It was an adrenaline rush, and with the wind in our favour, we made the reef in no time at all.

Foster had me bring in the mainsail and hoist the smaller headsail. Our pace slowed dramatically as he navigated around the top of Oyster Reef to sneak in under Michaelmas. The water was shallower and the prettiest colour turquoise I’d ever seen. I could see the sandy bottom where we dropped anchor and the fish that swam around the coral just a few metres away.

“Holy shit, that’s incredible,” I said, looking off the back of the yacht.

“Still don’t want to get in?” Foster asked.

“Maybe. If you come with me.” I didn’t want to get in the water without him in case I had another freak-out, but now I could play it off for shark-related reasons.

He rolled his eyes. “You might twist my arm.” He lowered the ladder but then went about doing something with the screens. I sat on the back and dangled my feet in the water. The water was warm but still a damn sight cooler than sitting in the scorching sun for twenty minutes.

When I’d had enough, I ducked into the cockpit and found the sunscreen, then went in search of Foster. I got as far as the galley when he came out of his room wearing his boardies, which meant we were swimming.

My grin was immediate and I held up the sunscreen like a trophy. “Just in time.”

I did his back first, then his chest, down his abs, while I gave him fuck-me eyes and let my tongue peek out. “I was thinking we could have a swim now,” I said, being all flirty and shit. “Then maybe lie in the sun a bit to dry off, make out a bit, then have some lunch, then you can fuck me again, then maybe another swim before dinner. Then we can do round two where you bury yourself inside me for hours. How does that sound?” I handed him the sunscreen and cocked an eyebrow.

He snatched the bottle, spun me around, and pressed me against the table, his cock against my arse as he whispered hot and gruff in my ear, “You won’t win this game against me.”

He squirted cold sunscreen onto my skin, rubbed my shoulders, my back, pushing me so I was bent over the table, pinned by his hips, his hard length rubbing my arse crack. I wanted to just pull down my Speedos and beg him to fill me, but by the time I could formulate thoughts into words, he was gone. “Your back’s done. I’ll get our towels.”

I stood up, panting and a little light-headed, and extremely turned on. My cock barely fit in my swimmers, tenting the fabric, and when he walked back out of his room, he looked at my face, my crotch, back to my face, and he smiled. “Oh my, that’s a really big problem you have there.” Then he threw a clean towel at me and laughed as he went up the stairs. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

“I hate you,” I called and his laughter was his only reply.

I followed him up just in time to see him dive in, and he grinned up at me from the water. “Get your beautiful arse in the water,” he said.

I dropped the towel and jumped in. I was hoping the water might lessen my hard-on, but it was warm enough to make it feel good. And of course, Foster swam straight over to me, and with his body almost flush with mine, he kissed me. “Was I a bit mean to you before?”

“Yes. It was cruel to tease me like that.”

He laughed. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You better.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this in order,” he said with a grin. “Sunbake, making out, lunch, swim, sex, dinner, more sex.”

“Correct. Though I hope you’re open to improvisation.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I might need to shuffle the sex to before lunch, then making out after.”

He grinned. “I can adapt.”

And adapt he did. We started out lazing on the deck, sprawled in the sun to dry off, which led to touching, to making out, to me rolling on top of Foster and grinding down on him. I was well past caring if passing boats saw us; I had more pressing needs.

So he took me down to my room, laid me on the bed, and I was so turned on, I came as soon as he was fully seated inside me.

The rest of the day went as I’d planned. Feeding each other fruit, licking juices off chins, off lips, snoozing in each other’s arms, more swimming, cooking dinner, and more sex, and I fell asleep in his arms in my crumpled-up bed, exhausted, sated. And for the first time in a long time, happy.

The two days that followed were much the same. We sailed around Hastings Reef, up to Tongue Reef, then went east up to below Opal Reef, and when we weren’t sailing, we were swimming, snorkelling, lazing in the sun, making out, and having incredible, incredible sex.

The weather was perfect. Blue skies, still waters that varied in shades of blue: cerulean, turquoise, aqua, and teal. The sun was scorching, the food was incredible, tequila shots were fun, and Foster was… well, he was a remarkable man.

We talked about everything from finance and the world economy to the environment, to childhood aspirations of what we’d wanted to be when we grew up. We shared our histories of first kisses, of first times, bad haircuts, and happiest childhood memories.

We were comfortable around each other, with each other. If I’d been isolated with anyone else, I’d have probably gone mad confined to a fourteen-metre yacht. But we moved around the space with ease, taking time out when we needed, taking touches and stealing kisses too.

He taught me how to tie different knots, how to make that salad dressing, which hand signals meant what when we were snorkelling, and he schooled me in bed.

“Do you think if we sailed away, anyone would notice?” I asked. We were lazing on the deck soaking up sunshine. He was wearing his boardies with no shirt, I wore my Speedos, and I had my head on his hip and he had his fingers in my hair, gently pulling at strands in a relaxing, never-want-to-move kind of way.

Foster chuckled. “Uh, yeah. Pretty sure they would. You’re booked in at Turtle Cove tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Turtle Cove?”

“Yeah, the gay resort,” he reminded me. “Pretty sure that’s what it says in my log. I’m to drop you there for an overnight stay.”

“Ugh. I forgot.” I sighed. Turtle Cove resort…

He was right, though. I had a night’s stay at the resort booked. It was recommended by the travel agency to break up the second half of the sailing trip. It allowed us to stand on solid ground for a while and gave Foster a chance to restock food and water supplies. It also happened to be an exclusive gay resort where clothing was optional. I’d originally booked it because I was supposed to be there with Jason, and the plan had been to maybe find another couple to join us.

But that certainly wasn’t going to happen now, and now there was Foster and me…

I didn’t want to be at a gay resort by myself. I certainly didn’t want to hook up with some random guy, considering I had more than enough sex with Foster to keep me happy.

I sighed, not sure how I felt about any of it, not that there was much I could do about it. It was booked and paid for, and Foster would need me off the yacht so he could do what he needed to do. And it was just one night.

“What’s the matter?” Foster asked.

I turned my head, pressing my ear against the soft skin of his belly, so I could look him in the eyes. “Do I have to go?”

“You don’t want to do a bit of shopping? Do something different?”

I looked at him as though he’d lost his damn mind. “That’d be a no.”

“I’ve organised to get a grocery delivery, and I usually give the yacht a clean.”

“Do you want me to go?”

He tried not to smile. “I have some things I need to do. Some work things. Not very fun things I’d rather not talk about with you.”

“Why?”

He answered my question with a question. “Isn’t it all paid for anyway?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“So then go.”

It sounded like he wanted me off the boat. I turned back to look at the sky. “I can take a hint.”

“I hear the food’s good. There’s a cocktail bar and a swim-up bar in the pool.”

“And a lot of guys looking for a single guy like me to take advantage of. Remind me to pack the tequila. Sounds like I’ll need it.”

His fingers stilled in my hair, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “I’m going for a swim. Wanna join me?” I got up and walked to the back of the yacht and dived in. A few minutes later I heard a splash behind me, and soon he slid his arm around my waist. He didn’t say anything. He just pressed his lips to the back of my neck, behind my ear. Then his kisses became bites and his hold on me became tickles, and in no time we were laughing and splashing each other, then trying to dunk each other, then holding each other, wrapping limbs around each other, and kissing and getting desperate. Then we were soon back on the boat and on my bed.

He really was very good at distraction.

I was face down on the mattress, having not moved a muscle afterwards, and I’d almost dozed off when he goosed my arse, making me jump. “What?” I grumbled, opening my eyes.

He planted a kiss on my shoulder. “I asked if you wanted grilled chicken or pasta for dinner.”

“Mmm, grilled chicken and pasta.”

He snorted. “Of course you do.”

“I’ll get up in a sec and help you make it,” I mumbled.

“Stay right where you are.” Then he snorted. “I doubt you could move even if you wanted to.”

I chuckled, a husky, sleepy sound. “I think you took the phrase ‘fuck me into the mattress’ too literal.”

He pulled on his shorts and I opened my eyes enough to see him grin. “You’re welcome.”

“Hmm.”

It took me about twenty minutes before I could muster the strength, or the will, to move. I ached in all the right places and had that fluid and limber feeling in my bones that only phenomenal sex could give. Then after dinner, with a belly full of carbs, I could barely keep my eyes open.

He pulled me into his room—which was new because we’d always slept in mine—put me on his bed, crawled in behind me, and pulled me into his arms.

I didn’t give tomorrow another thought. I was too wrapped up in him, his warmth, his strength, his smell, his lips against my forehead. I was asleep in no time.

We arrived at the private jetty above Port Douglas before lunch. The resort was accessible from the road, but most guests arrived from Port Douglas by shuttle boat—it gave the guests the feeling of exclusivity and luxury, apparently.

It also meant Foster could dock right there, and all I had to do was walk off the yacht, down the jetty, along the path through sprawling gardens to the resort.

It was grand and elite, and I could see it was worth every penny it cost me. I’d been kind of quiet in the morning, helping Foster bring the yacht into the mainland. So we were busy, but I was also a little pissed that he wanted to get rid of me for the day. Okay, so maybe pissed wasn’t the right word. I was disappointed, and his rejection stung like a bitch.

So maybe a day on solid ground would do me good. I could talk to someone different in a space bigger than just a few metres across. It wasn’t like I had any claim on Foster. We weren’t anything to each other, more than skipper and client.

Maybe it was the reminder that stung the most.

I dumped my bag at the reception desk. The young guy behind the desk was blond, blue-eyed, with tanned skin, utterly pretty pink lips, and looked like he’d walked off the swim team. I was pretty sure he was chosen for reception to make every guy who booked in here feel good. Because he looked up, gave me a blinding smile—literally, his teeth were whiter than his stark white polo—and eyed me like he appreciated what he saw.

Sorry, Colgate Kid. Not interested.

“Stuart Jenner,” I introduced myself. I explained I was here by myself, and the Colgate Kid gave me what was supposed to be a smouldering look.

I repressed a sigh.

He stood up and walked around the desk to lean against the counter next to me. He was taller than I realised and definitely had a swimmer’s physique. Or maybe tennis. Just when I thought he was going to offer something I wasn’t interested in, he leaned forward and squinted out the glass wall. “Did you arrive on the White Knight?”

I followed his gaze. “Uh, yeah.”

His smile widened. “Is Foster still here?”

I looked at the yacht, then back to the Colgate Kid. “Uh, yeah. Unless he went on foot.”

He smiled, and it took me a second to realise I recognised the look on his face. He was hopeful, smitten even.

Jesus. Did Foster have that effect on everyone?

Glad it’s not just me then, kid.

I took my room key and found my bungalow. It faced the ocean, separated by a few metres of green grass before meeting white sand and blue water. I set off to explore the grounds and maybe take a stroll before lunch, and I found myself walking up the beach. I really did love it up here. The sand between my toes, the scorching sun, even the humidity. Far North Queensland was like heaven on earth, a million miles away from the dreary stress of my everyday life. I tried not to think about that.

But when I’d walked as far north as the beach would allow, I turned back, and as I neared the resort, I could see the jetty and where the White Knight was still moored. Then I saw Foster walking along the jetty. He wasn’t alone. No, not at all. He was walking along with the Colgate Kid, who laughed at something Foster said. They boarded the yacht and disappeared down into the cabin.

My heart squeezed and my stomach dropped when it dawned on me what I was seeing. I knew why Foster was so desperate to be rid of me now.

I felt sick. I felt stupid.

I felt reality drop on me from a great height. Like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over me, it was shocking, stole my breath, and cleared away any rose-coloured foolish lens I’d been looking through this last week.