Chapter 16 #2
“Like this.” Calum isn’t asking a question.
He’s issuing a request for later, and you better believe I try to focus as he repeats actions he made for a first time with me.
A slick fingertip finds tingling nerve endings he’ll want me to locate on him when we do switch.
He slides it across my hole. Around it. He circles while something inside me swoops and the cabin lights up.
At least, that’s how it seems. It’s still too early for much daylight to filter through my porthole curtains.
Whatever the reason, I see the head of his cock glisten.
It shines, precome already beading to tell me what he’s into.
And he is into what he’s doing to me. I hear it in a guttural groan, even if my view gets cut off by him bending lower.
He kisses my dick, which I’ll copy later to find his frenulum like he does mine, and if I didn’t know this was only the second time he’d ever done that, I’d think he’d put in extra practice.
“Feels good,” I tell him, and he takes my head falling back as a go signal. He must do. Calum presses that slick finger harder, and the dual sensations of him inside me while sucking me off doesn’t just get my heart pounding. They combine to almost stop it.
Perhaps his heart also stutters. His voice suggests so after he breaks off. “F-fuck,” he whispers, breathless, his gaze darting between my face and down to where he still has a thick finger deep inside me. I lift my head again to see precome drip with how much he wants this. Me. Us together.
He’s suddenly gone, but only to grab that condom.
Then he’s inside me for real.
I’ve only seen his jaw drop once before this moment.
That was the first time I smiled at him for saving something fragile.
Now he looks almost eggshell brittle. Calum holds himself above me, arms shaking, and his dick is a lot to take in this position, but if that’s his way of telling me he’ll want to see my face when we do reverse roles, I’m down with it.
I’m even more on board with seeing him do me from close up. That’s what I have front row seats for—Calum sinking deeper in me fraction by hot and stinging fraction until we’re fucking, slow at first, then faster.
I could never rate this performance.
Couldn’t ever score us doing this together.
It’s messy and uncoordinated until it isn’t. Then we could have been made for doing this together.
Each fuck inside me shoves me away. Calum hauls me back, hands digging into my hips like I’m his to put exactly where he wants, and I don’t argue.
I take mental notes for later. At least, I try until he covers me again, hips pistoning with the kind of power that scored him an oversized silver trophy.
I’m crushed all over again.
Have to find the strength to shove at him, and Calum lets me bully him where I want him. He rolls nice and easy where I shove him, and his cock doesn’t slip out. He’s still inside me, but now I’m on top and I’ve never felt fuller.
A golden glow showcases my cock bobbing as I ride him, and he watches. His eyes widen. It’s all the incentive I need to take over although he’s far from passive. Calum’s a team player, that’s all. Observant. He fucks upwards each time I let gravity take over.
I sink. “F-fuck, Calum. That’s deep.”
“In English.”
He absorbs my second attempt to tell him.
“It’s good?”
Him needing confirmation is wild when it’s so obvious that he’s more than good. He’s the best, which I don’t mean to say aloud.
“Yeah, I am.” His eyes laugh, which is a lot, but he isn’t done with being observant—he spots when my eyes close and my own jaw drops.
“There?” he asks. “Like that?”
My cock leaking must tell him he’s found the perfect angle. He locks in, hips moving just right, and I’m lost in pleasure, there before I’m ready.
I clench. Shoot over his fist and belly. Ride intense waves and gasp, “Keep going.”
I’ll regret that later. There’s no way I’ll have the same stamina to fuck him like he fucks me into giving up a little extra for him. A surprise spurt wrenches free from someplace soul deep to coat his fingers, and I’m done.
“Like that,” he says when I’m flat on my back, every bone turned to shaking jelly. “Do me like that later, yeah?”
“Not sure I can.” I lift an arm. It quivers. “Overachiever.”
He laughs, and I love to hear it. Love it, full stop. Love—
“Hey, what’s the time?”
I find my phone and show him. “Still early.” I find wipes too and kneel over Calum to clean him up. Or I would, if I could stop dipping my head to kiss him.
He wrestles me all the way down to the mattress, and I don’t fight him. I let him muscle me exactly where he wants me, which is tucked tight into his side.
I snuggle even closer, trying hard not to drift off. Returning speedboats to the yard won’t wait. Neither will Calum’s torture-chamber visit. “You need to head off now?”
“Soon. Not yet.” He goes up on one elbow to look down at me. “Beautiful,” he says quietly. “No,” he says when I try to pull up the covers. “Want to see you while I still can.”
He’s so tender my throat thickens. “Then take a photo. So you can see me whenever you want.”
“No, I won’t.” He clears his own throat. “I mean, a photo wouldn’t be as good as seeing you for real like this.” His lips brush my forehead. “Did you submit your entry?”
“Not yet. I’ve got until this evening.”
He whispers, “You’ll win.”
I love his certainty, his absolute belief in work he hasn’t even seen yet. It makes this offer easy. “Want to watch it before I hit the submit button?”
“Do I want to? Of course I fucking do. Show me when I get back?”
“I will.”
“And I better make a move.” Calum’s arms tightening around me make him a liar.
I lie too. “Oui. I’ve got to get going as well.”
It’s so fucking cosy that I close my eyes regardless of both of us needing to get our days started.
“Not giving up,” Calum reminds me quietly, which in turn reminds me of footage I edited without him.
“You’re not giving up on what? Fixing Penny up with Robin?”
He snorts. “No.” I don’t need to see his smile to hear it. “But man, I’d actually kill to see that happen.”
I put off us needing to part ways by asking another question based on footage I ruled out as too private to include. “You were telling me about a team of hockey rejects. What would you call it if you put one together?” Something else that was rejected inspires my suggestion. “The Ducks?”
He snorts again. “Nope. That’s already taken.”
I crack open an eye to see him looking at the incubator. Its glow limns his profile with the same gold creeping around the edge of my porthole curtains. That’s a clear-as-day signal that it’s time to get going. Calum doesn’t seem in a hurry.
“But the Ducklings would be a cute name for a mites programme. Something water-related for sure.”
“Sea Monsters?” I suggest, picturing marine killers with a taste for rudders.
Calum must have a different mental image. “Nope. One Kraken in the league is enough.” His lips brush my temple, and this is quieter. It rumbles through where we’re connected. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About who I’d recruit. Players who . . .”
That feels like him wanting to unzip his lips. He huffs out a long breath, and I fill the silence that follows. “What about your hockey school for kids with no cash for their own skates and helmets. What would you call that?”
He turns on his side to face me, face brightening. “I already have a name picked out.” He grabs his phone to show me his own inspiration. Calum swipes past a screen full of messages from Jack. Past a family group chat. Past teammate after teammate sending him season’s greetings.
They all miss him.
I will too.
For now, I focus on the photo he shows me of cliffs and churning water that he says is a Cornish tourist location. “Close to where I grew up.”
“Land’s End?”
He lies flat on his back and doesn’t answer.
I do see the bob of his Adam’s apple. He swallows like that place is important to him.
His voice thickening confirms it. “When I was a little kid, I didn’t think that Land’s End was only where Cornwall ended.
I thought it was the end of the whole world.
” He has to clear his throat to continue.
“I bet that’s how it feels to stop playing.
The end of the whole world. So that’s what I’d call my school run by rejects, by disposable players not ready to quit the best game in the world.
The ones who love hockey even when it doesn’t love them back. ”
Like he did.
Like he still does.
“Land’s End Hockey.” He swallows even harder. “Hockey at the end of the world, a school and team run by has-beens who would have played for longer, if . . .”
He stops then, and sure, I inherited curiosity from one parent.
I can’t help thinking the other one gifted me with determination.
Dad’s shown me that for a lifetime, from leaving me with the world’s best grand-mère to subscribing to my YouTube channel, he’s tried to stop me from sinking.
Now I understand that urge, that drive to keep someone close instead of having an ocean between us, and apparently, I’m not alone at hating the thought of distance.
Calum says, “I found a piece of land. For a rink. It’s right next to a school for kids who had tough starts.
Thinking about putting in a bid for it. I could show it to you, but .
. .” He wets his lips, then makes an offer.
“But it would mean coming to Cornwall with me when I go home. You could stay until the New Year.”
Across the marina, someone fires up the sound system for a final time, and I’d sing along with Mariah if I wasn’t busy kissing someone who just gifted me everything I wanted.
“It would mean us having two whole weeks together instead of only the one I have left here. Think about it.”
I don’t need to think about the prospect of spending more time with someone who is a million miles from disposable, yet all that hockey-school talk sounds like he thinks he might be.
I want to know who the fuck could ever make him think that. Why and when crowd close behind that question, but I rein them in—tell my curiosity to have some patience.
Calum can’t or won’t unzip his lips yet.
But if he wants to do that before hockey steals him back, I’ll be right there in Cornwall to listen.