The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

sixteen

Dillon

“Has everyone placed their bets?” the host calls through his microphone.

A chorus of yeses rings out from the crowd around us.

“I can’t believe I’m betting on a crab. Or that I’m actually excited about it.”

West’s deep chuckle brushes over my ear. He’s standing behind me, his hands resting casually against my hips, the bottle of beer he’s holding in one of his hands pleasurably cool against me in this hot air, as we stand around a circle that’s been worked into the sand, near the beach bar. A black-and-white racing stripe encircles the outside of the racetrack, and in the middle waits our competition, covered by a big, clear bowl.

“Our sources of entertainment are limited here,” he says into my ear. “Aside from us fucking, of course.”

I glance back at him. It’s early evening. The sun has set, and the light is provided from the bar just behind us and the fire lanterns situated all around in the sand. I lightly brush my lips over his. And I really like the shiver I feel in his chest when I do it.

“We do have good sex,” I whisper.

“Correction: you and I have fucking amazing sex. Wanna ditch the crab race and go back to my place and fuck instead?”

My teeth dig into my lower lip. “You have no clue how tempting that offer is. But … I really wanna see if my crab wins.”

He arches a brow. “You’re choosing a crab over my cock?”

A laugh escapes me. “Well, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear. And, no, my competitive need is demanding that I stay here and find out if that little crab—the one I cannot currently see, but he’s over there somewhere with the number fourteen painted on his shell—is gonna win for me. We can go have all the amazing sex right after I’m done winning.”

“You know, it’s cute that you picked number fourteen because you thought it’s how big my dick is.”

I quirk a brow. “I picked it because it’s the number of orgasms you’ve given me.”

“That’ll work too.”

I stare at him a moment, and then I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “Actually, how big is your dick?”

Him implying fourteen inches has got me thinking now. Of course I know it’s not fourteen inches like he just said because I’m pretty sure I’d be dead from impalement if it were. But his cock is the biggest I’ve ever seen in real life.

I’ve seen big cocks in porn, but it’s hard—pun intended—to compare the screen to real life, and measurements are not my thing. All I know is that a standard ruler is about twelve inches, and I don’t think it’s quite ruler-length long.

Not that I’ve seen a ruler in a long while. So, it could be, but I don’t know. And I wouldn’t even have a clue on the girth.

He turns his face to mine, dipping his chin down so his nose touches mine. “I don’t know. I’ve not measured it in a while. It might have grown since then. How about we have a little fun later, finding out?”

Oh, yes, please.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen!” the host’s voice rings out loud and clear, snapping me from my little fantasy of getting West hard with my mouth and then whipping out a tape measure. “The rules of the race are: No going inside the circle or touching the finish line. You can encourage your little racer with your voice only. Anyone who crosses even a finger over the finish line will be squirted with my water!” He waves around a squirt bottle filled with water.

Honestly, with how hot and humid it is tonight, I could see people breaking the rules just to get squirted with the cold water. I’m actually considering it myself.

“The winner is whichever crab reaches the finish line first, and the person who picked that number will receive the grand prize of an island hop! Yes, that’s right, ladies and gentlemen. The winner will get to spend one full day on our neighboring uninhabited island, alone. You will be taken by boat and dropped off with a luxurious picnic to spend the day however you choose and then picked up later. Now, that is a prize, yes?”

Everyone cheers and claps.

I turn my head and speak into West’s ear, “I feel kind of bad about entering now.”

His brows pull together. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t realize what the prize was. I figured it’d just be a bottle of booze or something. I already have one of those island hops booked.”

It was booked and paid for ages ago. I thought it would be a romantic, honeymoonish thing to do. But I’m not on my honeymoon. I’m currently having a two-week fling with the hot guy pressed up against me.

“Are you gonna go on it?” West asks me.

I screw my face up. “Spend the day on an island, alone? Nah, thanks. I would legit shit myself. I’d have thoughts of being eaten by a shark or being forgotten about and left there alone forever. And I’d have to build a house and learn to fish and stuff to stay alive.”

West laughs. “Your imagination is … vast.”

“Why, thank you.” I smirk. “To be honest, I need to cancel the trip.” I know I won’t get my money back, but there’s no way I’m going and spending the day out there, alone. Not when I can be here and hang out with West.

Unless …

“I mean, I could not cancel it if you, um … want to come with me?” I ask him, lowering my voice.

We’ve been hanging out a lot these last few days. And I mean, a lot. Most of it spent having sex. So much sex that I honestly don’t know how I’m still walking. We have eaten dinners and breakfasts together. Okay, all of them. And lunches too. Also, snack times and drinks at the bar. But we’d be eating there separately anyway, so it just makes sense to eat together. We’ve also spent each night in bed together, but that’s purely for the sex.

But asking him to come on an island trip with me feels almost like I’m asking him on a date. And that’s not what this is between him and me. It’s sex. Nothing more.

West’s eyes stay unchanged on me, and my heart starts to beat faster in my chest as I think I’ve made a big error in asking him. That I’ve given him the wrong impression. And I need to rectify this immediately.

Before I can muster up any words to take it back, he says, “You and me, alone on an island. Definitely sounds like fun.”

A sigh of relief runs through me. Then, I catch the look in his eyes, and a shiver quickly follows that sigh of relief.

He’s thinking about sex.

Well, he’s almost always thinking about sex. To be honest, so am I recently. But this time, he’s thinking about sex with me when we’re completely and utterly alone on an island.

Holy … sex fairies everywhere.

Are sex fairies even a thing? Well, they are now because there’s a ton of them fluttering with excitement in my lower extremities. I have to press my thighs together to stem the throb that’s now there.

“When is it?” West asks, his voice sounding rougher than it did a moment ago.

I lick my lips. “Uh, I booked it for the middle of my second week here, so it’s in five days’ time.”

“Can’t wait.”

A Klaxon sounds, making me jump and snatching my attention from West. I turn back to see the host now standing in the middle of the ring, his hand on the handle of the bowl.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen! It’s now time to race! I will count down, and when the Klaxon sounds again, I will free our racers! Make sure to cheer on your crab! So, on the count of three. Three … two … one!”

The Klaxon goes off again. The bowl is lifted, releasing all forty-five of the numbered hermit crabs, and the host makes haste out of the race ring.

People start yelling numbers. Excitement rings through the crowd, everyone wanting to win that prize. I can’t spot my bloody crab among them all even though I’m really looking. Yes, of course I want my crab to win because I’m a competitive bugger, but I don’t want the prize. Although, if I won, I could just give it to someone else. It’d be greedy to do two island hops. Although two days on a private island with West and all the sex we could have with not a soul around to hear us, not that I’m particularly quiet now, but goodness, I could scream my head off without even the worry of someone hearing me.

Sweet Jesus, just thinking of it …

That’s it. I want to win.

“Come on, number fourteen!” I holler, cupping my hands around my mouth, still trying to locate the little crab.

I mean, he can’t understand me, but he can hear me, right? Crabs have ears, don’t they?

“Oh! There he is!” I say excitedly, pointing at him. Then, I quickly realize that I’ve only spotted him because all the other crabs have scattered and are on the move, and my crab is still sitting in the middle, not fucking moving.

I backed a dud.

A frigging dud.

“Come on! Move!” I shout at my crab. “Run, you lazy little sod!”

I feel West’s chest press even closer to my back as he leans forward. “Is yours the one in the middle? That one that looks like it’s dead?”

“He’s not dead! He’s just … taking his time. Weighing up his options. He’s gonna move any second now.”

A second ticks by, and he still doesn’t move.

“He’s definitely dead,” West imparts.

“Shut up. He’s not dead,” I bite. “Run! You little … crab! Run!”

Still nothing. I can feel myself starting to get wound up.

I might be a tad competitive from time to time.

“Move! You lazy frigging crab! I’ve got an island trip riding on your lazy arse!” The words just burst from me.

Okay, so I’m a lot competitive.

A deep laugh rumbles through West. “Thought you didn’t want to win anymore? You know, because you already have the same trip booked.”

I glance back at him, my gaze narrowed, meeting his grinning one. “I never said I didn’t want to win. I said I felt bad because I technically already have the prize.”

“So, you do want to win then?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, what-the-fuck-ever!” I look back at my crab, eyes zeroing in on it. “I’m not gonna win at this rate anyway because my bloody crab is still in the same spot.” I frown at it. “You know, I think he might be dead. Or asleep. Actually, is there even a crab in that shell?”

I feel another rumble of West’s laughter against my back and then the soft brush of his lips against my temple, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face and the happiness that trills through my body. Because even if I am currently losing this stupid crab race and also totally losing at all aspects of my life, standing here with West right now, his hard body pressed up against mine … it kind of feels like I’m finally winning at something.

Even if it is only a temporary win.