by Tragen Moss
"Oh, all right." He pushes down his boxers, and he's hard for me.
There's my man.
He's got a pretty cock. He likes to manicure where I let myself go wild. But those differences only made things between us hotter. I like making him go primal, and he enjoys trying to civilize me. Sometimes, he'll edge me for hours, keeping me waiting, making me say pleasant things like please and thank you when I want to roar and fuck him through a wall. And then he lets go of the reins, and I take him with me when the frenzy overpowers us.
He knows where my mind has gone. He gets this wry smile and walks past me to the end of the dock. So I follow, watching that ass I love so much. The moon is nearly full and the reflection of it on the still lake is something I'll always remember. Then Miller dives in. He doesn't splash much, the ripples on the water pushing out in circles until he comes up.
"How's the water?"
"Get in here, asshole. It's fucking cold is how it is."
I laugh and dive in, not as gracefully. I make a big splash. It’s what I do.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My balls are creeping back inside my body. I pop up swearing.
"This was your idea," he reminds me with a splash.
I shake my head, making sure he gets wet from the water whipping off my hair.
It's freeing, being naked in the water and in the moonlight, but the cold has doused my desire, at least for now. We swim like the world waiting for us outside the lake doesn't matter, and that is also freeing. Who is going to make him do shit like this when I’m gone?
I want Miller to be happy, but damn, thinking of him with someone else makes me want to Hulk-smash the face of the future asshole who gets to be the love of my man’s life.
“It was a full moon the night we met,” he says, floating on his back.
“It was?” I don’t remember the moon. I remember his eyes while he watched me. He was so serious. It stood out to me, considering we were in a club playing “It’s Raining Men” and most of the clientele were wearing pastel short-shorts or leather. It was a crazy night, the vibe in the club electric, but Miller was so still. Solemn almost. It was that stillness that caught my eye. That kept me looking for a whole year.
“Yeah. I blamed my behavior on the moon at first. Going to a club wasn’t really my style.”
I laugh. We’ve gone clubbing maybe three times since that night. I used to like to go out, but not as much as I found I liked staying home. When home was with Miller. “I thought you were a very good dancer.”
“I like dancing. I just don’t like clubs. But that night was different. Special. Something in the air. Full moon.”
My gut tightens at the memories. I liked everything about the way he looked after he caught my eye. I liked the way he moved. The sound of his voice. “I remember thinking that I didn’t even care if you were a top or a bottom that night. I just needed to be with you. I’d have gone for whatever you suggested.”
He laughs. “Now you tell me.”
I didn’t have as much experience before Miller as he thought. He ended up teaching me a lot. I’ve only been with a couple men before him. And me being the receiver was one thing we just hadn’t gotten to yet. I always thought we would at some point. I didn’t expect to break up.
Ever.
“Miller, do you regret this last year?”
“Of course not.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. I know we’re ending things in a mature, reasonable manner with no drama. That’s how we do everything. Did everything. But it would really have hurt to hear he regretted our time together.
The mood is kind of melancholy now. We're just getting out of the lake and climbing the ladder when I notice my brother and Leah approaching the dock, holding hands. Steve covers her eyes. "You should have mentioned skinny dipping today when I asked for advice," he says.
Leah is trying to uncover her eyes. She’s always thought Miller was cute. I don’t blame her for wanting a peek. "I didn't need to tell you about skinny dipping. Looks like you figured that out on your own."
"Yeah, well it seemed a hell of a lot more romantic before I saw my brother and his boyfriend got here first."
Miller snaps his towel at him and saunters by without covering himself up, surprising us both.
"I don't want to think about what the two of you are going to be doing in that cabin, do I?" my brother asks.
"No, " I answer, realizing that we'll be sleeping and nothing else. "No, you really don't."
Chapter Four
Miller
I DIDN'T SLEEP MUCH last night. I was so aware of him, always so aware. I was so desperate to touch him, I was afraid I'd wake up mounting him in my sleep.
I even tried to get some work done, but there is no internet in the cabins. I can't remember how long it's been since I haven't checked the internet several times a day. I wonder if maybe I'm addicted. I used to laugh at people who "unplugged." Never saw a reason for it. Now, I have a weird itchy sensation, though, not being able to check my phone or my laptop. I think I'm detoxing. If I'm having this hard a time going without my connection for less than twenty-four hours, then yes, I'd say I have an addiction problem and that sucks.
"Staring at the Wi-Fi symbol is not going to make it stronger. You ready for the volleyball game?"
Fuck me. Does he have to be so good looking? It’s just a simple tank top and shorts, but I know what’s underneath. I know what those lips feel like against mine. How soft that brown and cinnamon hair feels sliding between my fingers. How strong that husky body is. All that was mine for a year, and I hardly appreciated it. Well, I appreciated it often. But I never let it sink in that he was mine. Or could have been mine. I was content to just let it be what it was. He’s going to be a much harder addiction to get over than the fucking information highway.
The fact that he looks so hot is pissing me off, but I can’t say exactly why. There’s just this low-grade rage simmering under my skin. "I really should find a way to check my email."
He nods like he's not surprised. And why would he be? That makes me angry too. That he's right about me. That I work too much. That he's not going to try to talk me out of overworking anymore because it's not his problem if I work too much. So I guess I'm angry that he's sexy and that he was a good boyfriend who actually cared. My anger makes no sense.
I don't generally have feelings that I can't control. I’ve been feeling-lite my entire adult life. Emotions get in the way of business, and that’s all I’ve let myself be concerned with since I got kicked out of my parents’ house. Brandon was the first relationship I allowed myself, but I made sure to keep him out, didn’t I?
I slam the laptop cover down, praying as an afterthought that I didn't damage it, and stalk out the door.
We're put on different sides of the net, and I'm glad. Of all the things he's good at, which is everything the man does, in volleyball, I stand a chance at beating him. The teams are equally weighted with jocks and people who don't play sports or maybe haven't seen a volleyball net since they graduated high school thirty-five years ago, but the only person I really care about is Brandon. I have first serve, and when the ball comes at him hard and laser-focused, he raises his brow. The next time he gets a chance to touch the ball, he aims at me and uses all that behemoth strength to smash it down hard. So, I go low and save it.
The sun is high, and the day is warm and we're sweating. Each time I notice the way his skin is dappled in moisture, I smack that fucking ball as hard as I can. We're both growling and grunting, barely letting anyone else touch the ball. It's turned into a cage match, and all the players around us are probably going to be casualties of war.
The game gets more intense. I wanted to win at first. Now I just want to fucking pummel him.
I don’t know why I feel like I want to tear off my own skin and run through the forest hunting something. These primitive, primal feelings have no place in my life. We dated. We moved in together because it was easiest to get laid that
way. We liked hanging out. We wanted the same things—basically exactly what we had. No drama. No epic love. Just ease and sex. This anger I’m feeling is so out of place. It’s not like we promised to love each other forever. We never once said the L-word. It just stopped working. What’s the big deal?
I spike the ball, and it lands on his foot.
It takes a lot to piss Brandon off, he's so damned good-natured and mellow, one of the reasons I liked living with him so much. But once he's mad, he's a fucking barbarian. And I think I finally pushed the last button.
His stature changes, and suddenly he's even taller, wider, and a hell of a lot meaner. The game pauses, and he pulls off his shirt before grabbing his water bottle. That's for my benefit, I'm sure. So is him pouring it over his body, the water sluicing over his broad frame. He knows I'm worked up and he’s trying to make it worse.
I bend over to tighten my laces. Let him see what he’s missing now with my ass in the air. The fucker.
His serve. He hits it hard, but the ball flies out of control. We all gasp as it almost hits his cousin's seven-year-old daughter, and the game stops.
"I'm so sorry, Ciera," he says. Then he glares at me like it's my fault he can't direct the ball when he's pissed. There's an uncomfortable and awkward silence when he grabs his stuff, apologizes again, and storms away. Everyone looks at me, their mouths agape. I guess they expect I would want to calm him down or go talk to him. I’m his “boyfriend” after all. So, I excuse myself and follow him to the cabin.
But the last thing on my mind is calming him down or comforting him.
I slam the screen door when I stomp into the room. "Nice work out there. You almost decapitated your cousin."
"Shut the fuck up. What is wrong with you today?"
"Me? You're the one with the anger issues."
He huffs out a laugh. "You started it."
"Are we kids now? I started it? Are you going to chant about rubber and glue next?"
He roars, and I'm flush against the wall a second later, his broad, barbarian chest pinning me. I feel every inch of his barrel body pushing against me.
"No, we definitely aren't kids."
Hate sex it is. I’m totally fine with this.
As carnal desire overwhelms us, we kiss hungrily and deep, our mouths clashing angrily. He pulls back and starts stripping me of my dirty clothes. I can smell his clean sweat, heightening my arousal. His bulky body is thick and strong, his chest mammoth and wide. I feast my eyes on him as he pulls down his shorts. His rock-hard cock springs out, glistening with precum. Damn, I love that cock. The way it's roped with throbbing veins, and how it juts out from a thick pelt of curly, nearly ginger fur.
"I know you want it," he says. "Suck me."
I'm still so angry, but for some reason, sucking his dick sounds like the perfect way to express it. A revenge blow job makes no sense, but I find myself trembling with desire as I kneel in front of his hard cock. In one wet mouthful, I engulf him and begin sucking for all I’m worth. Worshiping the damn thing really. That's how it feels when I'm down here and he's filling my mouth. My reverence for his fat shaft doesn’t surprise either of us anymore.
"That's it, baby. Take it all. I love fucking your mouth, Miller." Brandon pulls my hair so his balls slap against my chin while urging me to suck harder. No finesse. No ease. He’s asserting his power, showing me what he can make me do. "You love it too, don't you? You love the way I taste. Am I delicious, Miller? Am I just what you needed?"
I moan around his massive dick in answer, and he loves that. He closes his eyes and stretches his neck back. That's when I know I'm actually the one with all the power here. I may be on my knees, but he's all mine at this moment in time. He worships my mouth as much as I worship his dick. This might be the last time, but he'll never forget this blow job or how I made him feel this day.
He's completely under my control now.
I pull him out but keep a firm grip on his shaft. Too firm, but he’s not complaining. I suck on his nuts and lick them and suck them some more. My tongue swirls around the heavy sac, tasting his slightly bitter musk. I do love the way he tastes. He is delicious. Licking back up his rod, I keep kissing and sucking on it. I move up to its swollen head, a dark angry purple now. I adore this cock. I don’t want it to be the last time.
I slide him back into my mouth. His moans are getting louder. I'm ravenous now and am turning into an animal, sucking on Brandon's gorgeous and delicious cock with total abandon.
"You're going to make me come. Is that what you want?"
I moan around him again. I need it.
"I'm going to give you what you want baby. I'm going to fill your throat. Fuck!" He roars as his orgasm erupts in my mouth, his come filling me, fulfilling me. Over and over he squirts, each shudder adding more, burying my tongue in his essence. Sucking him off is so satisfying, it’s only now that I am reminded of my need to come.
He pushes me down on the floor and takes me in his mouth. I go off at the first touch of his tongue but hold his head tightly as he drains me. God, I want to keep him so much.
Usually, when we're coming down off sex, there's a tenderness between us, even if it was just a quickie. This feels different.
He scrabbles off me like he’s afraid we’ll get caught. "What the hell was that?" he asks, wiping the back of his hand against his lips.
I stare at the boards of the ceiling. "I don't know. I guess we're just both pissed off. Maybe the breakup isn't going as smoothly as we think."
"I guess we had some shit to work out." His phone alarm signals. "Damn. I have to get ready for the rehearsal." As an afterthought, he asks, "Are you okay?"
"Sure, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Yeah. Why wouldn't you be?"
Chapter Five
Brandon
THE ONE THING I ABSOLUTELY should not be doing is getting wasted.
I don't know what else to do. I'm at a complete loss. My entire family is in the boathouse, the after-party for the post rehearsal BBQ is in full swing, and the booze is flowing freely. My brother, God love him, is a typical straight white guy who likes John Mellencamp, so the dance floor is only getting used every other song. My sister-in-law-to-be has better taste, so Leah’s playlist gets everyone on the floor and then everyone vacates to drink during another song about the problems of the flyover states.
Miller tries to tell me something, but I'm mesmerized by the dollop of BBQ sauce in the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I reach over and wipe it with my thumb, then lick it off. He stops talking, and the space between us grows heavy with that static that happens just before a first kiss. Only it wouldn't be our first kiss, would it?
"Oh, get a room, you two." Leah sits on my lap. She’s smiling so big and smells delightful, flowery and sugary all at once. Girls really are made of everything nice. She pats my hand. "You two ever talk about getting married? I'm hoping if I can focus some of the family on the next wedding, I'll avoid the inevitable when are you having babies questions we're sure to get tomorrow at the reception.”
"We're a long way from talking about getting married, sis," I answer, trying to ignore the strong pull to look into Miller's eyes.
"That's okay. For now. I like it when you call me sis. Let's go dance." She pulls me up.
"The guy is singing about little pink houses. You can't dance to this."
She tugs me anyway. "Oh, come on. What could be more gay than pink houses? You'll be fine."
Once we get on the floor, we do a mock slow dance because I have no idea how to dance to this shit. "Camp is great. This has been an amazing wedding so far."
“I like to think so. We really wanted something fun instead of traditional.” She purses her lips. "What's going on with you and Miller?"
"Nothing."
"I heard about the volleyball game today. Are you two fighting?"
"You saw us last night. Skinny dipping. There’s nothing for you to worry about."
"Yeah, I saw more of you than I wanted to.
"
I laugh. "Then you know everything is fine."
"You know I love Miller, right?"
"Sure."
"I'm not sure he's the best guy for you. He seems kind of distant."
A curious sensation fills my chest. "Of course, he's the best guy for me. He's introverted, sure, but not distant. He just needs help to come out of his shell sometimes. He gets wrapped up in his head. But that's not a bad thing. Hell, he helps me remember to get in my own head more often. Otherwise, I'm Mr. Nice Guy and let people use me."
She's smiling at me like she just won a contest.
"Why do you look evil right now, sis?"
"I was just kidding about Miller not being the best guy for you. Everyone loves the two of you together. I just wanted to make sure you knew why he was perfect for you. And you do, so my job is done here."
She pushes me off the floor and joins a group of bridesmaids to dance to "Brick House," and I grab a paper cup of Jell-O shooter and think about what she said. Fuck me. She's right. Miller is perfect for me. Yeah, sometimes he's too serious, but he helps ground me. Makes me want to take care of myself. And him.
What am I doing? Am I really this stupid? Am I going to let the best thing that ever happened to me walk away without a fight?
Suddenly, the only thing that matters in the entire universe is telling Miller Johnson how I feel.
I find him talking money with my father and grandfather. My heart is racing like I just downed a shot of espresso instead of strawberry gelatin. My hands get clammy and my stomach is flipping around. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous about anything. And this isn’t just anything. This is the most important thing in my life.
I make my approach and put my arm around Miller’s shoulders. "Can I steal him away, Pops?" Miller looks surprised and worried.
My dad slaps him on the back. "Thanks for the advice, kid. I'll call you Monday."
“Sure, Pops. We’ll get you settled.”
I pull him out of the boathouse, away from the music and the twinkling white lights. When we get far enough away to see the stars, he stops. "What's going on, Brandon? Do you not want me to still take care of your dad’s investments? You know I’ll still give him good advice, no matter what happens between us."
