Summer Swap 4.1

Cody had encouraged him to go along on a boat ride to the island, that they had a secret mission together. When Byron asked him what the secret mission was, Cody said it was classified.

And, yeah, there was something cool about shooting to shore in a ballsy speedboat with a dude who was a special forces guy, selected for some top secret mission. But, holy shit, he couldn’t have anticipated what the secret mission was.

They’d boated into Great Cinnamon Bay, docked there, strolled up through the private grounds of a large wildlife resort, stopped at this big brick courtyard where there was a café like a miniature stone fort, right smack dab in the rainforest, under these towering palms and bright-colored birds looking north out over the Caribbean, somewhere toward Tobago.

All this with the guy his wife had a sexual crush on. The guy who’d rocked her world with his big, hard dick, put on a cowboy hat and role-played with her and sent her into leg-shaking orgasms. All while Byron had watched.

Fucking wild.

He and Cody sat and shot the shit over a couple iced Americanos, talking about anything besides Cheyenne and the dirty stuff they’d done together. Then this silver Mercedes SUV pulls up, and Cody turns to it and says, “Looks like our guest has arrived.”

Seeing the Mercedes, and knowing Cody, Byron wondered for a few seconds while the SUV idled and whoever was inside got themselves together enough to exit the vehicle, if it was a celebrity. Like maybe Cody was rich and connected enough to have some singer, like Carla’s favorite singer, show up and do a few songs on the yacht, like a private show or something. Hell, maybe even a famous standup comedian or a big-time Vegas magician. And his faithful friend, his poisonous mind, whispered in his ear saying, “I bet he brought Cheyenne’s favorite singer.”

But Cody said, “She just landed in St. Thomas and had to ferry over. I had a driver bring her. She’s supposed to already be here with us, after all.”

And as Byron tried to decipher who the fuck Cody meant, the SUV door opens and this long, sexy, dark-tanned leg steps out, pearl-painted toes in a pair of expensive shoes, and right away it hit him.

Oh, shit. It was Paloma.

* * *

Now he and Cody and Paloma and Paloma’s luggage were on the speedboat and jetting back to the yacht and it was the first chance he’d got to send a warning to Sully.

He had a distinct feeling that maybe something happened last night in the “swinging” department and that it involved Sully, Scarlet, and Philippe. Like maybe Scarlet had gone off with Philippe for her turn to step foot in the wild swinging jungle like Cheyenne had done. If that was the case he figured Sully might like a head’s up that Philippe’s former wife was on her way.

But first he texted his wife.

Byron: red alert, we’re bringing Paloma to the yacht

While he was thinking how to phrase a message to Sully, Chey got back to him.

Cheyenne: Who is this?

Byron: stop fucking around

Cheyenne: Do I know you?

Byron: Come on Chey tell Scarlet

Cheyenne: ok

He shook his head at what a dead end that turned out to be. Didn’t Chey realize why Scarlet was a no-show at breakfast and at lunch? Either Sully had murdered her last night or she couldn’t walk after getting her privates pummeled by Philippe’s horse cock. He texted Sully.

Byron: hey man, nbd but me and Cody are bringing Paloma back to the yacht

He didn’t want to come out and say what he suspected in case Sully wanted to keep the whole swinging thing secret. If in fact anything had happened.

The sea breeze ruffled his hair when he looked up from his phone. The boat’s motors were loud at this velocity and he was thankful for it. It saved him from conjuring small talk with Paloma. He had little in common with Philippe’s former wife. She was Brazilian, spoke English as a third language, and came from a wholly different background, and had a much different lifestyle than him. Paloma intimidated him. She was beautiful and sexy in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue kind of way. He sat at the back of the boat, waiting for a return text as a confirmation, watching Cody at the helm, shirt off, bronze back muscles squirming as he wheeled the boat over the skips of waves, his blonde hair fluttering like the Stars and Stripes. And between Byron and Cody, Paloma sat in a yellow sundress, bronze legs crossed, thick waves of chestnut hair tossing in the wind.

His phone chimed.

Sullivan: Sure sure. Thanks buddy.

Then he sent a Jennifer Lawrence gif of the actress nodding exactly how Sully intended the tone of his text: I don’t believe you.

“Idiot,” he said under his breath, the wind taking his words away. He tilted up his phone, watching the screen, getting Paloma in full frame, Cody ahead of her manning the controls. He snapped a picture and sent it to Sully.

* * *

Carla said, “I think she’s in my tub.”

“No, seriously,” Sully said. He’d raced down to Philippe’s suite and found the room empty, his wife gone, the room tidied and the bed made. He raced to his own suite and found it empty too. Scarlet was alive but missing, he figured, since her things had been moved to their room and a breakfast tray there too, a half cup of coffee and toast crumbs.

“Seriously, check the bathroom in my suite. Knock first.”

A sudden jealous monster jumped out at him, but then it was quashed fast. He’d felt the flames of green jealous fire for a second thinking someone might be in the tub with her, but shit, Philippe was in the lounge where they’d been playing pool, Byron was on the boat and had sent a live photo of Paloma, and Cody was in it, piloting the boat. Arlo was upstairs cooking.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, more to say but no time, thanking Carla and shooting up the stairs from the kitchen and down the hall to Cody and Carla’s suite. He skidded to a stop outside and knocked on the door. Waited. No answer. Knocked again.

Still no answer.

So he tried the handle and levered open the door. It was unlocked. He eased the door open and poked his head into the room. The room where he and Scarlet had watched Cody fuck Cheyenne while Byron watched.

The sliding glass door was open on the far side, bright day beyond the room’s balcony, and Scarlet was laughing in the bathroom.

Why was she laughing?

She was in there with someone. That fiery ember in his body went bright orange with the jealous breeze and burst into bright hot. He darted into the room...

Then heard Cheyenne’s voice: “Who’s there?”

“Oh God,” he sighed, palming his forehead. This swinging stuff could really mess with your nervous system. “Me,” he called out.

Chey said, “Don’t you knock?”

“I did,” he said, coming to the bathroom’s archway before entering. “Can I come in?”

“I’m not wearing anything,” she said. Scarlet laughed.

“Fuck sake,” he muttered, wanting to say I’ve seen you naked, Chey, seen you naked with Cody doing the worst things imaginable, and for crying out loud, Scarlet put my penis in your mouth. “Well, can you put something on?”

“Can you go away and come back later?”

“What are you guys doing in there?”

“Girl stuff,” Chey said. “Not for your eyes, that’s for sure.”

He said, “Scarlet?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come in, please?”

She said, “Yes.”

But as he came around the corner, Cheyenne cried out with surprise and he put his hand up to block seeing something he shouldn’t.

Both women laughed at him. He lowered his hand and saw Scarlet’s head above the tub’s lip, soaking in bubbly water, her crimson hair tied up at the top, and Cheyenne fully clothed and seated on the tile floor beside the tub, the two of them close together like they’d been talking.

“You don’t look naked,” he said.

Chey said, “I dress really fast.”

“That’s great,” he said. “What are you guys doing?”

Chey looked around the room like it should be obvious.

He said, “What, you washing her back or something?”

Scarlet said, “We’re talking.”

“About what?” All he could think was his wife was gushing about how hot sex with Philippe had been, and he was dying to talk to her about it—he hadn’t seen her comatose since the wee hours of this morning. Chey shouldn’t get to hear about it first.

Cheyenne said, “We’re talking about stuff.”

“What stuff?”

Scarlet said, “Byron.”

“What about him?” It sounded like bullshit.

“She’s giving him another chance with Carla. Don’t tell him though.”

“It’s a surprise?”

Cheyenne said, “Yeah, I don’t want him to stress about it.”

“That’s nice of you. Why do you think he’ll stress?”

Both women clucked their tongues and rolled their eyes up, and he had no idea why. Scarlet said, “Never mind, Sully. Fucking Detective Columbo over here, has to know everything.”

He splayed his hands, irritated. “I’m just making conversation. . . . Hey, Chey, why don’t you...” He brushed backhands towards Cheyenne, indicating for her to skedaddle for a bit.

Cheyenne’s face contorted to disgust. “I was here first, why don’t you...”Now she brushed at him with fanning backhands.

He growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m here for a reason.”

“There’s a million toilets on this yacht, you gotta take a dump in this one?” Cheyenne said, staying seated on the floor. “What, you can’t be far from Scarlet? You guys hold hands, or— Oh no, is she still toilet training you?”

Scarlet laughed and made her bubbly bathtub water ripple.

He said, “Whose side are you on?”

Scarlet smiled and cocked her head to her friend. “Chey, can you give us a minute.”

“Fine,” Cheyenne said, pulling herself to stand using the wide lip of the circular tub. “I was leaving anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to her with grace.

Chey patted his shoulder as she passed saying, “Don’t get any on the toilet seat, little buddy.”

Now he rolled his eyes, both Chey and Scarlet laughing as Chey left the bathroom and exited out the suite’s door. Sully turned to his wife and dropped down into the place Chey had been sitting.

“We might have a bit of a problem.”

“Paloma?”

His mouth was poised open, ready to launch into his news. He closed his mouth. “How’d you know?”

“Carla told me.” She raised a sudsy arm out of the tub and ran a sponge up and down it.

“Oh,” he said. “I feel let down now.”

“Who told you?”

“Byron. He texted me from the boat. He’s coming from shore with Cody and Paloma.”

“Okay,” she said.

“What’re we going to do? What’re we going to say?”

Scarlet sighed and let the sponge drop. “I don’t even know.”

“Is it a big deal?”

“I’m not sure... It could be.”

And suddenly all worry about Byron’s texted news seemed to dissipate and all he could think about was how beautiful Scarlet looked this way. Naked but obscured, feminine as fuck, no makeup, that thick mane of hair up on top of her head and showing off her swanlike neck. Last time he’d seen her she’d been strewn across the bed like a rag doll, sexually obliterated by him and another man. How was it everything could seem okay? First thing he’d said to her in the morning after was about different news, not about the thing they’d done together.

He slunk closer to her, leaning over the tub’s lip and taking her neck to guide her to his mouth for a kiss. She was accepting, her lips cool compared to their fevered heat last night. Just kissing this sexual creature got his blood pumping and his cock thickening. “I fucking love you,” he said.

She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead with a wet hand. “I love you, too.”

“You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” she said, almost bashful.

“If it’s a problem, we’ll deal with it together. How bad could it be?”

Scarlet palmed his cheek, suds slipping down his neck. “Chey said Philippe and Paloma were trying to get back together...”