Chapter 54 #2
I’m pretty sure we’re both going to be covered in bruises by the end of this, but that’s shit for later. Right now, all I care about is having this shag.
“Don’t stop,” he gasps in my mouth.
“Wasn’t planning on it, princess.”
Somehow, he manages to twist us around and I'm flat on my stomach now.
Has he done this before? It seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t about to waste a second. I barely have time to adjust before I feel his fingers, slick with spit, teasing my hole.
He slides the first one inside, my body tensing instinctively. It’s a stretch, a burn, but it’s him, and I want all of it. Then a second finger follows, and I gasp, gripping at whatever I can. His arm, the door, anything to keep myself from not collapsing.
“You think you can handle a bit of roughness today?” His voice is husky and dripping with want. “If you can’t, I’ll slow down. But— fuck, baby, I’m very needy for your ass right now.”
“Just...just do me,” I pant, biting down hard as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Is it painful? A hard yes. Do I want it? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“Okay, how do we do this?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.
Before I can even think it through, he’s already moving. His arm slides beneath my waist, lifting me effortlessly into position. On my knees.
“Brace yourself.”
He spits into his hand, slicking me up before I feel his warm, hard cock sink inside.
The stretch is overwhelming, every nerve in my body alight as I feel him filling me completely. My breath is somewhere low in my gut, and for a moment, I swear I can’t even see anything anymore.
He bends over my back, his body pressing into mine as he moves, careful not to hit his head against the ceiling with each thrust.
The small space amplifies every sound—the spit he hurls on his palm to coat us, the wet slide of his cock fucking me, his deep, short groans, my shaky, broken moans.
“Fuck,” I hiss, gripping the leather beneath me as his hips meet mine again and again. Pain and pleasure blur until my head goes light. He’s so deep at this angle, I swear he’s rearranging my insides.
“You’re straining off my blood flow,” he growls, slapping my ass so hard my hole clenches and unclenches for a second with the shock.
A string of curses in Avalon-Porglish before his movements grow more rough.
“How’s that brain of yours in that fucking blender, baby?”
All I get out is something close to a cut-off gasp. I catch his palm pressed to the snowy window, heat blooming a handprint into the glass, proof that this is real. That this is happening, wherever the fuck we are.
I’m not going to last much longer. I know it. And by the way his restrained noises have turned into raw, desperate sounds, I know he’s on the edge too. His vocal cords seem to vibrate with every thrust, matching the fast pace of his hips.
“Love,” I gasp, my voice softer than the sound of our bodies colliding and the wet, frantic strokes of his hand on my cock.
He’s jerking me off like he’s trying to send me somewhere past the moon, like this moment is the only thing that matters, like he can’t get enough of me.
The pressure becomes unbearable, my body squirming as I start to lose myself. I can feel him everywhere. Inside me, around me, consuming me completely.
“Baby,” he pants, his breath burning against my nape. “You… you feel so fucking made for me.”
With one last thrust and the tight stroke of his hand, I’m gone. Everything breaks inside me as my release hits so hard, it puts my car's suspension to the test.
His thrusts become erratic, grip on my hips tightening as his cock swells, releasing deep inside me. His body shudders with it, a guttural, broken moan tearing from him that takes me right back into the high.
For a moment, all that exists is the sound of our heavy breathing and the faint creak of the car as we collapse together. I close my eyes, falling asleep with him warm inside me and his heart hammering like a second pulse against my back.
It’s somewhere deep in the night and we’re lounging on the backseat. Yosh has propped himself against the door. He looks way more comfortable than I thought possible in this cramped setup. My head’s on his lap, legs bent awkwardly so I can fit across the backseat.
After cleaning up our mess, we dug out a couple of old hoodies from the trunk. They must’ve been sitting there for ages judging by the musty smell. Slightly disgusting? Absolutely. But right now, they’re keeping us warm.
I take a sip of hot water from my thermos.
It’s safe to say I did good by stocking up at the gas station, because Mister I’m not hungry, who’s actually always hungry, has already eaten one and a half containers of ramen and two chicken-cucumber sandwiches. Now he’s working on an apple.
Good thing he’s traveling with a retired rockstar. The gas station’s basically my supermarket, and I always pack enough food to cross a continent. The tank’s full too, so we can run the engine every half hour and keep the heat going.
Even in this shitshow, I’d managed to do some stuff right.
“Where do you think we are?” he asks, his mouth half full of apple.
“Got no clue, I was in a state.”
A sweet little lie.
He gives me that look that usually drags my last name behind it, not this time. He reaches forward, digging blindly beneath the front seat.
“What are you looking for?”
“Your first aid kit. There should be a thermal blanket in there. We’ll need it when we turn the engine off.”
“It should be there,” I say, setting the thermos aside to help. “I’m pretty sure I threw one in there ages ago.”
“Found it,” he says, pulling out a small red kit. The zipper crackles as he opens it, taking out a thin silver mylar blanket. His satisfied smirk tells me he’s fishing for a compliment.
“Good call, Doctor. I like how you’re always thinking ahead.”
“Someone has to,” he teases, brushing a kiss into my hair. His shoulders loosen beneath me, and I settle snug against his chest.
He’s so damn easy to please.
After turning off the engine, I spread the blanket over us, tucking it around his shoulders before wrapping it over myself. The material crinkles loudly in the car, but then it’s just the sounds of us again. Darkness surrounds us, no cars passing by.
Before I parked earlier, I thought I saw a minivan just ahead, but the snow had blurred most of my view. I can only hope that everyone stopping next to the road is as okay as we are.
“You know,” I say after a moment, my head now resting against his shoulder. “This is probably the weirdest place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”
Yosh laughs softly, his breath a soft gush against my temples. “Same. Weird, but it feels safe. With you.”
I don’t respond right away, but I reach up, my hand finds his on the blanket. Our fingers lace together, holding on to each other.
“Yoshiro,” he sighs, “that’s how my mom used to call me when I was a child.” I look up and find him smiling, nostalgia sparkling in his eyes.
“Your mom?” I ask. This is the first time he’s mentioning her, or anything about his family at all.
“She’s from Maui. Surfing was her whole life. She met my father while he was staying at the resort where she’d just won gold in a major competition. For reasons I’ll never understand, she left everything behind and ran off with him after only two days. She died when I was six.”
Six. I can picture him that small and not knowing what’s happening or how to deal with that kind of loss. It scratches deep at the spot where I carry all my love for him. My instinct tells me to move closer, fast.
“I’m sorry” I say, holding him tighter.
“A couple of years ago I legally changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name, Aoki. She’s half Japanese.”
“What was she like, your mom? Do you remember her well?”
“Some things. I remember the way she smelled. She always wore this perfume that smelled like vanilla and patchouli. She was full of light. Running around barefoot through the gardens, dancing with an umbrella in her hand while there was no rain at all! And she could talk so fast about a thousand things at once.”
I smile at him as I squeeze his fingers.
“I saw her in tears more often than I should have. She wasn’t always happy, but when she smiled, it was only meant for me, and nothing else in the world mattered.
She used to tell me I was her senkō hanabi, a Japanese sparkler.
Her name was Noelani. I don’t have a real photo of her.
Just a print from a local newspaper reporting on the surf competitions.
My nanny used to tell us stories about her in secret. We weren’t allowed to talk about Mom.”
He reaches for his wallet, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper.
He hands me the photo, and I take it carefully, afraid it might tear in my hands.
The image is faded, the edges frayed, but the young woman in the wetsuit holding the board wears the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.
There’s a certain fierceness in her eyes that tells me she owned every wave she ever rode.
“Oh my god, you’re surfing her board!” I say, pointing at the photo.
“Sharp eye, McKenna.” It earns me another kiss in my curls.
“It’s inspired by Mount Fuji and the rising sun. She designed it herself.”
“Amazing it’s been preserved so well for so long. ”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly. I surf replicas. Boards don’t last forever, no matter how well you take care of them. There’s this company in Australia that custom-builds them for me, so every few years I order a new one.”
I let out a small hum of understanding, stealing another glance at the photo. “She’s beautiful,” I say, looking back at him. “You look a lot like her.”
He exhales, almost like he’s relieved, maybe still a bit uncomfortable about sharing this piece of his past with me. I don’t think he’s ever told Tiffy anything about his family
“Thanks for sharing this with me.”
He tucks the photo back into his wallet, then slides it away.
Since he’s already in a sharing mood, I wonder if I should bring up his father. Maybe I can ask him about his Scottish roots? That feels a safer entry point than diving straight into the Alistair Fennbrae conversation.
I don’t know much about the guy, other than that he’s the man behind Fennbrae Technologies. My eyes drift to my Fhone 7.2 in the cupholder. It’s the latest version of a device that practically everyone in the world owns. It holds my entire life: my music, my notes, my photos, my conversations.
I swallow hard. The more I sit with it, the more it scares the living shit out of me. I need to know more about him. About all of it. Best to do that the only way I know how.
“So…Fennbrae? It all makes sense now.”
“What makes sense?”
“You must have Viking blood in you. I’ve got a Viking radar.”
First he gives me eyes like jar lids, then they narrow, studying me musing and curious.
“Oh? You have a Viking radar, McKenna? Explain that to me.”
“Nothing to explain.” I answer quickly.
His mouth spreads into a wide grin, sharp canines flashing.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I have a type. I’m into Vikings. Strong, muscled, long-haired Vikings. Now you know.”
“Hah. Who would have guessed. Lucky for you, I’m a descendant of various warriors.”
Heat creeps into my face. He loves it.
I nudge his knee. “The Fennbraes are from Inverness, right?”
He makes a low sound of disapproval and folds his arms. Just like that, I’ve pushed too far.
“I get we’re having this conversation, but please, don’t use my birth name. And don’t ever call me Joshua. That person doesn’t exist anymore.”
So it’s not just a name. It’s an entire life he’s erased.
“Okay.” I raise my hands in surrender.
He points a finger close to my face. “I’m serious about this. Don’t ever search my name online. Promise me.”
A tense laugh almost slips out as I arch a brow. Telling me not to do something feels like a golden invitation on a silver plate.
I hadn’t even thought about it. But now? How can I not?
I’m pretty sure he’s already done his research on me, dug up every messy skeleton in my closet.
No. I should honor his wishes. That’s the only right thing to do as his boyfriend.
The silence stretches. I know I shouldn’t, but the question slips out before I can stop it.
“And your father? You still in touch with him?”
“There’s a reason I changed my name. I don’t want anything to do with him anymore.”
He turns away, shoulders tight. Chaos is having its moment of anarchy in his head.
With my fingers splayed on his face, I search for answers he won’t say out loud.
I need to know.
He’s not giving me verbal confirmation, so I read his eyes where the glimmers fade into a cloudy, death-like haze, and his breathing starts breaking too.
Fuck.
“Piece of shit,” I mutter under my breath, guiding his face against my chest.
“You don’t have to talk, okay? Only when you’re ready.”
He nods against me.
“You’re safe. Right here, in this snowed-in car, and no one gets to take this from us.” I kiss him softly, watching the light return to his eyes like a candle finding oxygen.
I get it now, why his mother called him a sparkler. And being allowed to see what she saw feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever known. It awakens something fierce in me. I need to guard that light with everything I have.
His hand disappears under my hoodie, settling on my chest. It calms us both.
“Let’s… let’s forget about everything, okay? My family, your family. Just us tonight.”
“Okay,” I whisper, the word leaving me on a contented sigh.
We’re stuck here. Hidden from a past he’s not ready to face and a future I’m still figuring out. But when the storm clears, I’m sure we’ll find our way home.