SUMMER SWAP // Chapter 24

"Sexual Vampires?"

“I can’t believe this,” Scarlet said.

“I know, I’m so ashamed,” Cheyenne said, hands going over her face again.

Scarlet pulled them away. “Tell me more. I know there’s a lot more.”

“It’s so terrible.”

Scarlet chuckled. “You’re only human, Chey. Those guys are hot.”

“You know how it ended up,” she said, cocking her head, full of guilt, meeting her friend’s eyes.

“I do. Tell me how you got there. I don’t think you need to be ashamed. I really don’t. Come on, tell me more.”

Chey sighed, still riled and anxious, but so grateful to have her friend’s compassionate words. Even though she knew Scarlet wanted only the most salacious and dirty details, it still made her feel better. “You know I love Byron. Don’t think I don’t.”

“I didn’t think it for once.”

She knuckled over her eyebrows hard, pushing away the tension in her forehead. She’d been found out. Discovered. Something secret and perverse was no longer secret. Only perverse. At least it was Scarlett who discovered it. But Sully knew and if Sully knew, it wouldn’t be long till everyone on the boat knew, even the crew in the offshore cruiser, standing by if they needed assistance or tried to take off in the eight-figure ship. Probably Sully was radioing them right now, saying, “You guys aren’t going to believe this.”

“Come on, don’t stop,” Scarlet said, putting hands on her shoulders. “You’re acting way worse than it is.”

She shook her head and met Scarlett’s eyes. “What do you mean? Have you done this before?”

“Oh my God, no,” Scarlett said. “Not that it’s terrible, I just . . . it never came up. I never wanted to, but, yeah, I want to hear the juicy details. I’m a little worried about why the heck you’re acting this way.”

Cheyenne took a deep breath. “For a minute, I thought maybe you’d done it before. And then maybe Lily and Arlo had too, and like, Byron and I are the only ones who haven’t and you all lured us out to this yacht so you could have your way with us like—”

“Sexual vampires? Cannibals, maybe?” Scarlett snickered and shook Chey’s shoulders.

“Yeah, maybe. I feel like I got tricked or something.”

“Not tricked. Lured by temptation.”

“I love Byron like crazy, you know that.”

“I know it, sweetheart. I do. You had a good time last night.”

She nodded and Scarlett said, “No offense, but it sure sounded like you did.”

Cheyenne groaned and hid her face again, but at least this time she could laugh about it. “It was crazy, Scarlett.”

“First,” Scarlett said, “tell me how Cody tempted you.”

* * *

The next time Philippe threw the Nerf ball, they both pounded after it and she figured Cody anticipated what would happen as much as she did. Cody beat her to the ball and grabbed it. Right behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him swim and thrash while she hugged her cheek to the small of his back. Cody rolled to his back, his chest to the surface, and she let him spin in his grip until her cheek was on his stomach. She pushed her face against the firmness of his hard and lean body, enjoying it. His hard cock bumped the back of her arm.

Cody let the ball go, and she went after it. He grabbed her legs as she lamely attempted to get the ball. His hands smoothed her skin, going over her hips and her tummy. She hugged the ball. He hugged her. They came up for a quick blast of air, then rolled again, sinking, Cody’s big hands on her breasts now, his palms going over the swollen buds of her nipples. He held her, the ball squished between them. It felt good in his arms, and yes, absolutely, they were mimicking sex, naked dry humping, rolling around in under the surface of the lake while Philippe waited for one of them to retrieve the ball.

The score didn’t matter. Eventually, she got the ball away from Cody, his hands lingering on her body as she swam away. She threw the ball to Philippe, who caught it. That knot tightened further, a swollen sexual feeling taking space between her hipbones. That desire to be filled, to have a man inside her, for the man to consume her and ravage her and claim her hard, over and over again, seemed so distant and foreign but the longer it throbbed inside her the more familiar it felt. It was sexual prime. It was mating. Animal sex. A woman taken by a powerful man.

Neither of them said the score. Neither of them taunted the other. All she wanted—and judging by Cody’s silence, all he wanted as well—was for Philippe to throw the ball so they could handle each other again.

And when Philippe threw the ball, they both thrashed after it. This time she went straight to his front, clasping the ball between them, face to face. Legs hooked and locked around his thighs, her hands smoothed circles on the bulges and knots of Cody’s muscular back. Cody barely wriggled in her grip. His cock pushed into her stomach. Cody was hard as ever, his perfect organ big and ramrod straight, that plump knot at the end swollen round and flared and she wanted to feel it plunge deep inside her. She grabbed his ass. Two handfuls. Dug her nails in and held. Cody humped his cock against her stomach, the tip pressing the underside of her breast. It was way too much. It was simulated sex. She shook her head and blurted out air, letting him get away from her so he could throw the ball and end the game. Her stomach hurt so bad all she wanted to do was excuse herself and go up to her room, lock the door so Byron wouldn’t accidentally erupt, and grind an orgasm out with her hand. Or, fuck, her vibrator, but that was all the way back home.

What about Byron, stupid? He could release this tension real fast.

He could, but it wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair to Byron.

And yet, when Philippe cranked the ball one more time, she went right after it, her eyes on Cody’s glistening back muscles as he swam ahead of her, not watching the ball at all. Only Cody.

And when Cody grabbed the ball, she locked her arms around him again, hugged her cheek to his chest, locked on his body sideways. He pretended to keep the ball from her, pulling it aside, exposing his belly. Her hand swept his muscular midsection, down a thigh, up the inside, and grabbed his balls and held them. The sound of his underwater laugh burst in bubbles above her and the ball shot to the surface as she shocked him enough he let the ball go. Cody didn’t go after it. Cody stayed with her, held her in his arms under the water with his balls in her grip.

Her palm smoothed up the belly of his cock. That perfect manhood felt incredible in her clutch. She gripped it mid-shaft, a thick column of beautiful man meat. Her hand stroked upward and squeezed to choke him just below the glans. Cody rolled her over underwater, getting on top of her, his own hand sweeping her tummy. But when his fingertips rustled her pubic hair, she detached with a tidal wave of remorse, heading for the surface, breaking it and gasping for air.

Philippe shouted, “You two trying to drown each other?”

Behind her, Cody muttered, “Something like that.”

She spun to face him, treading water. They stared at each other a moment, expressionless, sussing each other out. She said, “I think I need to take a break.”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said, and managed a weak smile. The horniness gripped her guts in a demanding iron fist. The lust was squashed now with regret for betraying her marriage and hurting her husband. She’d go up later and roll one out, but this bullshit with Cody had to stop right now.

“I’m pretty worn out,” Cody said. “Let’s just chill for a bit.”

Cody retrieved the ball, and they swam back to the trampoline. He tossed it up, and it bounced around Philippe’s feet. He said to Philippe, “Chill time,” and that sounded great to Philippe who tread lightly to the far side of the trampoline where a cooler sat in its molded resting spot. Cody rested his arms on the edge of the inflatable and turned his face up to the sun. Cheyenne joined him, assuming a similar pose, her stomach still hurting and her psyche wounded from her infidelity.

Cody said, “What a great day, huh?” His eyes were still closed, handsome profile lit in bright sunlight, his blond hair darker when it was wet, some bright gold still gleaming in the damp tangles.

Her eyes darted to Philippe, wondering if she had an opportunity to say something to Cody about what happened out in the water—to make light of it, to lessen the impact and to establish that nothing happened he needed to tell Carla about. Philippe was down on one knee, lid of the cooler open, that heavy brown sack hanging low enough to see it under his butt. What a weird day. It had started with such normal acceleration. Next thing she knew, Cody’s like, “Hey guys, cool if we go naked?” Now look where she was. Following Cody and Philippe down to the water to hang out with them like this was high school. It was so obvious what she was doing. Though she hadn’t seen it at first, it had to be obvious to anyone else on the boat who wasn’t some horny little sexpot like she was. Sure, Byron was napping on the top deck, but what about the others? Scarlet was a snoop and was also cunning. Sully was no dummy, and he had a big mouth. Lily was a prude and sure wouldn’t think too highly of good old Cheyenne after this. Arlo? Who knew—the guy was hard to read sometimes.

Cody broke the silence first. “I got carried away, Chey. Hope we’re still cool.” He rolled his head around to face her with an expression of hopeful harmonization.

She smirked to one side, eyes averting for a second, her brain appreciating the solicitous gesture, then looking back at him. A willful admission: “I got carried away, too. No hard feelings?”

Cody paused a second, and in that quiet space, she realized he struggled not to swing at the double entendre—hard feelings? And then Cody surprised her, letting her gaffe pass without comment. “Look, Carla and I are cool with that kind of behavior, so I let it happen. It was fun. But I forgot you might not be cool. Or Byron might not be cool. I’m sorry about that. I just like you a lot. I’ve always liked you, and I’m comfortable that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, like I wasn’t coming on to you or trying to get you to do something you didn’t want to do. And I sure as shit am not cheating on Carla or anything. I don’t want you to think that.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding, trying to get a grip on what he was hinting, though it seemed obvious.

“But Carla and I are open.”

And there, it was confirmed. What she thought he was saying was true: Carla and Cody were swingers.

But before she could ask questions, Philippe was returning, bringing three bottles of Miller Hi-Life with the tops popped off. Cody continued: “Don’t tell anyone, though, okay?”

“I won’t,” she said. “I swear I won’t.”

“Hoo-ee,” Cody said, half-pulling himself from the water to reach up and take two beer bottles from Philippe to save the guy from having to reach down too far and risk ending up in the drink with them. “Beating Chey sure is thirsty work, bartender. Keep my tab open and the suds on a steady carousel.”

She bit her lower lip and side-looked at Cody’s super-cute bottom with the water sloughing off his muscle and the sun shining on the curves of his pale full moon. Then he slid down the inflatable’s curved side again, joining her in the water and extending the bottle to her. They drank together, but her eyes were on Cody, wishing it was just the two of them and Philippe would go have a nap with Byron because she had a million questions for Cody right now.

Instead, she reverted to tomboy camaraderie: “No chance you beat me. We can’t throw a couple rounds and you get the decision. Not my fault you got tired.”

Cody swigged, then laughed and said, “Wasn’t me getting tired that called our game off. It was me getting something else.”

As she smirked and bit her lips, Philippe snapped his fingers—a loud crack with the wet. “Oh shit, I get it—the weapon.”

And instead of veering away like a married woman should do, she engaged. As if they were three young dudes at the bar watching football, she said, “Cody tried to stick me up.”

Philippe guffawed loud, throwing his head back. He wiped his mouth, leaned forward, and said, “Good old Cody. Reliable as ever.”

It felt good to hang with them and be free and unrestricted. She laughed and winked, swigged her own beer. “We played some more rounds, I woulda won—but I don’t want to end up pregnant just to prove a point.”

Both Cody and Philippe showed animated shock, lips pursing to O shapes and both of them lowing at the insane implication of her quip. It felt a little weird to say something so provocative, but their welcome reception made it better.

Philippe said, “Wait, you and Byron trying to get pregnant?”

“God, no,” she said, bouncing her eyebrows and taking a drink. “Sometime soon, but we’re still young. We want to have fun for a little while and I can not afford maternity leave at work right now. Things are going too well.”

Cody said, “So you’re on the pill?”

“Of course,” she said, and then in the quiet aftermath she realized she’d been somehow enjoined. Was this Cody’s first step in swinging—confirming a woman’s reproductive status? That horny feeling slithered in her guts again, like a fat snake coiling tighter. God, maybe a whole nest of snakes in there right now. How would that go? How would it be to swing? Byron would never in a million years ever let it happen, but imagine Cody slipping in to bed with you, naked and cool, his hard muscle pressing against you while your arms looped around his muscular sides.

She drew a deep breath and chuckled, eyes going wide in shock at her own daydream, then drank more beer.

But Philippe groaned suddenly and laughed. He shook his head, eyes pinched closed. “Jesus, Cody,” he sighed.

Cody laughed too. “What, man?”

“Nothing,” Philippe said, still shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what Cody was doing.

“Who cares if I’m on the pill, Philippe? Is that bad?” Then she got it.

She met Cody’s eyes and narrowed hers on his. Her brow furrowed, trying to figure him out. Her eyes went to Philippe, then darted back to Cody, a silent question: “Does Philippe know you swing?”

Cody smirk-scowled and nodded, a silent response: “Of course he does.”