Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ricky
The beach was quiet, and mostly empty the farther away from the bars and restaurants we walked.
It was October, so the night air was cool, but I’d never been all that sensitive to the cold.
I tended to run hot, so when I saw Elliot shivering a little as we walked, despite having a sweater on, I hurriedly pulled my denim jacket off and handed it to him.
His face lit up, hands almost greedy as he took it from me. “You sure?” he asked, but he was already tugging it on.
“Yeah, totally.” I smiled at him. “I don’t get cold that easily.”
Something deep in my belly twisted pleasurably at the sight of him in my clothes. It was doing something almost primal to me. Making me want him even more.
Especially when he openly, and without an ounce of shame, lifted the collar to his nose and inhaled deeply. His eyes slid shut for a brief moment. “Fuck, you smell so good.”
My dick reacted, twitching in my pants, wanting to thicken. “I—th-thanks.”
“Thank you.” He grinned over at me as we walked across the sand at a leisurely pace. “This is rad.”
I grinned back. “It suits you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed, my tongue suddenly feeling a little too thick and making me trip over my words. “I—it—everything probably suits you, though. You’re just…”
Elliot shifted a little closer as we walked, until his arm brushed mine. He gave me a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Just…?”
“Just…” My face was on fire, but I found myself stopping and turning to face him. “Elliot, I…”
He stopped too, inching closer as we stared at each other.
There was a faint breeze from the ocean brushing the back of my neck, and behind me, I could hear the gentle crash and retreat of the waves.
To our right, I could see the lights from the beachfront bars and restaurants out of the corner of my eye, but here, it felt quiet and deserted, like we were in a little bubble.
My breath shuddered out of me as my gaze dropped to his mouth again. “I want to…”
A sudden shriek had both our heads jerking to the side.
A bunch of teenagers were running along the sand toward the shore a little farther up, pushing each other playfully as they raced to see who would reach the water first. They paid us no attention, probably hadn’t even noticed us, but when I looked back at Elliot, he gave me a tiny smile and tilted his head to gesture farther down the beach.
“Let’s keep walking.”
I nodded quickly, falling back into step beside him as we continued making our way along the beach. Neither of us said much. It was obvious that we’d come to an unspoken agreement here—an understanding that we were both just waiting until we knew we were really alone.
Soon, the squeals and boisterous shouts of the teenagers faded away. Up ahead, I could see the orange glow of a small fire surrounded by the silhouettes of people sitting and moving around it. Faint music drifted down the beach toward us from the boombox the group had wedged into the sand.
But they were still pretty far up ahead, and now the group of teenagers was far behind us.
No one else was around. There were a couple of big, fancy houses to our right; expensive beachfront properties with back decks that led directly onto the sand.
All their windows were dark, and they appeared empty.
The people who owned them had probably left for the season once the summer was over.
We were alone. Kind of. Anyone peering down the beach would see us walking slowly in the dark, but they wouldn’t be able to make out any details. The sky was a little cloudy, so the moon kept dipping in and out of sight, taking its faint light with it each time.
We kept walking in comfortable but expectant silence.
Elliot was still walking close enough for our arms to brush with every step, the denim jacket rasping against the sleeve of my sweater.
He had his hands in the pockets at first, but when he tugged them free and lowered his arms, his hand bumped mine.
Then it bumped mine again and lingered for a second, and my breath caught. His pinky finger brushed mine, then rubbed against it with intent—not just an accident. It sent tingles through my palm and up my arm.
Slowly, he threaded his fingers through mine, and I gripped his hand tightly, praying my palm didn’t start to sweat with nerves. My heart was racing, and my belly was doing somersaults, making me feel like I might either ralph or laugh. Or both.
I was holding hands with a guy. I was holding hands with Elliot. His hand was big like mine, but his fingers were longer and slimmer, the knuckles more pronounced. I could feel the gentle rasp of calluses on his palm.
My thumb started stroking over the back of his, back and forth, just to feel his smooth, cool skin against mine.
He tightened his grip in response, giving me a squeeze that felt like another secret message.
Neither of us had said a word, or even really outwardly reacted, and we were walking close enough together that our linked hands wouldn’t be easy to spot unless someone suddenly lurched from the darkness right in front of us.
But the air had changed around us now. It felt heavier.
More intense. Deeper, in a way. Like something thicker was starting to coat us, something syrupy and slow that turned everything hazy and blurred the rest of the world out.
Every single one of my senses narrowed to focus solely on the feel of Elliot’s hand in mine.
When he abruptly veered right, tugging me with him, I didn’t question it.
I went willingly, letting him lead me across the sand and down a narrow path between the raised decks of two empty, dark houses.
It was quieter here, the damp wood muffling the lapping of waves and faint music from the group farther up.
It smelled brinier too, less like fresh sea air, but I wasn’t really focusing on that, because Elliot was backing me into one of the wooden supports of the deck behind me and pressing himself to my front.
He crushed his mouth to mine, and I couldn’t stop the helpless little sound I made at the contact.
It was relief, happiness, pleasure. Finally, an outlet for this overwhelming, crushing want that had plagued me since I met him.
Want that had only gotten worse, gotten stronger, since our first kiss last night.
Within moments, the kiss turned hot and wet and messy.
Frantic, like he was feeling this unbearable want as strongly as I was.
His hands impatiently shoved beneath my sweater and roamed over my bare skin, making me shiver.
He pressed as close to my front as he possibly could, every inch of us touching from chest to knees.
I whimpered when I felt his stiffening cock against mine through our jeans—a hot, hard column that I desperately wanted to feel for myself.
I wanted to touch it, touch him, like he’d touched me last night.
But I couldn’t stop kissing him, not now his tongue was in my mouth, gliding against mine in slick, feverish strokes. My hands were shaking too badly for me to do much more than clutch his back beneath my denim jacket, holding him as tight against me as possible.
He groaned into my mouth. One of his hands slid down my back to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze and making me gasp into the kiss. He groaned again, deeper and more guttural this time, a sound of pure masculine desire that made my cock throb uncontrollably in my pants.
Elliot arched his hips into mine, rubbing our dicks together through too many layers of fabric. In the next instant, he was jerking back just enough to get his hands between us, and as he kept thrusting his tongue hungrily into my mouth, I felt him fumbling with my fly.
My heart was pounding, pulse rabbiting in my throat and breaths coming embarrassingly fast before he’d even managed to get my jeans undone.
And then his hand was dipping inside, fingers slipping under the waistband of my underwear.
I felt them rasp through my pubic hair first, and then there was a brief shock of cool skin against an unbearably hot counterpart—Elliot’s fingers wrapping around my stiff cock.
A stuttering exhale tore from my lungs, and I had to break our feverish kiss to pant against his mouth as he eased my dick out of my pants and slid his fist lower to give the shaft a gentle squeeze.
“E-Elliot,” I panted against his mouth, then bit down on my lip to try and keep quiet as he moved his fist up and down my cock in a slow, lingering stroke. My fingers tightened on his back as I instinctively tried to drag him closer.
Elliot kissed me again, moaning into my mouth as he began pumping my cock at a pace meant to send me hurtling toward orgasm. We couldn’t exactly take our time and draw this out. We were outside. We could be seen. We’d definitely get arrested if someone saw me with my dick out on the beach.
Which meant I didn’t have much time to touch him either, and I needed to.
It felt as vital to me as breathing. Urgent, like if I didn’t do it now, I might never get to.
My hands were still trembling wildly, but I forced them to release his sweatshirt and reach for his fly, trying to stay out of his way as I fumbled with the button and zipper.
Elliot stilled completely when I finally managed to slide my hand into his jeans and feel the outline of his hard cock.
I rubbed it through the warm fabric of his underwear, mapping it out, squeezing and feeling the curves of the flared head before dipping lower to cup his balls.
I wanted to touch every inch of him, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed against my mouth, lean body shuddering, hips straining to press his cock harder against my hand. “Ricky.”