CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
C al
Flames dart in the fire pit, crackling pleasantly, and Jason beams at me with obvious pride.
“You’re incredible.” The words tumble out as I yank him into a hug. His sharp intake of breath makes me pause, but when our eyes meet, his expression has gone soft.
“It was nothing,” he grumbles, voice gruff, but he doesn’t step from my arms.
“We don’t have to talk about last night,” I assure.
“Oh?” His voice is hoarse, and I can’t help but smile.
I didn’t imagine last night. It wasn’t a dream.
“I get it. It’s fine,” I tell him.
In the next moment he’s closing the distance between us, and suddenly the only thing I can think of is the color of his eyes. The world is azure blue. Part of me wants to run back to the beach, run into the ocean.
But another part of me... Oh, God. Another part of me wants anything else.
Something desperate stirs behind his gaze. Then it vanishes, replaced by the kind of resolve I’ve seen him have on the ice.
“I can’t make you promises. You’re the only man I’ve, uh, been with, and...”
“Now you’re talking too much.” I swing my arms around him and pull him closer.
His grumpy expression softens. “Oh, yeah?”
“It was bound to happen sometime.”
He huffs out a laugh.
I move my lips closer, because this is where I’m going to be brave, this is where I’m going to kiss him, but instead he pulls me into his arms.
And then we’re kissing.
Truly kissing.
He pulls away. “Normally my breath is better.”
“You’re excused. Mine isn’t...”
He puts a finger on my lips. “You’re fine, Cal. Really.”
I’m sure my eyes are narrowing, because he grins, and his eyes soften.
“Like couples who eat garlic together.” His skin turns scarlet. “Not that...” His Adam’s apple moves. “I mean, I guess we could be.” He knits his brow, and his eyes are rounder than before.
Did he imply that one day we could be a couple? His cheeks are red.
“I mean, when we return to Boston, I’m sure you have lots of other, um, options...” His voice is gruff, his cheeks red.
I smile. “Too much talking.”
His shoulders sink.
“No one is here,” I remind him. “No one will know, unless you want them to.”
He glances at me warily.
He’s probably thinking about the fact I’m a literal journalist.
I give an awkward smile. “I won’t put anything about that in my article, Jason. I swear. I get being closeted. I do.”
I personally haven’t been closeted since high school, but I remember the fear.
I haven’t forgotten that. I remember the uncertainty.
My sister Tessa is pretty cool, but I was surrounded with people who went to Church every week, who talked about ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ and where the introductions to the Bibles written for teenagers referenced homosexual behavior as on the no list. I know, I got those same Bibles.
Turns out, those people around me weren’t that bad. But I remember the fear. It could have gone differently.
“I would never out anyone,” I say. “I promise.”
“I like women too. I’m not... I didn’t make that up.”
I nod slowly. Something in my chest fizzles. “I-I get it.”
I have friends who would say I shouldn’t have anything to do with him.
He’s focused on my face, searching me.
“But I like you too,” he continues. “I’ve liked you a really long time.”
Then his lips are on me once again. They move desperately, sucking on my neck, my earlobes.
I press him against the coconut tree, and when a plonk sounds, he laughs.
We stare at a fallen coconut near our feet.
“Clearly, we should have tried kissing instead of striking coconuts using the rock-and-stick method,” Jason says.
I laugh. “Kissing makes everything better.”
“Do you want to lie on the beach?” Jason asks. His tone is awkward, as if he thinks I’ve changed my mind and don’t want him anymore.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
“That sounds good,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
And then he takes my hand and leads me to my folded-up khakis, still stuffed with leaves. He moves them to a shady section of the shore, puffs my khakis, then we lay down on it.
And we kiss some more.
Jason lies on top of me, and I don’t miss the way he licks his lips. I don’t miss the hunger in his eyes. And I don’t miss the frantic way he kisses me, as if he wants to memorize each part of my body.
My cock hardens. His cock hardens. I reach out to touch his tentatively, and he shudders.
“You like that?” I murmur, grinning.
“I-I do.”
I roll on top of him, settling between his legs. He gazes up at me, surprised, and for a moment I wonder if this is too much.
But the smile on his lips says he’s happy, and when I tear off his sunglasses, there’s something like wonder in his eyes.
I kiss him hard, sucking on his tongue. I move on to other parts of his body. Other parts of his body I’ve thought about for the past days. Other parts of his body I’ve longed to lick, long to suck on, longed to kiss.
I do it all now and attack him in the best way possible.
JASON
I’m being manhandled. I’m being kissed all over. The sun beams are bright, but the warmth that moves through me is because of the man on top of me.
Cal.
The man I’ve been thinking about for over a decade. A man I thought completely hated me. A man who... Well, I’m happy we’re doing what we’re doing now.
Adrenalines surges through me, and the world is crisp and clear and colorful.
This is happening. All the times I’ve thought to myself that this is probably something I would enjoy, all the things I thought would never happen to me, well, they’re occurring.
His cock presses against mine. It’s hard. Mine stretches to meet it. My swim trunks must look obscene. My gaze drifts to his briefs, and I’m so fucking glad I don’t have to turn away, don’t have to pretend that his bulge doesn’t affect me.
I move my fingers over the still wet briefs with reverence. His cock is stuffed inside, filling it. My mouth waters.
Cal pauses his kisses and watches me, his expression carefully blank. “You don’t have to do anything with that.”
I wish he would pull his briefs down. Let me see. Let me not need to ask for the things I’m not supposed to ask for, the things I’m not supposed to want.
My father’s words dart through my mind, joined by my grandfather’s. I’m doing all the things they deride. I’m confirming all the things they would hate to know I’m doing, all the things I’ve told myself over the years I don’t want to do, the desires I’ve labeled as intrusive thoughts.
Because even before I met Cal, Dad and Gramps made it clear Larvik men liked women.
I could feel their gazes on me when we watched swimming during the Olympics, when the room felt like someone had set fire to it, but the only person aware of it was me.
I could feel my shoulders squaring, trying to keep my expression neutral and bored, even when I was confronted with round butts and interesting packages and masculine figures that made my blood sing as if I were watching a music video with sexy female singers.
Cal feels so good.
I’m tired of saying no, of pretending I don’t crave this. And Jesus Christ, Cal is so amazing. I’m tired of lying to him and telling him I’m not interested in things I am interested in. I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice his body, don’t want to burrow against his soft torso and thick thighs.
Because I’ve been noticing him for years. Maybe I didn’t see him this past decade, but he featured in my dreams. I’ve thought about our kiss as teenagers more than I have any other kiss.
And now his cock is right before me, swathed in wet, dripping cotton.
I reach for it, then my skin heats.
“You can touch it,” he says. “If you want. You don’t have to.”
His kindness and consideration melt me. He’s used to experienced men. Men who know what they want. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to worship his body.
“I-I want to touch it,” I say.
“Yeah?” He eases his briefs down, taking his time. More skin shows. My mouth waters.
Because of all the things I thought would happen in my life, being in a tropical paradise with a sexy man was not on my list. When I saw Cal for the first time, I was embarrassed. I hated that my eyes still drifted to him, and I despised the wariness I saw in his when he looked at me.
I move my hands to his hips, feeling his firm hip bone. He’s not rounded there like a woman.
His briefs aren’t fully dry yet, and they stick to his skin.
“Let me,” I whisper.
He stops, and I tuck my fingers underneath his briefs and pull them down.
And then there he is.
There is his cock.
Pink and throbbing and leaking and sticking straight up against his stomach.
My nerves zing, but I don’t move toward him. I am a statue, as surely as if Medusa herself has cursed me.
Cal’s expression falters, and he swivels away from my grasp. He collapses beside me. “I guess it must look strange.”
Something squeezes around my chest.
“Your cock doesn’t look strange,” I say finally.
“I suppose that’s good...”
“Sorry. That came out wrong.”
His lips swerve up, but the gesture is too forced for some reason.
“Can I touch it?” I ask.
He eyes me. “You don’t have to.”
I flop toward him. “I’m into this.”
“But you—”
“I hesitated. But I do like it. I like you.” My skin heats, because I’m not sure that’s something I like admitting to anyone.
I move my hand over his cock. It’s deflated somewhat, but it soon hardens under my touch. I move my fingers over him how I like my own fingers to move.
I trace the ridges of his cock, exploring his velvety shaft. It’s like my own, but different. A bit thicker, a bit straighter. It doesn’t wobble to the left like mine does.
It’s beautiful. Like him.
“I wondered what it would like,” I admit.
“You’ve been thinking about it?”
“Yeah.”
This time his smile is less forced.
Pre-cum spills from the top of his cock.
“I’m inexperienced,” I admit. “I-I don’t know how to make you feel good. Not really.”
“You make me feel good now. And that’s a fact.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but...”
“Don’t get in your head.” Cal settles back on top of me, and my cock springs to life, enjoying the feel of all those masculine planes pressed against mine in exactly the manner I like.
The rapid beating of my heart quiets under his weight, and my body relaxes, as if every cell in my body is now happy to be close to him.
My cock is hard against his. It jerks up to meet his.
“You know,” Cal says thoughtfully, his succulent lips swerving into something resembling a smirk, “you’re not naked.”
“I could be.”
“You should be.”
He rolls off me, and for a moment I hate it. For a moment, I want to reach out to touch him. For a moment, I miss him desperately.
But then his hands are on me again. He unwinds the knot on my trunks, then slides them down. My cock pops out, hard and leaking.
I squirm. “It, uh, turns to the side.”
“It’s magnificent,” he declares, his tone serious.
I let out a strangled laugh, and he grins.
I reach for him again, and this time he topples down beside me. This time when my cock touches his, no fabric separates it.
I give a startled moan. “That’s, uh...”
It’s good.
It’s fantastic.
The world disappears, the jungle, the sand, the ocean. Life is him and me, and life is fucking amazing.
I move my cock against his, then he joins me.
My cock pulses against his cock.
Our pre-cum smears together, like our sweat, like our open-mouthed kisses.
Yes, that definitely, definitely feels good.
“Keep on doing that,” I say between pants.
“I’ve got you,” he promises, and when I stare up into his eyes, I’m certain he does.