Page 41 of The Merman's Betrothal
But surely Neacel could understand the urgency of his situation? Fionn couldn’t simply wait around for Rory to make up his mind. There had to be a way to make things go faster.
The soul bond tugged restlessly in his chest, adding to his agitation. Fionn stared at the wall and considered his next move.
Chapter Thirteen
Rory was glad no one else was hanging around the harbour when he brought theStarin to moor. He didn’t want to have to explain to Graham or Ol’ Doaty or any of the local busybodies why he was knocking off early with his boat still half full of empty creels.
He hurried home, firmly pushing all thoughts of Fionn to the very back of his mind. Once inside though, he was at a loss.
The evening stretched before him, empty of plans.
Rory wasn’t used to having free time. It was easier to just fill his waking hours with work so that he didn’t have to dwell on all the ways he hadn’t made anything of his life.
It was either that or lose himself with a pint and a pleasant pair of arms at the club—but there weren’t enough tourists in town for that to be a likely option just yet. And even if it was, Rory couldn’t shake the sight of the leatherback turtle from his mind. Not to mention, a certain blue merman would undoubtedly invade his thoughts as well.
That poor damn turtle.
How could Fionn stay so calm while faced with that? The merman had been patient and focused, fixed purely on saving a life rather than stewing over revenge.
The fact he’d previously destroyed some of Rory’s creels was a practically benevolent act, in this light. Rory was sure that if it were up to him, he’d have done much, much worse.
He convinced himself to run a bath. To try to spend the rest of the day relaxing, even though every fibre of his soul hated how unproductive that sounded. He needed to wash the saltwater from his skin, anyway. And maybe if he relaxed he wouldn’t feel so pent up, like he needed unscrewing. Or rather, like he desperately needed screwing.
Once again Fionn’s thighs flashed across his mind.
‘Fucking hell,’ Rory hissed over the tumbling water.
Fionn was turning into a fixation.
Frustration simmered low and hot in Rory’s gut. By the time the bath was ready his cock was hard, spurred on by little more than the memory of being held tight in Fionn’s arms.
Rory sank into the steaming water, feeling angry with himself. Angry with his cock. It made no fucking sense.
Graham had always been gay, right? Surely, Rory thought,surelyif he had any inclinations towards the same sex, then he ought to have already tried something on with Graham. They’d grown up together, for fuck’s sake. Why hadn’t his libido had an urge for experimentation way back then, when it might have made some kind of sense?
Maybe Graham’s not my type,Rory reflected, sinking right down until the bath water reached his nose.Maybe I only like ’em blue.
And tatted. Something about the marks rippling across Fionn’s body made Rory shiver. He wanted to run his fingers over them.
Unthinkingly, he gripped his cock. It allowed a sense of relief that came with even greater frustration, causing Rory to hiss a stream of bubbles. He sat up a little and gave a few half-hearted, mainly irritated strokes to his dick.
Was he supposed to be imagining himself doing this to Fionn, or Fionn doing this to him? The thought of both made Rory squirm. And made his frustration coil tighter, winding ahot thread of need around his cock, tightening his balls and reaching deeper inside him. Jesus, did he want to touch his ass right now?
If he concentrated, Rory imagined he could feel the insistent pulsing of blood rushing along all the tiny corridors in his body, all of it cascading downwards and pooling in an unnervingly warm basin between his legs.
His hand slipped from his cock and stretched lower, following the pull of gravity. Rory bent his knees and curled forward slightly, reaching beyond the crease of his inner thigh. He pressed on with one fingertip and experimentally stroked the rim of his asshole.
At first it was slightly ticklish, his body’s instinctual reaction to a foreign sensation. Then it became pleasant, a sensation that slowly unfurled as he explored further.
All right,he thought.This is new. Bit weird. Sort of nice, maybe…
Rory grew bolder, rubbing more firmly, then in tight circles, and then wiggling his fingertip down until it breached—
‘Fuck,’ he choked as his body shuddered. The warm pool in his gut turned to lava, igniting all the nerve endings that shot to a single point around the tip of his finger.
Jesus fuck. It wasn’t supposed to feel likethat. As though a button had just been pressed that saidONand his body was going to eagerly comply without checking in with him first.
Rory felt a strange slickness on his fingertip. An oily texture like soap, but he hadn’t used any yet.
