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Wentworth dragged Elliot’s shirt off his head and left it loose around his wrists as he sucked on Elliot’s tongue. Elliot’s cock beat an insistent tune and he arched against Wentworth, pleading. Begin.
He needed this—them—to begin.
Hands worked his top button and the zip rippled over his aching bulge. On his knees between Elliot’s legs, Wentworth paused and gazed at him admiringly. A quiet, loving caress.
A quiet, loving caress that was committing this moment to memory.
The boat bobbed gently and air stirred around his exposed skin, shivery.
Elliot twisted the shirt around his wrists tighter.
His heart pounded.
Wentworth slowly dragged Elliot’s jeans off, then his socks . . . his underwear.
Elliot’s cock sprung free, hardening further as Wentworth ditched his own jeans and scrambled to find the necessities. The same slightly awkward delay there’d always been. A hundred times that moment of organization had mildly bothered Elliot, but not now.
This time there was relief in it. A small space to breathe in, to let this sink in and open his heart to what was coming, certain of the future, even if everything else had shifted.
Wentworth crawled back over him and all that muscle, all that heat, all that flushed desire lowered itself against Elliot, heavy and warm.
Elliot lifted his arms over Wentworth’s head and pulled the T-shirt taut against those tapered hips. The wonder in Wentworth’s gaze as he pulled him close made Elliot shiver.
“I thought I might be nervous if we ever . . . and I am, but I’m also not.”
“Maybe,” Wentworth murmured, “because you know I’ll take care of you?”
The branding heat of Wentworth’s cock against his made Elliot’s balls tighten. He raised his head off the bed just enough to graze Wentworth’s lips. “Please look after me.” Their eyes met. “I need you.”
Wentworth kissed him tenderly. Spoke in a shaky murmur. “I really need to be inside you.”
Elliot tossed the shirt off his wrists and cupped Wentworth’s face, beard wonderfully rough against his palms. “I need that too.”
A kiss touched the base of his fingers and Wentworth rocked against him.
A moan escaped Elliot. Wentworth’s weight, the way he pressed into him, the heavy drum of his heart against his . . . He couldn’t lose this again. Couldn’t bear so much as another week without it.
Big dark eyes glittered as Wentworth dipped his head and nosed into Elliot’s neck. It felt like lightning forking through him, the sensation a mirror of their first time. Wentworth had wriggled his nose into that most sensitive spot then too, had made him laugh and groan. Right before he’d breached—
Elliot arched, reliving it.
“I love when you writhe under me.” That same playful glint in Wentworth’s eye. Eagerness and excitement and the desire to experiment. “Wait, let me make it a little slippery.”
An eighteen-year-old laugh skipped out of Elliot, morphing into a gasp as a generous dollop of lube hit him and—
Elliot bucked into the silky, wet grip around his length. Goosebumps skittered over his body and he gripped the bedsheets.
Their gazes clashed as that remembered moment passed between them.
As if chasing it, Wentworth lowered himself and sucked on the other side of Elliot’s neck. This time, there was no laughter.
Elliot squirmed, his cock sliding over slickened abs. Wentworth bore down on him, perfect friction, and Elliot bit lightly on Wentworth’s ear. “It might be different now. But maybe not so different you don’t recognise us?”
Wentworth stared deeply into his eyes. Slowly, he dipped and brushed their lips together. Another look. A melding of intense emotion and desire.
He nibbled wet, beard-tickling kisses down his throat, over his rapidly expanding and deflating chest, to his belly button. His chin nudged Elliot’s tip and he gasped.
Trembling fingers followed the damp path Wentworth had left behind. “So beautiful, bumblebee.”
A tongue flicked over him, and Elliot thumped his head back against the bed, that line from chest to belly button to the base of his balls pulsing.
He fingered Wentworth’s path, voice breaking, “You’re beautiful—”
The hot, wet cave of Wentworth’s mouth descended over him.
Elliot bucked, sliding further into the warm suction, toes curling.
They were here, together. The gentle sway of water under them, the familiar view of a porthole on one side, a piano on the other, and Wentworth working his mouth enthusiastically up and down.
Being here with Wentworth . . . God, none of his dreams could begin to come close to the intensity of this. This was past and present, a physical declaration, a plea for a path into the future.
Elliot combed his fingers into Wentworth’s silky hair. “I need this too. Now.”
Wentworth moaned around him, and fingers found him right where he wanted to be found. The cold kiss of lube made him clench, a billion nerve endings jumping against the barely restrained need in Wentworth’s touch.
Elliot quivered at the breach, at the anticipation of what would follow.
