10. Still Raining
10
STILL RAINING
PRENTICE
Mal collapsed on top of me, and I was deeply grateful. Without his weight on me, I would have flown apart. Shattered into a million tiny pieces. Evaporated.
Something.
His weight centered me. His heat comforted me. I felt my heart beating against his rib cage, too fast to count.
Every muscle in my body fell limp. My thighs flopped open, still cradling Mal’s hips. My feet hung down into the footwell, but there was nothing to be done about that. My arms, flung out in my final spasms of explosion, were no longer fully connected to my body.
And Mal.
Mal Becker.
My hero since first grade.
He lay above me—he lay on me—as his breaths came back to normal.
My arms were attached after all. I lifted them so I could slide my hands along his ribs to feel his muscles, to be sure he was really here—had really wanted me—had made me come so hard, I was surprised my skull was still attached to my spine.
And he was. It was Mal.
“God,” I said, lazy and happy and overwhelmed.
He exhaled in a heavy sigh and rolled off me far enough to be able to see me with one beautiful blue eye. “Now are you done?”
I laughed and pinched those naked ribs. He flinched, and the half of his mouth I could see lifted in a grin. “For now. For now.”
He chuckled, and we lay in silence. Breath, like wind, is almost always invisible—but if ours could be seen, we would be exhaling ribbons of contentment, twisting and wrapping together in lazy coils before evaporating into mystery. “It’s still raining,” he said. “Hard. Like background noise. I stopped hearing it after a while. Was it raining the whole time?”
I rolled to him and nudged his face with my chin until I could get to his whole mouth. I pressed a kiss there. “I have no idea,” I said. “I was a little distracted.”
He rolled all the way off me and onto his side. “Hang on—condom. Uh, garbage? Shall I just fling this overboard?”
“Nah. Gross. See the little baggie on the side? Yeah.”
“So, is there a blanket?”
“The cabinet under the side bunk. Port side. No, port. Port, Mal. Port is left is red.”
He muttered as he got it figured out and pulled out the soft cotton quilt I kept on board for overnights. “There are pillows in here.”
“Do they smell moldy?”
“Ew. Do I need to—no, they smell okay to me.”
“Gimme.”
We each got a pillow, and he covered us with the quilt. Then he usurped my pillow but made up for it by pulling me onto his glorious, wide chest to hold me.
The relaxation was overwhelming. I drifted in and out of sleep, and I assumed he did the same. When I came aware again, the rain had stopped.
“Not meaning to be crude,” he said, “but is there a bathroom?”
“That you can do over the side,” I murmured.
“Really? What if?—”
“I’ll give you a rope. Hang your admirable posterior overboard. Poop and be happy.”
“No shit?”
“Well . . .”
He tickled me. “Obviously, some shit. All right. Show me.”
“Coffee will do that to a guy. Come on.”
“Wait, you want to put some clothes on first?”
“I’m telling you, there’s no one out there to see. Promise. Hard to imagine there’s an empty place this close to Manhattan on Long Island, but this is it. Let’s go.”
The air was chilly and rich with moisture. My naked flesh came out in goosebumps, which Mal enjoyed until I pointed out that his was the same. I got him the roll of biodegradable toilet paper and tied the rope to the mast and left him to his own devices.
By the time he shivered his way back into the cabin, I had my next round of supplies laid out.
“Here you go,” I said. “Sweatpants, courtesy of my brother. They’ll be too short, but here are some wool socks, and a rather handsome cable-knit sweater in always-fashionable ivory, which I gave him for his birthday years ago and he never wore.”
“Well, if you’re going to dress . . .” He eyed my ancient flannel shirt, worn and barely buttoned over nothing at all. I was feeling quite daring.
“And then lunch. I have more coffee if your thermos is empty, and here’s a pasta salad I made with my own two hands, plus some grapes. And I have bottles of water. Anything look good?”
“Sit here with me and we’ll eat.” He propped one of the pillows against the bulkhead, and there was just enough room to hold me while we fed each other like a romance movie. I was filled with a post-orgasmic contentment, and Mal made me feel cherished.
“This is a pretty sweet life you’ve got going here,” he said with a smile.
“I’m lucky. There are downsides.”
He laughed, a huge sound that filled the cabin and my soul. “I don’t believe it. I choose to believe that cooler is always filled. The duffel bag is magic—whatever you want, you can pull it out. And there’s always a secluded, secret cove you can find when you want to pee over the side naked.”
“Right. That’s exactly it.”
“I’m sure.” He scanned the cabin. “Seriously, how much does a boat like this cost? I mean, if I actually took to sailing and wasn’t just trying to get into your pants?”
I kissed his nose. “It’s not just the boat. You buy that, you have to dock it somewhere, so you need harbor fees. There’s insurance and upkeep, and I bought new sails last year . . . it adds up. People say a sailboat is a hole in the water lined in money.”
He liked the description and eyed me with suspicion. “Just how much money do you make, anyway?”
I answered promptly. “Twenty-two thousand a year, plus benefits.”
He snorted, amused. “I guess I asked the wrong question.”
The issue of money often came up among those who were born less lucky than me, and I tried to always keep firmly in mind the massive good fortune of being born into generational wealth. “It’s possible I augment that with a small legacy from my grandmother.”
“Ah. Trust fund. Nice. I guess I’m glad I’m beginning to have some success of my own so you don’t think I’m after you for your money, huh?”
His warmth and gentle teasing eased my worry about the fortune I’d inherited. “You probably know that I’ve had a huge crush on you since Shield Academy,” I said.
“Really?” he said politely.
I laughed. “Yes, really, which I’m sure you knew. I wasn’t very subtle.”
“At the time, I was more interested in beating the crap out of the bully than I was with rescuing the fair maiden.”
“Well, I appreciated it anyway. And I’ve learned how to rescue myself now, so that worked out. But I just wanted to say that I had a lot of fantasies about you.”
His eyebrows went up. He looked away from the pasta salad with more interest. “You did? Like what?”
I stroked his cheek because I could. “Most of them would bore you. I was very sweet and virginal for a long time. They only got more X-rated during college, when I learned what all those body parts were for.”
“I’d like to hear any fantasy you’d care to tell me,” he said, managing to combine loyalty and lewdness in one sentence.
“It wouldn’t matter. None of them were as good as what just happened here. And I never thought about sex in my boat—not until my mother stopped me from attacking you last night. And I felt the rain coming this morning.”
“I never thought about sex in a boat, either, but it’s going to feature prominently in my fantasies from now on.” He grabbed my pasta bowl and set it unceremoniously at the head of the coffin. He rolled me over and unbuttoned my flannel. “Sex in a boat is my new turn-on. The water has more give to it than a mattress, you know? I feel like it made a difference.”
“Maybe it did.” I held his dark head to my chest as he nuzzled my breasts. “It sure felt better than usual.”
“So much better,” he agreed. He took my nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, which pretty much ended that conversation. “How long can we stay here?” he asked.
I stroked his head. “I’ve got dinner, and we’ve still got scones left over for breakfast.”
He looked up. “You want to spend the night here?”
I shrugged. “I have running lights. We can sail at night if you want, but I’d prefer not to.”
He fell over my hip to his side and regarded me. “No one will worry about you?”
“I’ll text Kimmy and tell her I’m going to be a little late, and I’ll call my mom and tell her I’m waiting out the rain. She’ll be fine. She always worries about storms and will be glad I’m not trying to get home while the rain is so heavy.”
“Will you tell her you’re with me?”
I watched him. What did he want me to say? “I’m not sure. What do you think?”
He shook his head. “Tell that scary lady I’m sleeping with her daughter? I’d rather you didn’t. She’d display my balls along with all the others she’s taken in her trophy room.”
I shrugged. “She only displays heads.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It is when you think about how I have plans for those balls.”
“Yeah?”
I pushed him flat. My turn. “Yeah.”
His body was . . . mm. Lots of men lift weights and spend hours in the gym and never come close to looking as good as Mal did naked in the cabin of my boat. I hadn’t been making it up about him exceeding my fantasies. I’d had three lovers in the past, and Mal had reset my standards completely, just by lying flat in my boat. What other guys? I had no idea who else was even in the same class. “I think I need to do some taste tests,” I said.
A slow grin transformed his face. “Taste tests?”
Oh, he liked the mention. Of course he did. He was a hero first and foremost, but he was also a male hero. I’m coming for you, handsome.
“Yeah. Taste tests. Like, the skin at the base of your neck.” I licked in the hollow above his breastbone and he sighed. “Does that skin taste the same as the stuff over here at the outside of your shoulder? Take off this sweater and let me check.”
He rose far enough to shrug out of the cable-knit. I pressed a kiss to the muscle there and let my tongue peep out to savor him.
“Does it taste the same?” he asked.
“Maybe. Let me try again. You know, the skin at your neck tastes more . . . like Mal. The one out here tastes like rain. And wool.”
“Huh. What do I taste like here?” He touched his stomach and I laughed.
“Who’s conducting this test? Please respect the science! Lie down. Let me see.” I reversed my position, pointing my legs toward his head and trailed my tongue in a circle around his belly button. That made him giggle. “The skin here is more . . . linty? Is that a word?”
“I don’t taste like lint!”
“Your opinion does not matter in this testing protocol. If I say you’re linty, then you’re linty.”
He was laughing. “Okay, I surrender. I’m linty. I’ll need to wash better.”
“I didn’t say it was bad. It’s actually quite nice. Where do you suggest I sample next?”
His eyes were smiling. He tugged the drawstring on the sweatpants and pulled the waist down. “Hip bone?”
We were both pretending I couldn’t see his arousal, pushing the sweatpants into an impressive peak. Neither of us acknowledged that his hand slid from my thigh, under my shirt, and onto the curve of my butt. “Hip bone. Yes, let me sample that skin.”
Mal had a beautiful, strong waist and natural striations in his muscles that flexed when I lowered my head to lick the skin that lay over his hip. I heard him swallow. It sounded like a muffled groan.
“In truth,” I said when I lifted my head to look at him, “it tastes a bit like wet denim here.”
“Does it really? Is that gross?”
“Not gross. A little exciting, given that the wet denim is no longer covering this place.”
“Oh. That’s right. It’s not.” Had he been rendered stupid by the proximity of my head to his groin? That’s power.
“You seem to have a thing for knees,” I observed.
“Knees? Not, you know, a little further inland from where you are now?” he asked hopefully.
“Well, maybe.” I pulled down on the sweatpants and he raised his hips. His cock sprang up between us, and I had to force myself to keep going. “Knees,” I said firmly. “What is it about them that interests you?”
I slid down to lay my head on his thigh, exhaling a hot breath over the naked skin of his knee.
“Not actually the knee,” he admitted hoarsely. “The tender place behind the knee. Oh, damn, that does feel good.”
It was easy and surprisingly erotic to slide my fingers under his leg to stroke along the crease behind his knee. To taste it, I had to make him lift his leg and duck my head under. It made us both laugh, and I announced that he tasted warm there.
“Yeah? What does warm taste like?”
“It tastes good. Now I’m going to make a prediction,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to predict what the next tasting sample is going to taste like.”
“Are you? What do you think?”
I lifted my head from his thigh and slid up his leg. “I think it’s going to taste like me.”
He gasped as I licked his penis: a long swipe over the thick head, from ridge to crest, gathering up one glistening taste of precum at the tip.
“Yes,” I said with satisfaction. “Like me. And you. Together.”
“Try again,” he said hoarsely. “Will you?”
“Oh, absolutely. An accurate test should have many samples.”
I licked him as his fingers slid to my center. He was an ice cream cone, and I needed to catch all sides, keep things even. When he was fully wet from my mouth, I opened wider and slid him inside, closing my lips over the ridge and wrapping the head with my tongue.
He groaned and slid one long finger into me.
Oh yes. Feel me. Just like that.
I shifted so I could crouch over him without moving my hips from the range of his hand. He stroked down my thigh, and I gasped when he lifted my leg over his head.
“Come down,” he said. “Onto my face. So I can lick you too.”
Oh, glory.
I lowered myself to him and took his cock in my mouth. We had a conversation of licks. Softness. Firmness. Slow, fast. Deep, shallow. He used his fingers as well as his tongue, so I cupped his balls in my hand and used the other fingers to shaft his penis.
It was sweet—and it was torment. I couldn’t focus on his tongue long enough to come and still make him moan with my mouth, and I think he had the same issue. We ended up gasping and then laughing.
“Ride me,” he said. “Find a condom and then ride my cock like you’ve been riding my tongue.”
“Yes, yes, that’s what I want.”
I felt empty once I’d moved away from his fingers, but the condoms were in the side pouch of my duffel, and I found them quickly. “Shall I do it?” I asked.
He grinned. “Go ahead. Get it all the way down.”
“I know. How’s that?”
“G-good. Ah, yeah. Get up on me. Come on, hurry up.”
His impatience made me proud. I had more headroom under the mast than he did by the bow, so there was room for me to sit up tall as I centered myself over him. “Slow at first, remember?” I warned him.
He nodded, his hands on my hips. “You’re in charge. Go as fast or as slow as you . . . ah. Ah, there. Oh, there. Yeah.”
Perhaps the position helped; perhaps our earlier bout had opened me. Either way, I was able to get him deep inside me without too many delays. By the time I was firm against his hips, I could feel him deep inside me.
“Good,” he said on a groan. “So hot. God, Prentice, you’re so tight.”
I was already panting, but I had enough extra energy for half a grin. “So good. Feels so good.”
I lifted just a little for the bliss of sliding back down onto him again. I groaned, and he did too.
“Do that again?” he asked.
“Yeah.” This time, I pulled a little higher and sat a little more quickly. My breath was forced from my lungs, and I shivered at the invasion. I could already tell that the pace, now so slow as to be almost maddening, was going to pick up. I wasn’t going to be able to resist.
The sight of Mal below me, naked and wanting me, created a clock spring at the base of my spine. And every movement tightened that spring. Not much—just a little. But the effect began to be cumulative.
I shifted forward, which felt different. Wonderful.
Then I put my hands on his knees and leaned back on my arms. That pushed the head of his cock against the spot where fireworks grew. I threw my head back and gave up any rational thought. I bounced without restraint on his hardness.
I was winding up tighter. He was staring at me with intense focus. And then, instead of lying still below me, Mal thrust his hips up into me.
I gasped and fell forward. He caught me, but I shook off his arms. I braced myself on his broad shoulders. “Again,” I said. “Do it again. Use the water below us. Again.”
And he did it again. I half crouched over him while he fucked up into me, stirring madness inside me. He was so huge, it felt like he was rearranging my internal organs, and the watch spring let out warning peeps of lights behind my eyes.
“Can you go . . . faster . . . yes. Oh god, yes, oh!”
I screamed when the spring inside me burst out, shoving waves of energy and blinding, scalding whiteness across the backs of my eyelids. I fell forward, shaking, and Mal held me as he came too. It went on and on.
And then I was the one limp on top of him.
“No,” he said when I tried to get off him. “Stay right there.”
“But—” and then I couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence.
He shifted my hips up, and I gasped as he came out of me. He reached behind my ass and fumbled, apparently getting the condom. He found the blanket and dragged it over us. Then, with my legs bent on either side of his hips and my chest pressed to his, he held my head against him, and I fell asleep.
The portholes showed darkness when I woke up. The only light was from my batteries. Mal’s breathing was deep and even below me, and his arms were still holding me close. The rain had started again. He must have known I was awake.
“You said something about dinner, didn’t you?” he said with a definite leer in his voice.