The English Channel – Autumn, 1990

White capped waves continue beating against the forty-foot Gimbal Rose, her white sails straining against constant forty-knot winds.

Although sturdy herself, Gaelle Beauchene’s strain begins to show. With her hair in a messy ponytail, she squints into a gray sheet of rain that has emerged from the north.

The sky darkens faster than it should at this time in the afternoon. Heavy gusts push against the mainsail and boom, threatening to knock Gaelle to the deck if they succeed.

A static weather radio repeats its dull recording of all the terrible realities Gaelle wishes weren’t coming true. She curses in French, holding onto both line and wheel as a yellow vest serves as an indicator that she’s already admitted it’s much worse than she anticipated.

A look to the growing waves, a glance to the skies.

That’s it. She’s had enough.

England is north – Any port in a storm.

The Gimbal Rose hauls to starboard, her bearing rapidly rolling 70 points to 342 degrees, a brown and distant coast coming into view.

Armed with hope and determination, she prays for anything resembling a cove. Her GPS hasn’t held a waypoint for the past three hours, reading ERROR at every take before she eventually gave up. It now serves as a useless, wet, $2,000 paperweight.

On the Isle of Wight, Joshua Killings climbs the stairs, giving massive panes of glass a final scrub as the storm rapidly approaches. The clouds enshroud Joshua, bringing an early night to the isle’s autumn afternoon. With a quick hop, he rapidly descends the stairs.

Out in the channel, Gaelle’s heart leaps when a flash of bright light rotates and shines in the distance, a clear indicator of St. Catherine’s.

Gaelle huffs a relieved smile and laugh, the space from here to the distant shore not seeming nearly as far.

Joshua slips on his raincoat, jogging for the shore as small, white sails approach. The sails flap, the boat rolls, only one person visible as they appear to hold on and scramble in the cockpit.

“Hang on!” he shouts into the wind and rain, waving his arms. “I’m coming! Here I come!”

He arrives just in time, the battered sailboat seeming to rise and turn into place as if on cue as it comes into contact with the dock’s buoys.

“Here!” Gaelle calls to him, tossing lines from stern and bow to the wooden dock, both of them making quick work of strapping the Rose to the cleats as the waves smack against her hull.

Joshua extends a hand, helping Gaelle haul her things onto the dock. He does his best to grab her bags, watching as she hauls herself over with his helping hand.

The two of them rapidly walk along the planks, Gaelle stopping to look back at her poor baby being pushed into the dock. She looks to St. Catherine’s, the rotating light serving as a halo over her current position.

“Don’t worry,” Joshua tells her through the rain, a nod toward the dock. “It looks worse than what it is. The buoys will hold. She’ll be just fine.”

Gaelle nods, not being one to sustain driving winds and rain when comfort is so nearby. Reluctantly, she shoulders her bag, turning away from the one thing Gaelle said she would never abandon.

---

“Thanks so much,” Gaelle offers, accepting a comfortable pea coat. It’s a man’s coat, a little large for her, a distinctive scent that can only be attributed to her current host.

Gaelle stands in the house, watching from the warm safety of the main room as the winds toss gray waves. Having dried off and changed, Gaelle contends that Joshua is a wonderful host.

Joshua isn’t much different than most men, standing only slightly taller than Gaelle, a thin beard with brown eyes to match. His jawline is firm, his frame showing a narrower waist than chest. With his wet hair back from the rain, it would be impossible for any lass to dismiss him as unnoticeable.

“You’re free to stay here if you like,” he notes, watching the wind for himself.

“I appreciate that.” Gaelle speaks English well, her French accent unmistakable.

“Of course.”

They watch from the window, the night approaching.

Gaelle shifts, crossing her arms with a shake of her ponytail.

At 32, Gaelle is a pleasant woman. Her skin is soft, subtle lips under long lashes. With brows darker than her amber hair, she’s the kind of woman who has rejected Joshua in the past. He can’t remember her name, but that face is very familiar. Gaelle, Joshua figures, is an athlete of some sort – an equestrian or field hockey champion – something of that sport.

His question would begin with, “Would you care to…?” Her answer would be, “…You’re sweet, but no.”

A cardinal flies in from the storm, seeking refuge on the stone window sill before them, flapping away the rain.

Gaelle has done a stand up job of ignoring it, but there’s a smell of cooking in the air.

“The food is probably cold by now,” Joshua comments, “but I can warm it up.”

“I’m sure you only cooked enough for yourself.”

“No, no. There’s more than enough. Do you favor pheasant, by chance?”

Gaelle nods, able to eat just about anything the coast has to offer.

Joshua’s little meal is just what they both needed on this rainy day.

“I’m afraid this is all that’s in the house,” he says, setting down a decanter of whiskey and an unopened bottle of rum.

Gaelle shakes her head, a dismissive hand. “It’s perfect. After fighting the storm for so long, it’s just the sort of thing I need.”

One shot becomes two, Joshua loving the way Gaelle’s face tenses up from the potent strength. Her reaction is priceless, needing a minute before she attempts a third round. She loses the coat, a simple white shirt with a dip at the neck, flowing cloth reaching down her arms. The rum gives her cheeks a red glow, lightening her mood as she loosens up and laughs from the conversation.

“To be honest,” Gaelle comments, shot in hand, “I did set out on the roughest of waters I’ve seen for a while now. It’s a little strong for this time of year.”

“You were certain it would let up, then?”

She nods. “I was, actually. By the time I saw your coast, I thought I would sing and dance at the sight of the light if I weren’t so exhausted.”

“Do you regret leaving so suddenly?”

Gaelle thinks about his question, rum-coated lips pressed together as she watches his face, the hint of a smirk being suppressed. “I was glad to bid farewell to France,” she notes, a tilt of her head, ponytail swaying. “I’m not certain that being diverted for this little while is such a bad thing.” Her foot bobs under the table, casually tapping against Joshua’s leg. Her little smirk remains. “I was in a hurry, but I know that I still have a long way to go.”

Joshua can’t help but notice, liking the way her eyes remain on him when he glances at her. She doesn’t look away. He likes that.

Gaelle’s soft sock slips up Joshua’s leg, happy to let him have it as he takes hold, gently rubbing it in his lap. She sips, the alcohol warming her from head to massaged toe.

She made it 97 miles out of the original 232. Gaelle suddenly isn’t disappointed that she didn’t make it in one fell swoop.

Joshua removes her sock, massaging a soft, warm foot.

Gaelle offers him the other, which he accepts, a second set of toes between his fingers.

Their conversation continues as if none of this is happening. Joshua scoots his chair closer, Gaelle adjusting her seat to give him more leg.

It’s subtle when Joshua slips his hand along her leg, but he’s a proper gentleman, rightly returning his strong hands to her tired feet.

Gaelle doesn’t mind the effect rum has on her. From his touch, Gaelle’s nipples harden against her bra, a light shiver from stomach to waist. She wishes he would rub her leg again. He’s talking, but the points are moot. “Shouldn’t you be checking on the lighthouse or something?” she jests, feeling him squeeze her foot.

“I will,” he replies, huffing a smirk. “I’m not worried about anything happening. It’s predictable.”

“Do you like predictability?”

Joshua shrugs, feeling Gaelle’s other, neglected foot touch against his stomach. He takes the hint, looking toward the lighthouse. “I just know the lighthouse, I guess.”

Gaelle recovers her feet, rising. “And me?” She takes a small step toward him. “Am I predictable?” She’s well-received when she turns, plopping in Joshua’s lap.

He accepts her weight, hands on her side before running down to her hips to find a natural curve.

When Gaelle sits upright, she gives her hips a hardly noticeable roll.

His hands remain on her hips, giving a gentle rub on the roundest edges. “Am I boring you?” he asks condescendingly.

Gaelle spreads her legs, sitting back further on his hips, leaning forward with arms on the table. “I am getting kind of bored,” she shoots back. She doesn’t mind that Joshua caresses her hips, hands on her thighs as she presents herself to him. A gentle tug teases the top of her pants. She knows what he’s hoping to find.

Joshua gives her round ass a firm squeeze, feeling her hips roll one way, then the other. His heart leaps when she stands.

“I should be getting to bed…” she begins, a light squeal escaping when strong hands pull her hips back down into his lap. Her smile can’t be hidden. “Hey…”

“Not yet.” Joshua’s hands become firm, sliding down her thighs, around to her ass, slipping under her shirt to find soft skin.

Gaelle is effectively being groped, but her breathing extends. She anticipated more from him. He can touch it. Anywhere. Nothing is off limits. When she presses her hips into him, she can feel Joshua hardening, a stiff press in the right spot. She puts her hands on the table, rising. “I should really get to bed,” she hardly states, slipping from his touch.

When Gaelle escapes Joshua, a noticeable exhale sounds. He clears his throat, sitting upright as he suddenly feels himself vulnerable. He caps the whiskey, watching Gaelle walk away. She doesn’t look back. “Good night, then.”

“Night.”

And with that, Joshua is alone.

There are dirty dishes to clean. There’s a lighthouse to check on. There’s a house to secure.

He sets to work, a feeling of simmering frustration that occupies his mind. He knows where Gaelle’s bedroom is.

Maybe she’s lying in there now, waiting for him. Maybe he was supposed to follow. Maybe he should fuck off and get to work.

---

The wind and rain continue outside Gaelle’s dark bedroom. She hasn’t slept, to be sure, certain thoughts demanding her focus. In the sheets, she slides a hand along her side, grabbing her breast. She closes her eyes, hoping it's Joshua who’s touching her, but she’s soon disappointed when she only sees the sliver of light coming in through the curtains. Gaelle sits up, huffing as she puts empty hands to her face. She adjusts her hips, but there’s nothing firm underneath. It’s a vacant feeling. Her hands land heavily on the comforter.

Joshua locks the side door, having finally warmed up from checking on the lighthouse. The lights are nearly turned down. The wind and rain don’t seem to let up as Gaelle’s boat remains secured on the dock.

Walking through the dark kitchen and into the living room, Joshua would suffer a brief moment of panic if he didn’t remember that someone else is in the house.

“Gaelle,” he says with a nervous smile, a little jumpy. “Did I wake you?”

Gaelle leans against a doorframe to the living room, arms crossed as she shakes her head at his question. She likes the way she made Joshua jump, a smile on her lips while watching him being lost in his own little world.

It isn’t the most obvious, but Gaelle is wearing his black pea coat, a heavy wool from neck to thigh as it covers most of her body. From thigh to foot though, there’s only soft skin. Her hair is down. Her eyes are relaxed. A small smirk remains as she hasn’t said anything, having made up her mind.

Joshua looks her over, the sudden realization arriving. She’s so calm when her words slip out: “Come here.”

Joshua is no fool, refusing to hesitate in this moment. He slips off his boots, slowly walking her way, loving the way she casually leans against the door. Her hand extends toward him, which he takes, feeling her fingers wrap into his.

With an easy motion, Gaelle fits perfectly into Joshua’s arms, their lips touching for a gentle first kiss, both of them taking their time.

Gaelle inhales, pressing herself into Joshua like she told herself she wouldn’t do. The woman can’t help it. She’s happy to see that he wants her just as much, taking hold, his wondering hand sliding down the thick coat to find a panty-clad ass, a firm squeeze to her cheek.

They don’t talk or confess. They just kiss, each one taking their turn on which angle they favor the most. The alcohol remains, but this is nothing but pure frustration demanding to be released.

The lighthouse is theirs. Nothing is stopping them. The wind and rain will keep everyone and everything away as they take each other just the way they prefer, neither feeling a need to deny the other’s demands.

It’s not the most coordinated thing, but Gaelle’s cold hand slips down his body, forcing itself into the front of his pants to find a hard, warm cock. She moans when she wraps her fingers around it, Joshua taking the lead as they kiss. Her hand remains trapped in his pants as they stagger into the hall.

Her bedroom is nearby. The sheets are already prepared.

Joshua picks up the risqué Gaelle in his black coat, carrying her to the bed. With legs wrapped around him, she naturally falls into his lap. His hands are cold, but she doesn’t mind when they slip into the coat to find bare skin on a thin waist, soft breasts burning to be squeezed.

Gaelle lets him explore, the coat making a quick exit to the floor. Her hips buck when he fondles his way into her panties, Gaelle holding onto his head and pulling him close as he explores. The smack on her ass is appreciated.

“Right there,” she lets out, desperate moans a result of Joshua’s playfulness. Her hips buck, then roll, the burn in her becoming too much. She grows greedy, hauling his shirt up and over, kissing along his cheek and neck, his chest, his stomach.

It’s no secret. Joshua kicks his pants down while Gaelle kneels, his cock warming when it enters her mouth.

She should be taking her time and torturing him. Instead, Gaelle sucks, doing her best to peak his pleasure as fast as possible.

He’s surprised at how quickly she works, more than half of his cock in her mouth before she goes deeper. With a hand on her head, he feels her silky hair bob and sway in his hand. Gaelle takes him deeper, holding it prisoner before sliding his throbbing cock from her mouth.

“Come here, baby,” he tells her, hauling her up.

Gaelle climbs, kicking off her panties as she slides along his body. She climbs onto his waist, slides up his chest, her body seeming to melt when she mounts his face. Her mouth is open, her eyes closed. She should say something proper in this moment, but all that escapes is, “Fuck…oh, fuck,” at Joshua’s determined flicks and sucks against her pussy. Her hands are in his hair, her hips rocking against his tongue. “There, there…right there. Suck.” Gaelle tenses up, fingers in his hair before relaxing, a hot rush of desire washing over her body. Her toes tingle.

Joshua resumes control, rolling Gaelle onto the bed. He pushes her up along the sheets.

Her legs are spread as Joshua climbs between them, Gaelle pushing her hands against the headboard.

“Do you want me to go slow?”

Gaelle vehemently shakes her head, pressed lips letting out an excited exhale in an attempt to catch her breath. Her feet are suspended. Joshua holds onto her legs when he enters her.

He lied. He’s going painstakingly slow, taking his precious time.

“Holy fuck, fuck me,” she lets out, her eyes closed.

“There she is,” he replies with a smile, loving the way her subtle tits bounce with each little thrust. He’s gently fucking her, toying with her. By the way Gaelle grins, attempting to remain calm, he knows he’s on the right course. He fucks harder. He likes the way she bounces, pretty feet dangling in the air.

Her emotions are expressed in the most ladylike of cordiality: “There-Yes-Shit-Shit!”

Gaelle’s toes curl, Joshua’s thighs burning as it becomes a determined fuck at this point, both of them getting exactly what they want. When her legs squeeze against Joshua, she announces where she is. He can’t stop now. He has to release her.

Against his own intentions, he fucks Gaelle even harder, determined to push her over the edge.

Gaelle curses and yells words in French that he doesn’t understand, but he gets the point.

Joshua leans his head back, squeezing her thighs, grunting behind clenched teeth as he tries to stop himself, but he just can’t help it.

He cums, a stiff cock pulsing hot cum into her as Gaelle tenses up and screams, her body shaking as she orgasms.

Her toes tightly curl. His muscles ache.

Gaelle shakes and shutters as she continues to cum, squeezing his cock with every shake.

Joshua just holds on, pulling her thighs close.

When she relaxes, he lets her hips slip down to the bed. He kisses her ankle, her foot, her pretty toes. “Feel better?” he calmly asks, his cock remaining in her.

“Yes,” she huffs, placing a hand on her forehead. “But I’m not finished.”