I lower myself and eat him out, my mouth working over his entrance, sucking softly and dipping the tip of my tongue through the tightness.
I live for the way he reacts to it, the desperate noises he makes, the way he squirms under my hands like he can’t decide whether to twist away or press back into me.
I make him so wet with the slow flicks of my tongue that I don’t need anything when I slide my fingers in.
It doesn’t take long before he’s begging to be filled.
It doesn’t take long for me to do exactly that.
I don’t want it to be fast. I don’t want it to be frantic or messy. I lay flat over his back, my hips rolling slow, stealing soft kisses between his shoulder blades.
He moves with me, pushing back eagerly with every slow push of my cock inside.
There's no need to rush because we’re not doing this to take the edge off. We’ve already done that.
We end up fucking for at least half an hour. He has me shivering as if gripped by a cold fever more than once, and there are plenty of almosts.
We pause when we need to, start again when the intensity settles. We talk through it, love through it, and when it all gets too much and I start swearing, we breathe through it together.
By the time we give each other permission, it feels like a fucking out-of-body experience.
He promises more tantra soon, and that we’ll take our time with it.
I murmur okay and drift off to sleep, still buried in his perfect ass, holding him in the perfect spoon. Inside this perfect house, on this perfect island.
Chapter sixty-two
Yosh
Is it weird to visit your ex in jail?
Probably about as weird as visiting your enemy in jail. Today, I’m doing both.
I’d talked it through with Tom and realized I need some kind of closure with them. Both of them.
Deep Diver had reached out last month. The first time the penitentiary in Saint Luna called, I panicked and hung up. He probably wasted his one call for the day, maybe even the week.
I felt guilty afterward, so I hoped he’d try again.
He did. Asked if I could visit him in person. Said he wanted to talk about “the colorful fish in the ocean.”
I knew it was code. We used that line whenever we needed to meet in secret. It meant he couldn’t speak freely on the phone.
I’m curious what he wants. Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe he wants to hear about Tom. Maybe he’ll try one last time to win me back.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’m going to call him out for that kiss-and-tell stunt he pulled at the dive bar. I still can’t believe Tom—along with half the bar—heard all of it.
Even worse; Tom took mental notes on how to sexually please me. Saved me a round of first-time instructions, but still.
Terrence is a different story.
I want to look him in the eye and ask if it had been worth it, drugging me that night at SeaBreeze.
I want to hear his version. Why he did it.
He’s already in jail for the smuggling mess with Deep Diver, so he might as well admit it.
