5. Nick #2
The weight of him in my mouth does something to me. Feeds a long-neglected yearning and unleashes a dormant hunger, all at once. My throat is sticky and thick with his pre-cum, my saliva. And God, how it aches. Not from him hitting the back of it, but from him not hitting it hard enough.
I grab his hips, thumbs digging into those grooves of muscle as I move. Barely breathing, stuffing my mouth with him as if I can make him fill me everywhere. Make him a part of me.
His cock rams the self-consciousness right out of me. It batters every thought from my head.
It only takes a few strokes for me to spiral into a sloppy, desperate wreck. Drool dripping down my chin, tongue lapping the salt from his head with each withdrawal. One hand palming his balls and the other making a slow path over ridges of muscle to tweak his nipple again.
When he groans, I groan. When his cock throbs against my tongue, mine weeps in my sweatpants, leaking so damn bad that I begin to wonder if I’m going to come in my pants just from sucking Seth’s dick.
When he thrusts forward, I push myself down until I’m gagging.
Dragging the scent of him through my nostrils in deep pulls like the addict I am.
“Goddamn your mouth feels so fucking good,” he gasps, his hand tightening in my hair.
I look up, following the path of his forearm flexing to the tight bunch of his pectoral muscles, his abs, to his trembling thighs. I think I hear him whimper, but then I see the slow smile spreading across his cheeks and realize the sound came from me.
His knee bends and rotates. A socked foot nudges my erection, the side of his arch grazing the length of my shaft. And without shame or hesitation, I rub myself against him. Frantic for anything. Any contact at all.
Never thought I gave a shit about feet, but I don’t think there’s a single part of Seth that could touch me without turning me on.
“Touch yourself,” he breathes, applying pressure with the ball of his foot until I groan. “Show me. I wanna see you.”
I don’t think. I obey. I take his foot, squeeze it before setting it aside, and pull out my cock. Fisting the base. He groans like he likes what he sees. Like he loves how flushed and slick I am from sucking on him, strands of pre-cum sticking to my thumb and foreskin as I spread it around.
I stroke, and he pulls my head back down. Bracing my cheeks with both hands and gently, thoroughly fucking into my mouth.
“So hot, Nicky, you’re so fucking hot. Gonna come. If you don’t want—you need to move—”
I want.
I want whatever he has to give me, and then I want to come back for more.
A loud, rough sound scrapes out of him. My new favorite sound, right next to Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. Warm, thick salt coats the back of my throat in bursts, and I swallow. Then swallow again. Sucking him down, licking him clean, making sure to take all of him with me.
Only when I feel him begin to soften do I pull back and allow myself to breathe. Staring up at him as I kiss his lower stomach, my hands running up his thighs while my breath sweeps over him in deep gusts.
He’s breathing heavy, too. Petting my face, stroking through my stubble and my hair before grabbing it in two fistfuls and tugging up. Demanding.
I stagger to my feet, forgetting how hard I still am, my sweatpants still shoved down under my erection, until his hand encircles me.
“Damn. Are you always this fucking big, or should I be flattered by how much you love choking on my cock?” He strokes me from root to tip, laughing softly when I shiver. “Oh, Nicky. Let me take care of you.”
His grip is so mind-numbingly firm, it doesn’t occur to me until my legs bump into the captain’s chair that he’s guiding me back by my fucking cock.
He yanks my sweats further down, squeezing my bare ass. “Sit down, Captain.”
Him throwing my title back at me, using it as a command, sends a jolt straight through my dick.
I lower myself onto the seat, gripping the edges of the armrests. “I’m usually the one giving orders in the wheelhouse.”
“You may be the boss of the ship.” Seth cages me in, claiming my lips. “But this…”
He leaves a trail of wet, nipping kisses down the center of my stomach. Pausing to tug my sweats all the way down, a thick band of fabric shackling my ankles.
His eyes are practically black when they blink up at me, mapping my reactions as he strokes me. His tongue swirls over my balls until another bead of pre-cum forms at my tip, and he smiles. Looking all too pleased with himself. Or maybe, pleased by my body’s eager response.
Then slowly, tauntingly, he leans forward to lick it up. Bathing my crown, then my shaft, in his spit while he makes satisfied little hums with every taste of my skin.
“I’m gonna be the boss of this cock,” he finishes.
My dick throbs in his hand, betraying exactly how much it loves the sound of that. The way he uses my title of authority to strip that very authority away.
“I’m gonna be in charge of your pleasure, and I’m gonna be fucking thorough. That, I can promise.”
I grit my teeth, my eyes squeezing shut. But a humiliatingly hoarse sound still rips out of me as he takes me into his mouth, working me down to the back of his throat while cradling my sac. Encasing my dick in smooth, slick suction.
He pulls back up for a moment, rolling my balls in his hand. “Eyes on me, sir. I want you thinking about me every time you take the helm.”
He presses his lips to my inner thigh, then a pinch. His teeth sinking into soft flesh. “When you sit in this chair, I want you to think about how your first mate kneeled between your legs and gagged on your fat cock until he sucked every last drop of cum from it.”
It won’t matter if I’m in this chair or in the wheelhouse or on the Suoja at all. I’m going to be thinking about him kneeling between my legs. Saying those words.
I’m going to think about the unbridled lust in his gaze.
I’m going to think about the rasp of spit and cum in his voice every time he says “Copy, Captain” or “Yes, sir,” over the radio.
I’m going to think about his lips stretched around my cock every time they stretch into a grin.
I’m going to think about the way he savors my pre-cum when he sips his coffee in the morning.
Tonight is all I’m ever going to think about from now on.
This time, I don’t even blink when he rewards my eye contact with the warm embrace of his mouth.
I watch him take me down, watch his throat work as he swallows to relax for me, watch his eyes gleam with moisture as he sucks my cock in deep, long strokes.
Applying pressure from his tongue along the underside like he wants to continually remind me I’m inside him and he’s loving it.
Like he’s trying to massage the cum out of me.
I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be vocal while giving head, but he manages. Every bob of his head is accompanied by low sounds, vibrating all around my shaft. Like he feels the pleasure while giving as much as he did while receiving.
“Fuck. Seth.” My hands fly from the armrests to tangle in the damp strands of his hair. “So good, so fucking good.”
The cold against my palms distracts from the moist heat of his mouth for a split second before it overwhelms me all over again. A tacky sound punctuates our groans and the wet draws of his breath as my hips lift involuntarily, peeling my skin from the marine upholstery.
I try to warn him how close I am, but it comes out a garbled string of vowels, broken up by full-body shivers each time I bottom out in his throat again.
“Se—ah—plea—” I think I choke out.
His hands slide between me and the seat, grabbing my ass as he buries me in his mouth. Holding me firm and steady while my orgasm explodes through every cell and pours down the back of his throat.
I feel him swallowing around my oversensitive head. His tongue stroking along my length in soothing, teasing motions as he sits back on his heels and finally releases my spent, glistening dick.
My lungs ache like I’ve been running laps out in the cold air.
There’s not a chance in hell I’d be able to stand if we were anywhere other than the placid water of a docking slip, and I wonder if Seth feels as wrecked as I do.
Because he doesn’t rise from his knees as he stretches to retrieve my half-full glass of brandy.
He raises it to his lips, taking a generous sip before handing the glass to me.
“Nice and smooth,” he says, watching me finish the rest. “Think I could go for a drink after all tonight, if you wanted to sit out on the bow with me.”
It’s pathetic. Thirty-four fucking years on this planet, and this is the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to someone asking me on a date.
And my heart reacts like it, too. Like I’m a teenager who fooled around in the back of my parents’ car for the first time, and now we’re heading to the diner for burgers and milkshakes.
But in a way, now I’m glad I never had that. Because this gets to be my first time instead. A date that’s not really a date, but it’s with Seth, so the rest doesn’t matter.
Whatever it’s called, I want it. I want to know what this brandy tastes like on his lips. I want to be with the only person who’s ever truly known me, every part of me, and I want to look up at the night sky. The stars as the sole witnesses to the dumb smile on my face that only he puts there.
“Sure.” I clumsily stand and pull my pants up, fetching a second glass from the far cabinet. “Let me grab a jacket.”