Page 32 of Weathering The Storm

He’s as good at taking orders as he is at giving them.

He melts into me, our bodies locked together in a gyrating push and pull. Messy and inebriated, stripped down to something unrefined and natural. Just us, just bare flesh and roving hands and sounds of pleasure as we kiss and thrust and feel each other.

“Is this how you fuck your hand when you need to take the edge off?” I ask, delirious with the thought of him stroking his cock while I cover for him at the helm. Panting like this while I’m a half-flight of steps away. Gripping himself with the same pressure he uses to rub us together. Thrusting into his fist like he’s thrusting against me until he makes a beautiful mess of himself.

“Yeah. ‘S okay?” he slurs.

“I’m gonna come so hard for you,” I say, trembling with the rising swells of pleasure. “Ever think of me? When you touch yourself?”

My eyes drift open, then his. Hooded and glazed over. Watching his arousal build is like watching the ocean get deeper. A lighter gray-blue rapidly transitioning darker.

“Been four years since I haven’t.”

He feels what that answer does to me. My dick throbs against his. Threads of pre-cum stick to his stomach and his hand.

“What do you think of?” I reach between us, slicking my hand with oil and massaging his balls.

“A lot of things. Everything.” His voice is like a gentle breeze through fishing line. A barely-there song. “Your hands, your mouth”—he kisses me, his tongue exploring the inside walls of my cheeks—“all over me. My mouth, on you. Gonna think about the way you look when you come… never gonna get it out of my head. So perfect…”

A weak growl rises in the back of my throat. Something belonging to a caged but subdued animal. Wild. Domesticated only by his hand. “Do you ever imagine us fucking?”

“I”—he bites back a brittle sound as my lubed hand slides back to grope his ass—“Yes.Do you?”

“Oh…” I speak barely above the rush of our breathing, lips tethered to the shell of his ear. “I’m fuckingobsessedwith your ass, Nicky. I think about it all the time. I think about grabbing it and taking you balls-deep in my throat. Spreading it apart andlicking you from your cock to your hole. Prying you open with my tongue.”

My hand moves inward, middle finger sliding down his crack and resting against his hole. “Sinking into your ass and feeling you come all over my cock.”

Nick brings his other hand to where the first can’t reach, groping us both as he strokes more frantically. His muscles tremble as our hips push and grind. Our mouths seek each other, seek closeness, seek a hold on this tangiblewantfilling the space between us.

I circle his hole with my finger, cock pulsing and leaking all over his hand. My bodybegsme to let go, to come, as he groans and bucks his hips.

“I’ve thought about you fucking me, too,” I pant. “However you want it, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as I can make you feel good.”

“Yes.” His breaths pick up, his biceps twitching as he jerks us. “To everything. Want to feel you…”

I nudge my finger inside a little more, and his body eagerly accepts the slow push. First knuckle. Second. All the way.

Who’s undone first is anyone’s guess. Him, by the way I angle my finger to graze his prostate with each movement of his hips, or me, by the way he reacts. The way his ass clenches my finger and he spills his groans into my mouth like he gets off on me swallowing them.

The orgasm sinks its hooks into me and drags me under as his cum paints my stomach, his grip relaxing and my finger withdrawing.

And then we’re back exactly where we began. Unable to stop kissing, touching. Cum and sweat sticking to our skin as we press as close as two people can be. More drunk on each other than we are on whiskey.

I run my fingers through his hair, my lips drifting to his nose, his cheeks, and I pretend for a second that I’m going to fall asleep like this. We’re going to wake up beneath the quilt, still wrapped in each other, and I’m going to kiss him good morning instead of good night.

If tonight’s taught me anything, it’s that four years of building Nick up in my head stilldidn't do any justice to the way I feel when we’re together.

I want to hold his hand in public. To kiss him when he’s smiling about ruining my reign of terror at darts. I want to brag to everyone I know about how this amazing man thinks I’m the “funniest, nicest, hottest guy” he’s ever met.

But I also know, before he ever told me, that Nick is under enough pressure. The success of this fishing season, the safety of his crew, the standard of perfection he holds himself to.

He needs relief. He needs a place where he doesn’t have to worry about a single goddamned thing, and that place is right here. Because that’s what he’s always been for me. Shelter.

“Rit?” he says, stroking my hip.

“Yeah?”

“I played alotof fucking darts this summer.”