Chapter 10 Nil
Nil
I come awake slow. Heavy and warm in a way that doesn’t make sense at first.
Then it does.
Stan’s right in front of me, his back against my chest, our legs tangled. My nose is in his hair. He smells like smoke and sugar and…me.
A smile spreads across my face, satisfied at that. His breaths are deep and even, and each one moves his back against me.
We’re still together the way he wanted us to be. My cock’s hard inside him, and he feels so tight and hot.
He’s the one who asked for this. Half-asleep and mumbling and still somehow bossy, telling me not to move even if he drifted off.
I planned to give him a break at some point. Pull out before I slept. But I guess I didn’t get around to it.
Stan’s so solid, all muscles and meat. A little tension here and there, but nothing that sets off alarms. I was worried all night that I was too rough on him. But I’m starting to thing he’s into it.
My hand’s on his hip. My thumb’s over his pulse. I hope he slept well after all we did yesterday.
I showed him a side of me last night I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. It was always there. I just stopped listening to it until I had him in front of me, willing to give me everything I told him I wanted.
Now I’m still inside him. I’ve been inside him since last night. That thought sends sparks up my spine.
He stirs in his sleep. It’s a little wiggle that sends more sparks.
I breathe out slow, so my body doesn’t get ahead of me.
I wanna ram into him hard and fast. The thought is damn near tempting, but he’s sound asleep, and I can’t push him face down into his pillow and plow him like some goddamn beast.
He groans and eases back into me, like he’s trying to fuse us together.
“Stan,” I mutter near his ear. “You still out cold?”
I close my eyes, waiting for him to say something. The bed’s warm. He’s warmer. Having his weight against me shuts off parts of my brain that I didn’t know could go quiet.
He sighs, long and content.
“Morning,” I grit out quietly.
He whines. “Five more years.”
He’s awake. Barely. But awake. I tighten my arm around his waist and test a shallow thrust inside him. He goes still for a second. Then he melts back into me.
“Oh,” he says, voice thick with sleep.
“You asked me to do this,” I say.
“Yeah, but it’s hella impressive you stayed inside me all night.”
I huff a quiet laugh against his neck.
“You’re so sexy,” he mumbles, moving his body against mine. “Your dick feels so good. And maybe all of this should be illegal to my heart.”
He rolls his hips, taking in more of me.
I close my eyes to get my breathing under control.
Stan drags a slow breath in. Lets it out while he’s sinking me deeper in him. He’s so tight around me that I bite down on the sound that tries to get out of me.
He turns his face toward mine. His gray eyes open only a sliver, pupils wide, cheeks pink, and mouth soft, just asking for kisses.
He lifts his chin. “Kiss me, Ocean Eyes.”
I don’t know who moves first. But his mouth finds mine in a warm press, tongues tangling the next second.
A soft sound leaves him when he melts back into my chest. He takes the kiss like he needs it to wake up.
He pulls back by an inch, breath catching. His eyes open a little more. Then he smiles, lopsided. “Can’t believe this is real.”
I rest my forehead against the side of his head, breathing him in.
He rolls his hips again. “This feels so good,” he murmurs. “Can we stay like this forever? I’m serious. Don’t move. Ever again.”
“Not possible,” I say.
“Not with that attitude.” I can hear the grin in his voice when he faces away from me. “You’re hard to wake up to, y’know? A man could get addicted.”
I caress his jaw, turning him to face me, just so I can kiss him again before he can keep talking.
He hums in approval and sinks back into my arms, fully awake now, fully himself, fully the problem I’m never walking away from.
Stan kisses me back, moaning so loud this time, and dragging me into it.
He has to feel it. How bad I want him. How hard I am, twitching inside him. How the night we had never really ended.
“Ocean Eyes, move. I want us to come together.”
I hold his hips, then thrust forward.
He gasps, his fingers digging into my forearm.
“You want more, Stan?”
He nods. “Yeah, I woke up wanting you bad. Do something about it.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to me.”
“Great,” he says. “I like danger. I watched you fuck me through a mirror last night. I’m clearly beyond help.”
He arches back into me, hips pushing into my hold like he’s offering me the entire morning. I want him for way longer than that. I want him all day, all night. Forever.
“I’m right here, babe,” he whispers. “Ready to be used, to be claimed, to be all yours.”
That does it. That breaks whatever restraint I thought I had.
I pull him in closer and press my mouth to the side of his throat. His body answers with a shiver that hits my heart. I guide his hips. He follows instantly.
“Yeah. Like that, babe,” he says between shivers. “Oh god, don’t stop.”
His body moves. A slow draw in. A deeper sink. His breath breaks. Mine does too.
The sheets tangle around our legs. My arm’s locked around his waist, pulling him in. His hand claws up my bicep. My other hand spreads his cheek up, keeping him open for me.
“More.”
Fuck, he’s so demanding.
“Please.”
He has no idea what he’s begging for.
There’s nothing I want more than to ruin him, but he just woke up, and we have a whole day ahead of us. I can’t have him limping in the shower, in the mess hall, or the MedBay. So I whisper, “Patience, Stan.”
He shivers so hard it rocks both of us.
Our rhythm finds itself. The bed creaks under our weight. His nails keep digging into my arm. His hips meet mine in a steady climb, bringing me closer to release.
I hold him through every second. The sounds of my hips smacking his ass fills our room, echoing off the cabin walls. Over and over again, it’s all I hear, along with the sweet, desperate sounds he makes for me.
I keep going until his voice breaks around a shattered cry. So does my control.
The morning peaks in a rush of heat and the sound of his name in my mouth. His fingers clutch at me like he’s afraid of floating away. I don’t let him. I wouldn’t.
And when he tenses in my arms and comes without either of us touching his cock, I go right with him, sinking my load deep into the warmth of him.
I catch my breath, inhaling the scent of his sweat-damp hair. I should feel way more exhausted after last night and this morning.
But I don’t. Not even close. Maybe that’s how this new clean Kys works. Maybe it’s a miracle. Or maybe it’s a problem. Either way, I’m reaping the damn benefits and prepping him for another round before we decide to wash up.
***
A shower stall’s barely big enough for one person, so stuffing two’s a mistake.
But Stan insists. He grins and says we’ll “fit two in easily.”
Now, I’m pressed against cold tiles while warm water barely hits my back, and the rest of him takes every inch of space like he owns the stall.
He’s singing some song under the spray, eyes closed, dark hair plastered to his forehead.
It’s kinda annoying how he looks so alive, that it makes my chest feel too full, just like how we’re crammed in here.
“Pass me the shampoo,” he says.
“You’re using the bottle as a mic.”
“Oh, right. Wow, you must’ve fucked my brains out.”
If he looked my way, he’d see I’m red to my ears.
Still singing, he squeezes shampoo into his palm and starts working it through his hair, making a mess of white foam. The water runs over his broad shoulders, down his sculpted chest, cutting paths of hard muscles through the suds.
His eyes are slid shut. Mine are too for a second, breathing in how good he smells. Sweet and clean. Smoky and filthy. My mind almost wanders out of my control, but while he’s keeping himself busy, I open my eyes and let myself look.
At his left pec, where there’s a tattoo. A cursive E inked right over his heart. Stark dark against his skin.
I’m not jealous of a letter. I’m not.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t look. I do anyway.
He stands under the water with his shoulders relaxed while suds trail down his body. My eyes take in every hard line of muscle, every ripple of his movements. He’s just washing up, but he looks damn tempting doing it.
But my eyes keep dragging back to that ink.
He breathes out a low sigh and tilts his head back, throat exposed. Foam runs down his neck before the water takes it.
“You’re staring, babe,” he says.
My pulse skips. “Your eyes are closed.”
He grins, eyes still closed. “Yeah, but you stare loud.”
“I’m not staring.”
“Yes, you are.”
He keeps washing his hair with his eyes shut, still smiling, still giving me zero room to move.
Then he whispers, “You can look at it. I don’t mind.”
I frown. “I wasn’t looking at anything.”
He lifts a brow. “Bullshit.”
I don’t answer. He opens his eyes halfway and looks right at me, then lower at himself, right where my gaze was.
“You were looking at my tat.”
I stay quiet.
“You can ask about it,” he says.
I give the thought some time, until the idea twists like my stomach does. “Not right now,” I mumble.
He shrugs. “Hey, I get it.”
He steps back, letting more water hit me. He reaches out with both hands and slides his fingers up my shoulders to my neck. His touch is too warm for this cramped, cold tile box.
“But for the record? You’re allowed to look,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m yours to look at.”
I hold back a pleased groan. He bends his head down and kisses the spot above my collarbone. It feels wet, warm, and way too quick for my liking.
“Want me to wash your hair, Ocean Eyes, or should we keep having this strange staring contest?”
He turns me toward the water before I say anything, hands firm on my shoulders, his chest touching my back.
“I’ll wash your hair and give you a scalp massage,” he says. “You deserve it after dicking me down so good.”