19. Nick #2
I step into the bathroom and undress inside, letting out a breath that escapes a little too rough. I hope he can’t hear me through the walls.
Scalding water rains down directly on my face as I wash off. Trying to think wholesome thoughts about the wholesome family dinner we had.
When none of that is enough to take my mind off the fact that I’m in Seth’s room and he’s right outside without a stitch of fabric on—I take my cock in my hand and chase relief. Holding my breath to stifle the noises.
My hand just doesn’t fucking do it for me anymore, though. Not when he’s there, and I know how his hands feel.
Small as the bathroom is, the steam quickly becomes suffocating as I stand in front of the fully opaque mirror and brush my teeth. Waiting for my erection to settle enough to not tent the towel.
That lasts for all of three seconds before I step back out into the room and see Seth sprawled on the fur rug in front of the fire. One knee propped up, the other splayed on the ground. Flaunting the fact that he hasn’t made use of any of the clothes he laid out.
“It’s a perfect fire.” He pats the ground beside him, where he’s tossed a few blankets and pillows. “Come enjoy it with me.”
I follow.
Of course I do. I’ll go anywhere he wants.
He hooks a finger into the towel and rids me of it before I can sit down. His eyes rake over my body, lips curling as my cock jumps at his appraisal.
I settle beside him. Ineffectually willing my body to calm down.
It is a perfect fire. I’m burning up.
“You’ve been quiet tonight. Quieter than usual.”
“It’s just… been a long couple of days.” I shudder a sigh as his fingers comb through my hair and press against my scalp. Rubbing in circles from my nape to my hairline.
Seth murmurs a sound of agreement. “Lay on your stomach.”
I hesitate before rolling face-down and scooping a pillow beneath my head, my body sinking into soft fur.
His hands run up the backs of my legs, squeezing my thighs, and I tense involuntarily as he straddles them.
“I promise I’ll be good.” He chuckles. A soft, throaty sound that lets me know I could make no such promise in return. “There are other ways I can take care of you besides sex. You know that, right?”
Somewhere in my head, I do know that. I do.
He’s been taking care of me long before sex was ever a part of the equation.
Making sure I got enough sleep, that I ate dinner, that I had those little coffee breaks to keep me going.
Paying attention to me so well that he knew exactly when I needed to talk, or when I simply needed him there. For five more minutes.
I know, I mean to tell him.
Simple.
But I open my mouth, and regret oozes out. Ink-black and tarry.
“But what if I can’t take care of you?”
Seth is quiet for a beat, and then his body comes down over mine. Shielding me from my own insecurity the same way I tried to shield him from the arctic storm. His arms wrap around me, his cheek presses between my shoulder blades, and the warm weight of his body pushes more emotions out of me.
“Everyone keeps telling me I did the right thing. That I did something good,” I whisper. “My dad told me he’s proud of me. Your mom fucking thanked me for keeping you alive, and that’s the last thing I deserve. Because that was pure fucking luck. A minute too late, and I would’ve lost you.”
His arms tighten around me.
“What if they’re all wrong?” My voice cracks apart.
“The captain who lost his crew could’ve done everything right and still been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The captains who didn’t get affected—they could’ve taken risks, fucked up, but got lucky.
How am I ever supposed to move on, to go back out there, knowing that there’s a chance I should’ve done things differently?
Knowing that luck was the difference between being in your bed or being at your fucking funeral, Seth. ”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. I keep my face buried in the pillow, cursing my traitorous body as he kisses across my shoulders and my skin erupts into goosebumps.
“Ah. There it is.” His lips hover over the back of my neck as he speaks. “You wanna know how I know you’ve been beating yourself up?”
“How?”
“Because that’s who you are. You’re careful. You’re analytical. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You believe in responsibility and accountability and fairness, and you’re a man of your principles. It’s what I admire about you. It’s what I love about you.”
His knuckles brush my cheek, coaxing me to meet his eyes.
“I have never seen you make a careless or irresponsible decision in the four years I’ve known you.
But you know what you can’t control? Fairness.
The ocean isn’t fair. The wind isn’t fair.
The ice isn’t fair. Nature isn’t fair—it’s unpredictable.
And when things took a turn for the worst, you made the choice that would give us the best chance.
“You didn’t wait until the last minute, you didn’t hesitate, you didn’t prioritize saving the Suoja.
You put your crew first. You protected your people.
And then you protected me. Because what I remember about that night isn’t how fucking cold and awful it was.
It’s how you pulled me into the life raft and never let me go. ”
My heart aches at his tenderness, his hands slowly caressing me everywhere he can reach.
“As sad as I was to watch the Suoja go down, she was never the protector, Nicky,” he says. “You are.”
For the longest time, he doesn’t move a muscle. Neither of us do, and neither of us says a word, because he knows what I need right now. Just like he knew what I needed to hear when I was certain no words existed that could ease the ache in my heart.
I don’t feel the pain now though. I feel whole.
Slowly, he sits up, and then something cold runs down my back. Lotion, I realize, when he starts to rub it in.
“Sorry, I know,” he says. “It’ll get better.”
It does.
His hands spread across my back, the cream warming beneath his palms with each circle he massages over my skin.
Nothing will dry you out faster than salt water, and I’m the cautionary tale. My skin is tight, burning where it’s cracked, as he rubs lotion over my back in broad strokes. Kneading the spots of tension he encounters from the base of my spine to the back of my neck.
“Good?” he asks.
I make a smothered sound of assent. Biting back the urge to groan at how good it feels. “I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me a damn thing, Lundvall. Knock it the fuck off.”
Just when I think he’s done, he shuffles forward on his knees and takes hold of my forearm, resting my elbow against the ground as he starts with my hand. He laces his fingers with mine, rubbing lotion into every crack and crevice worn by weather and labor.
His cock is hard when it brushes against my spine, leaving a print of moisture on my lower back. I try to subdue the hitch in my breath, but I’ve never been able to hide anything from him.
He pays neither of our bodies heed. It’s as if he’s banished arousal from his mind, solely focused on the task of healing my skin.
My knuckles pop and crack as he stretches out each finger, his thumbs trailing down the center of my palm to my pulse.
A hum makes its way from the back of his throat as he kneads my forearm, my bicep. Fingers appreciatively pressing into each divot of muscle. “You’re beautiful.”
I shudder as he moves to my other arm, lacing our fingers once more. “Not like you.”
“I wish you could see yourself right now.” He arranges my arms above my head when he finishes, crossing my wrists and giving them a squeeze before his hands travel to my shoulders. A cold line of lotion trails down my legs next.
“Your body…” he whispers to himself, massaging the arches of my feet, my ankles, my calves. The backs of my knees. Places I never would’ve considered erogenous before Seth’s thumbs apply pressure, and I feel his hands as if they’re wrapped around my dick. Squeezing and tugging.
I’ve been biting back moans the entire time he’s been touching me, but when his hands come up to cup my ass, I groan helplessly. My cock hardens until I can feel the floor planks through the rug.
His hands spread over my glutes, taking big handfuls and fanning out. Holding. Spreading me as his thumbs drag along the insides of my crack. He inhales deeply, spit crackling at the back of his throat. Like he’s drooling from the thought of having me.
The ache in my heart—it’s spread somewhere lower.
“I need you,” I breathe. Moaning as he lowers himself enough that his chest warms the air between us.
“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” He bends down, pressing his lips to the dimples of my hips. One, then the other. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Need to feel you. Need to feel that you’re okay, that you’re here with me.”
“I’m here.” He kisses along my spine, his hands running up my sides. “I’ve got you.”