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His eyes shot open and he bucked, pressing his forehead to mine. “Holy shit.”
Our cocks slid together, slick with our precome, mine, his.
He grunted, the noise setting every cell in my body on fire, and then he kissed me again, our tongues colliding.
And he shuddered, bucking, and with a loud cry, he came in my hand. His cock pulsing against mine, tripping me over the edge...
When the world stopped spinning, I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “That was so fucking hot.”
I couldn’t speak.
I was so tired, and my bones were heavy and spongy. He collapsed on top of me, smearing the mess between us, and it was hot and we were both sweaty, and I didn’t even care.
His breath was warm on my neck, and normally that would bother me.
But not with him.
Instead, I surrendered to the world, slung my arm around him, and closed my eyes.
* * *
I tooka mouthful of my dinner and scrolled the radar data. “Forecast for the next two days is good for lightning activity, but then two days of heavy precipitation. Up to one hundred millimetres.”
Tully chewed thoughtfully and nodded. “We might have to pack up and leave before it hits.”
My eyes shot to his, and I was struck by how much I didn’t want that. “To higher ground? Or do you meanleaveleave?”
He shoved in another forkful of rice and smiled as he chewed. “You sound disappointed.”
“I am.” I stabbed my rice, trying to play it cool. “I have four more days here. It’s highly unlikely I’ll get this opportunity again. I need to collect adequate data to justify to my department the cost of my being here.”
He did more of that smirking that I absolutely hated. “It has nothin’ to do with your amazing guide who gives you mind-blowin’ orgasms and cooks incredible dinners.”
I frowned at him, unwilling to respond to the first part of his statement. “This rice is actually very good.” It was a Thai-style fried rice with vegetables, spices, and fried egg. “Where did you learn to cook this?”
“The cooks at work. We have a cafeteria type thing,” he answered with a shrug. “Not what they cook for the workers, but what they cook for themselves. That’s where the real food’s at. Mostly leftovers, like day old rice, some chopped onions and capsicums and carrot, a bunch of sauces and a crack of chili. Add in a fried egg or two and you got yourself a whole meal.”
I nodded as I took another bite. “Do you cook this at home?”
“Sometimes. What about you? What do you cook at home?”
“I don’t. If I can avoid it. Just basic stuff.” I shrugged. “Growing up, we had whatever was cheap and easy. Meat and veg, basically, because that was all my dad knew how to cook.”
“He never remarried?”
I shook my head. “No. He... he was never the same after my mother died.”
“It must have been hard.”
I put my fork on my empty plate. “Yes. Given the public nature of it all. They never should have released the footage. They never asked my dad’s permission, and he had to watch his wife die over and over again on every TV channel for weeks. Every time there’s a documentary on the dangers of lightning...” I sighed. “And it never stops. Still, to this day. Just last year, there was a preview ad for one of those ‘history of breaking news stories’ shows on TV. Just out of the blue, there she was again, dying in front of him all over again in an ad on the television before he could change the channel.”
“Jesus,” Tully murmured. “I can’t even imagine.”
“He doesn’t watch much TV now.”
“I don’t blame him.” Tully stacked our plates. “And he doesn’t understand why you do what you do?”
“Not at all.”
