Breaker's Passion (5 page)

She had just started the second lesson when the woman returned to her chair, a drink in each hand. Her hopes dropped slightly. If the woman was still here when she got back, hopefully she wouldn’t be drunk. She liked her women to be active participants in the event, not sloppy drunks who fumbled around in the dark. Worse yet, passed out in bed.

One woman several months ago had done just that. The woman didn’t seem to have drunk too much during dinner or the hour they spent in the hotel bar. But only ten minutes into what Colby thought was a rather pleasant time between the sheets, the woman fell asleep. At first Colby couldn’t believe it. It was a first for her. Her ego was a bit bruised and she didn’t try to be quiet as she slid out of bed and looked for her clothes. But the woman was snoring so loud by the time Colby left, nothing would have woken her.

The maître d’ in the restaurant remembered Elizabeth from the night before and didn’t bother to ask if she preferred a table outside. Elizabeth appreciated the hospitality and settled into one at the opposite end of the patio. She almost didn’t notice her waiter standing beside the table because she was looking toward the water for some sign of the surfer. The waiter had to repeat his question before she gave him her drink order, almost on automatic pilot.

A wave of disappointment far more than she expected filled her when she saw no sign of the woman in the crashing waves. After a few more minutes of squinting at the shoreline she turned her attention to the menu. Forty-five minutes later, her dinner finished, she was drawn again to the ocean. Far different from right after lunch, almost every chair was empty. She took a glass of iced tea with her this time, and after kicking her legs up she closed her eyes and relaxed, listening to the sound of the water.

She jerked awake, realizing she must have nodded off. Her watch assured her she had slept only a few minutes, and without thinking she looked out at the water again. A thrill ran through her when she recognized the lone surfer calmly walking toward the waves, then into the sea.

The woman wore the top of a bright orange wet suit, and the darkness soon swallowed her. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the chair, bending forward and straining her eyes. She scanned the horizon for several minutes for any sign of the woman and was about to give up when the full moon burst from behind a cloud and illuminated the woman riding the wave into shore.

Elizabeth was fascinated as the surfer quickly turned her board a complete one hundred and eighty degrees and dropped into a prone position. A second later she began to paddle again into the churning waves. Instinctively, Elizabeth walked toward the surf and sat just out of reach of the incoming tide, leaning back, her arms bracing her as she watched the woman repeat the maneuver several more times. Her breath quickened when the surfer emerged from the water, her lean body dripping with water. She approached with deliberate steps, peeling off her wet-suit top as she neared.

Tonight she was wearing purple board shorts that hung low on her hips, a good three inches below her belly button. Her matching sports bra clung to her wet body, accentuating erect nipples underneath. Before Elizabeth had a chance to breathe, the woman stood in front of her, her outstretched arm beckoning Elizabeth to take her hand. Without stopping to think, she did.

The woman pulled Elizabeth up effortlessly and kissed her. Soft, delicate kisses at first, their breath mingling as the smells of paradise surrounded them. The surfer stepped closer and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck, pressing against the damp flesh. Her kisses became impatient and insistent. Elizabeth struggled to keep up with the demands of the tongue invading her mouth and raised herself on her toes to get closer to the mouth, causing delicious tremors through her body.

The woman pulled away and they stood together in the moonlight. Elizabeth looked up into dark eyes that tempted her to pick up the gauntlet laid at her feet. She had no doubt she was to decide how far this would go. She could choose to stop right now or continue what she instinctively knew would be a mutually satisfying experience. The steamy, sensuous look in the woman’s eyes, and what she had seen today in the sunlight, reaffirmed that sex with this stranger would be incredible.

But this was ridiculous. She didn’t know anything about this woman. Elizabeth barely heard her common sense over the roar of the pounding between her legs. Something about her kept drawing Elizabeth, something different from anyone she’d ever known. They had barely spoken to each other, but she sensed the woman probing the depths of her soul with her keen eyes. She dropped her hands from around the stranger’s neck and, with a subtle nod, took her hand. She didn’t know where they were going, but she knew exactly what would happen when they got there.

The surfer retrieved her board, which she’d dropped in the sand sometime during their embrace. Elizabeth didn’t say a word as she walked beside her, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment. Something about this entire interlude made her realize she would remember it forever.

She finally saw the woman was taking her to a place not far from where she’d been sitting—a cluster of trees that had sprung up in the soft sand. The area had created a natural umbrella from the sun earlier in the day and now served as the perfect spot for a very private rendezvous. The ease with which the woman had seduced her gave Elizabeth the impression that she had done this often. She was probably just another notch on this woman’s surfboard, but at this particular moment, she didn’t care. She wanted only for the woman to kiss her again.

After only three or four steps into the stand of trees they were practically engulfed in darkness. The woman sank her board into the sand next to a large tree and turned Elizabeth around, pinning her back against the smooth board. She moaned when the woman’s hands started to roam over her. When they slipped under her T-shirt and cupped her breasts, she was sure her knees would buckle.

The woman’s actions were bold. Elizabeth practically danced when she pinched her erect nipples. Arching into the caress, she instinctively grabbed the back of the woman’s head, twisting her fingers in the short dark hair. The woman got the message and in an instant Elizabeth’s T-shirt was gone and her bikini top quickly followed. In the second it took to complete the maneuver she felt as if the loss of physical contact had lasted for days. The stranger lowered her mouth again and Elizabeth was swept away.

It had been a long time since another woman had touched her. Longer still since she had been taken. She allowed herself to be transported in her primal need for this complete stranger. She needed the caress of soft, insistent hands that knew what a woman’s body needed. A warm hand drifted down her stomach and was sneaking under the waistband of her shorts. Awash in sensation, she let her head fall back against the hard board. Somehow the woman’s sports bra had disappeared and Elizabeth was exploring small breasts with very tight nipples.

The image of how they must look flashed in Elizabeth’s mind. What would someone see if they were discovered? One woman bent at the waist, feasting on the breasts of another who was obviously only moments away from orgasm? Elizabeth was too far gone in her passion to care. She needed to feel this woman against her. Her hot body on top of her, hard muscles trembling beneath her fingers. Elizabeth began to sink to the sand.

Somewhere in the fog of desire she heard phrases like, “Holy shit, it’s a couple of girls” and “Oh, yeah.” She dragged her eyes open and looked right into three pairs of eyes staring back at her. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her head. Over her anonymous lover’s shoulder she saw a trio of teenage boys. The woman hadn’t noticed their audience yet, and by the boys’ expressions that was perfectly fine with them. But it was not perfectly fine with Elizabeth.

Now she cursed, and the woman lifted her head, her face a mass of confusion. Seeing Elizabeth’s expression she looked over her shoulder.

“Fuck,” the woman said, repeating the word Elizabeth had just used.

“Yeah,” one of the boys said, the growing tent in his swim trunks mirroring his words.

“Get lost,” the woman said, straightening up and effectively blocking their view of Elizabeth’s nakedness.

She could have died from embarrassment. She couldn’t face the boys, choosing instead to bury her face in the woman’s shoulder.

“I said get the fuck out of here,” the woman repeated, her voice stronger and more threatening this time. Elizabeth could feel the woman’s chest as she gulped in air to control her erratic breathing. She heard a rustle and risked a look and saw that the gawkers had indeed fled.

Suddenly she was mortified at her behavior. She didn’t know what to do first—get dressed, say something, or simply dissolve into the sand. The woman didn’t appear to be terribly concerned with their state of undress or being caught with her mouth on another woman’s breasts. Elizabeth wanted to say something but had no idea what.

The woman stepped back, her eyes darting back and forth between Elizabeth’s bare breasts as if memorizing every detail before they were taken away. Elizabeth forced herself not to cover herself with her hands. It was a little late for that anyway. She was proud of her body. She looked better than most other thirty-seven-year-old women, though certainly not as good as the woman standing half naked in front of her. Elizabeth had worked hard, going to the gym four or five times a week, and the way the woman was gazing at her now made all the sweat and pain worthwhile. She felt more beautiful and desired than she had in a long time.

For a moment, she forgot that she was standing on the beach bare from the waist up. She was looking at the body of the woman who had led her here. It was dark where they were, but she was able to discern the stark suntan line of the woman’s top. Her arms and chest were well-defined, and the muscles in her stomach looked as hard as they had felt moments earlier.

Elizabeth started to say something but stopped when the woman retrieved their clothes. Silently handing Elizabeth her top, she took another step back and tugged her sports bra over her head. The surfer’s hands were still shaking, and Elizabeth watched with regret as the tantalizing breasts were quickly covered.

“I’ll walk you back,” the woman said quietly.

When she stepped toward Elizabeth, she thought she might take her in her arms again, but she reached around her and grabbed her surfboard. Elizabeth followed the woman out of the trees and down the shoreline to where she had been sitting as silently as they came to this place. The woman hesitated, as if trying to decide if she should stay or go. Elizabeth watched the questions form on her face and her make the decision. The woman stepped forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“You’re very beautiful,” she whispered, and walked away.

Colby had thought her prayers had been answered when she could make out the woman sitting in the sand. But now she simply said, “Shit, shit, shit.” Steaming as her left foot hit the sidewalk, then her right, then the left again, she practically stomped back to her truck like an angry kid who one minute had an ice-cream cone in her hand, and the next held nothing but thin air.

Earlier, when the dark clouds had cleared, the woman had been sitting in the sand as if waiting for her long-lost sailor to return from the sea. Colby rarely had such romantic thoughts or let herself be swept away by emotion. She had needed this type of detachment in her previous life and had continued it in this one, but it had deserted her tonight. Butterflies had jostled for position in her stomach as she rode the final wave into shore. She was driven by the need to have this woman, and her craving was worse now after the small sample beneath the eucalyptus trees.

After slamming her truck door, she started to back out of the parking spot and noticed her hands were shaking. She stopped and looked at them as if they were foreign objects that had replaced her familiar ones. In her old life, they were always steady. No matter how difficult or stressful the situation, she could always depend on them to be as still as the hot night air surrounding her. Even in the heat of passion, she was always in control. Turning them palm up, she remembered how heavy and soft the woman’s breasts felt. How responsive she was when Colby caressed her, tweaked each hard, round nipple. Even in the darkness of the truck’s interior she could detect a slight tremble as she touched each fingertip with her thumb.

“Damn it,” she shouted into the night, balling her hands into fists and hitting the steering wheel. What had come over her? She had touched more women than she could count, some she couldn’t even remember, and had never had this kind of reaction. And she had held the woman for only moments. She had no doubt where the encounter would have gone if they hadn’t been interrupted. Those boys certainly got much more than they ever expected on their summer vacation.

Regaining control she drove home, stopping only at the KFC drive-through for an order of extra crispy. Fifteen minutes later she was sitting on her couch with the bucket in her lap and a cold beer within reach on the coffee table. Her television was on to the baseball game she had TiVoed earlier in the day, baseball her only vice other than surfing.

She could recite the name, position, and stats of practically every player in the league. She had no idea how she became fascinated with the game. Her father certainly never took her to one. He never did anything with her other than criticize her choices in life. She didn’t have any brothers or uncles interested in baseball, and she only played when she was able to sneak out of the house and round up a few of the neighborhood boys. Their games lasted only a quick three or four innings before her mother found her and dragged her home. She could hear her mother’s voice clearly even after all these years.

“Colby Morgan Taylor. Baseball is not a game for a young woman, certainly not a daughter of mine.”

The way her mother always said woman and daughter was so totally opposite to the gender-bending name Jeanette Taylor, nee Morgan, had bestowed on her. She was a tomboy from the minute she shot out of the womb on that unseasonably cold day in May thirty-eight years ago. The more her mother tried to make her into a prissy little girl, the more Colby fought her. Even after she had established a very successful life of her own, her mother still commented when she showed up for dinner in trousers rather than a dress. It didn’t matter that the pants were raw silk or that they cost more than a month’s worth of groceries for an average family of four. And at the age of twenty-three when she announced she was a lesbian, she could have sworn the world stopped.