by L. A. Witt
I glanced down, and finally got a look at the tattoo that had been partially hidden. It was a dragon—Japanese style, I thought—extending from beside his navel to just above his groin. I traced a finger over it. “That looks like it stung too.”
“Mm-hmm.” He teased my nipple with his thumbnail. “It was worth it. Now why the hell do you still have pants on?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You tell me.”
Paul grinned. Then he grabbed me, kissed me, and got the rest of my clothes off in short order. All that unhurried kissing was a distant memory now. We were both as hungry and demanding as we’d been in the car—panting hard, clawing at skin, rubbing two very erect dicks against each other.
“I don’t want to rush,” he whispered breathlessly, “but I want you to fuck me again.”
I shuddered right down to my toes. “Gimme a condom. Now.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.”
He broke the kiss and leaned away, reaching for his pants on the floor, and I took advantage of the moment to look him up and down.
Oh God. He’s got a lot of ink.
There was another tattoo between his shoulders. Some emblem I kind of recognized but couldn’t place. And there was yet another tattoo on his ass. I thought I’d caught a glimpse of one in that dark parking lot, but had brushed it off as shadows playing tricks on my eyes. No, it was really there, clear as day, and I had to know the story behind it.
That could wait, though, because right now, I had to have him, and anyway, I didn’t get a chance to really look before he came back to me, condom and lube in hand.
Yeah, screw the whole “not being in a hurry” thing. Suddenly it seemed like days since I’d fucked him over the car, and if I didn’t get this condom on and this man on his hands and knees in the next thirty seconds . . .
Paul tore the wrapper, and a jolt of panic shot through me—he did say he wanted me to fuck him, right?—but then he rolled the rubber onto my cock, and I relaxed. Well, as much as any man could relax when he was about to have someone as hot and horny as Paul.
Hand over the lube and let’s do this.
“Get on your back,” I whispered as I took the lube from him.
“Not my hands and—”
“Changed my mind.”
“Fine by me.” He got on his back. Slowly stroking himself, he watched me put on the lube, and when I positioned myself between his legs, he bit his lip.
“If I didn’t know any better,” I said, guiding my cock to him, “I’d think you were a little turned on.”
“A little?” He spread his legs wider. “Doesn’t begin to describe it.”
I met his gaze, and we both grinned. As I pressed the head of my cock against him, he closed his eyes and exhaled. Yeah. A little turned on? That wasn’t even the half of it. Good thing I’d already come once, or I would’ve as I pushed into him.
I took my time even though this wasn’t our first round tonight. I eased myself in, partly to tease him and partly because I wasn’t in a hurry. Even after he’d relaxed completely, and I was moving in fluid, easy strokes, I didn’t speed up. I couldn’t help myself—this was too damn hot to do anything except savor every second.
Paul pulled me down to him. I couldn’t move much like this, but I didn’t mind. I was inside him, and I was against him, and I was kissing him. God, yes. This was perfect. A half-dressed quickie in the dark was fine and good. This was how I liked it, though—naked, lights on, skin touching skin and no reason to rush and a man who loved, loved, loved to kiss.
My head was spinning now. I was so fucking turned on, and probably wasn’t even remembering to breathe between kisses, but . . . oh well. Maybe I would pass out. Kind of hard to imagine feeling this good and not passing out. Or waking up from a dream and realizing I was home alone in my own bed with my hand on my dick.
Just don’t wake me up yet. Let me enjoy this for a while.
“Sit up,” Paul whispered, sounding out of breath. “Do it . . . a little harder.”
I did as he asked, and as soon as I picked up speed, he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. He kept a hand on my arm, maybe to brace himself, and with his other, he pumped his cock.
“Fuck . . .” He groaned and arched his back, clenching around me as I thrust into him. “Gonna . . . gonna come. Do it just like that.”
Nope, wasn’t dreaming. This was one hundred percent real. Paul was under me, legs apart, stroking his cock while he took mine, skin flushed and gleaming and inked . . .
I kept my rhythm as steady as possible, ignoring the burning in my hips and thighs, and gritted my teeth to keep myself from coming. Just the sight of him jerking himself off while he took my dick was enough to put me right on the brink, and every time his breath hitched or his abs contracted, I was sure we were both about to lose it.
Then his eyes flew open. His lips parted. A shudder brought his shoulders up off the bed, and he whispered, “Oh God,” right as semen shot across his tense abs.
And like I knew I would, I came too. I fucked him, and he stroked himself, and rhythm went completely out the window and who the hell cared when I was coming inside him while he swore and shuddered.
His hand stopped. He relaxed onto the bed with a blissed-out sigh, and I took a few more jerky, uneven thrusts before I also relaxed. I leaned over him, resting my weight on my shaking arms.
Paul lifted his head and kissed me lightly, and as he sank back to the bed, drew me down with him. I stayed there for a moment, enjoying some lazy kisses before I sat up again and pulled out.
We both got up to clean ourselves off.
“Be right back.” I stepped into the bathroom and took care of the condom. After I’d washed my hands, I came back to bed, where Paul had collapsed onto his back. As I joined him, I cautiously slid toward him, wondering if he was the type who didn’t like to be touched after sex.
And that was another point in his favor—he didn’t push me away. We were both wrung out and shaking, but he gathered me in his arms and, while we caught our breath, stole light kisses here and there. After the last couple of guys I’d dated, the affection was more novel than it should’ve been, but whatever. I liked it.
After a while, as he reached up to smooth my hair, the tattoo on his arm caught my eye.
“Oh hey.” I propped myself up on my elbow. “Now I can finally look at your tattoos.”
“Mm-hmm.” He lay back so I could see them better. “You really like ink?”
“A lot.”
“But none of your own?”
“Not yet.” I traced the curve of the dragon on his hip. “These have stories behind them?”
“Every one of them.”
I was curious about the story behind the elaborate sailing ship on the left side of his ribs, but it was the slightly faded and incredibly intricate fighter jet on his upper arm that kept drawing my focus. “Okay, tell me about that one.”
He glanced at it. “It’s a Super Hornet.” He grinned, tracing his fingers over the lines. “I used to fly them.”
An image of him in a flight suit flickered through my mind.
Oh, Paul, you have no idea how much hotter you just became.
“I didn’t realize you were a fighter pilot.” I snickered. “Maybe we should have ‘Danger Zone’ playing next time we fuck.”
“Oh my God, no.” He laughed. “Besides, they fucked to ‘Take My Breath Away,’ not ‘Danger Zone.’”
I waved a hand. “Yeah well, I wasn’t jerking off to the scenes with that song.”
“Don’t tell me you jerked off to the dog fights.”
My face burned. “Come on—hot guys in flight suits being badass at Mach 1? Wouldn’t you jerk off to that?”
“Well, yeah. That’s why I became a fighter pilot.”
I snorted. “You’re joking.”
Paul chuckled. “Yeah, I am. Sort of. It was mostly because I liked the idea of flying, especially at that speed.”
I traced the edge of the jet’s wing. “So was it act
ually as fun as you thought it would be?”
“It . . . Most of the time, yes.” He paused, and his eyes lost focus for a split second. Then he shook himself and cleared his throat as he met my gaze again. “It had its moments that made me think twice, but for the most part, it was pretty amazing.”
I was about to ask what it was like, but he trailed his fingers down my side, and when I gasped, he asked, “You in any hurry to get going?”
“Depends.” I grinned, running with the subject change. “What happens if I stay?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Well, as long as you’re not sick of me . . .”
He slid closer and kissed me. “Not a chance.”
“Then no, I’m not in a hurry.”
“Good.” He kissed me again, and didn’t stop.
I decided I could get seriously hooked on hooking up with him. Paul was something else in bed. He was like a checklist of everything I always hoped for when I slept with someone new.
Attentive? Check.
Loves kissing? Check.
Enjoys being on the bottom? Check.
God knew if we had anything in common outside the bedroom, and maybe we’d eventually realize we were incompatible for anything that didn’t involve orgasms.
Until then, I had every intention of staying in this bed until neither of us could walk.
It was Sunday, so the office was mostly deserted. That was the beauty of a base so small and quiet—unless there was a major crisis or a base-wide training exercise, a lot of departments worked Monday through Friday, nine to five. There wasn’t the usual constant stream of chaos that generally came with being the CO, and for that, I was thankful. Before coming here, I’d been executive officer of a base where we all got nervous when shit stopped hitting the fan. NAS Adams was a nice change of pace.
Sometimes my phone rang on the weekends, but it was rare that I had to come into the office outside my normal working hours. Most of the time, if I came in on a weekend, it was because I chose to, and that usually happened on days like this when it was pouring down rain and I couldn’t go golfing. Might as well take advantage of the empty office to get some paperwork done and answer a few hundred emails. Of course my golf clubs were in my trunk in case the weather broke, but as shitty as it was out there now, I wasn’t holding my breath.
If that additional squadron moved here, the base would be busier. More people meant more potential for bullshit that I’d have to deal with. If a ship moved in, even more. From the sound of it, the ship wouldn’t be docking here for another three years or so, and I’d probably transfer out before then anyway, so I wasn’t worried. My cushy-ass job would most likely stay that way.
Assuming, of course, I could focus on that cushy-ass job and didn’t get myself fired.
Sitting here on a Sunday afternoon and staring off into space wasn’t all that risky, but I’d been doing this all week. That was why I had emails and crap to catch up on in the first place. I’d even zoned out while I was on a conference call with the senators who were coming to town next week, but thank God I hadn’t missed anything important. At least I hoped I hadn’t. I’d find out when the senators showed up.
I pulled my gaze away from the hypnotic gray rain and turned back to the stack of papers on my desk. Then to my screen, where there were dozens of emails still marked as unread. Most of it should have been done by Friday. Some of it, Saturday. But where had my brain been? Not here. Nowhere near here. All I’d been able to think about was the blue-and-black-haired guy who’d still been dozing in the motel bed when I’d left. I’d spent every long, dull meeting thinking about all the racy sexts we’d been exchanging.
Tonight, I was meeting up with Sean after he finished his shift in the car. So there probably wasn’t much point in my being here, and if the weather had been nice, my golf game would have been shit.
I shook myself. Whether or not there was a hot guy spending time in my bed, I did have a job—cushy-ass or otherwise—that needed my attention. For one thing, I had two Sailors coming in for Captain’s Mast this week, and I needed to have my head screwed on for that. They were facing potentially serious charges, and it was up to me to determine whether they would be punished at my level or advanced to court-martial. Whether or not they’d fucked up, they deserved a fair hearing and a resolution from someone who wasn’t busy daydreaming about a cab driver with a fantastic mouth and an amazing cock.
Everything kept circling right back to Sean. Of course it did. He was shiny and new. He was something that didn’t hurt like Jayson or our breakup. So maybe I needed to—
No. I was stupid if I thought I could get him out of my system. That never worked. Especially not with someone like me who’d only needed two drags to develop a nicotine habit that had taken twenty years to kick. Trying to get him out of my system would only get me hopelessly hooked on him, but I was pretty sure the USS Hooked On Sean had already disappeared over the horizon.
Some footsteps in the hall pulled me out of my thoughts. I could tell who it was even before I saw him; Travis Wilson, a colleague and buddy of mine, walked with a slight limp, so his footsteps were pretty distinct.
Sure enough, he appeared in the doorway. “Hey. Thought I heard you rustling around.”
“And here I thought I was being quiet.”
“You? Pfft. That’ll be the day, my friend.” He came into the office, tossed his cover on one chair, and eased himself gingerly into the other. Wincing slightly, he added, “Let me guess—tee time got rained out?”
“Yep. How are you?”
He gave a slight shrug. “Held together by stubbornness and Motrin. The usual. You?”
“About the same.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “In fact, I think I could use some coffee.”
“Yeah, me too. I was heading that way when I realized you were here.”
We headed down the hall to the break room. On the way, I walked a little bit slower than usual, and not just because my hips were pleasantly sore. Travis would never ask someone to slow down, not even when he was obviously struggling to keep up, so I tried not to make him rush. How the hell he managed to run for his physical readiness tests, I had no idea, but the man wasn’t kidding about being held together by stubbornness and Motrin. Probably more stubbornness than anything. Like me, he hated letting on that he still felt any of his old injuries. I sometimes wondered if he had the same nagging fear in the back of his mind that if he let the pain show, the Navy would reconsider their decision not to medically retire him. I sure as fuck worried about it every time I had a twinge in my neck.
The break room, like the rest of the building, was empty. We each went through the motions of making ourselves some coffee—thank God for a Keurig so we didn’t have to wait for the pot to brew. Once he’d finished polluting his with creamers and sweeteners, we headed back to my office.
As we stepped into my office and gingerly took our seats, creaking and groaning like eighty-year-olds, it was hard to imagine there’d been a time when we were two feisty young guys who didn’t believe in our own mortality. We’d been stationed together on and off throughout our careers. We’d known each other since he was a freshman and I was a senior at the Academy. Even slept together a handful of times over the years, though it never went anywhere. Now we were here, both moving a little slower than we had in our younger days. He’d been at NAS Adams a few months longer than I had.
“No surprise to see you here,” he’d said when we’d run into each other. “I think this is where all dented and damaged pilots end up sooner or later.”
I was starting to think he was right. The CO before me had been grounded after his second ejection, and retired after the stress fractures in his spine got too painful to ignore. Travis’s limp was thanks to an accident that had nearly killed him and paralyzed his radar intercept officer. The last two XOs had been, as Travis called them, gimpy flyboys—one had barely walked away after his helo was shot down in Afghanistan, and the other fucked himself up landing a
cargo jet, though I never got the whole story about that incident.
And of course I’d had to hang up my wings earlier than I’d planned, and still had the neck and back problems to remind me why.
But today, my bad landing wasn’t the reason I was walking uncomfortably. At least these aches and pains were from something fun.
Travis leaned back in his chair, resting his foot against the edge of my desk, and eyed me as he sipped his coffee. “What’s on your mind? You seem like you’re”—he gestured at the window—“out there.”
“Nothing. Nothing.” I rubbed my stiffening neck. “Just, uh . . .”
“Let me guess.” He arched his eyebrow. “Your Friday night was a hell of a lot more exciting than your Sunday?”
I laughed. “You could say that.”
He tilted his head. “So does that mean you’re doing all right since Jayson took off?”
Jayson? Oh. Right. That guy I was in love with—sort of—for the last . . . however long that disaster had dragged on.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m doing good.” I exhaled. “It needed to happen.”
“Breakups that need to happen can still suck.”
“I think this one was past that point.” And it didn’t hurt that I waited all of fifteen minutes before I had another guy’s dick down my throat. I shifted in my chair. “Hell, I’ve already got someone else to keep my mind off him.”
Travis’s eyes widened. “Already?”
“Already.”
He raised his eyebrows, silently asking for details, but I didn’t volunteer any. After a brief silence, he shook his head and chuckled. “Well, it’s good to see you getting back on the horse. I kind of thought you’d face-plant after this one finally broke down.”
I eyed him. “You’re not disappointed that you won’t get your usual dose of schadenfreude?”
“What?” He put a hand to his chest. “My God, Paul. You make me sound like a sadistic monster.”
“Yeah. And?”
“I’m offended.”
“No, you’re not.”
His lips quirked. Then he shrugged. “Okay, I’m not. And yes, I am mildly disappointed that I don’t get to enjoy your post-split pain, but I’ll get over it.”
