Page 19 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
My cock is uncomfortably hard, and it’s nearly impossible to hide, tenting my shorts and pointing straight for the man who has been a part of every sexual fantasy in my head for years.
A sneaky little smirk pops on his face, and he leans over me again, one hand brushing through the sand in my hair. “Stay right here.”
Where would I go? Because if he’s going to look at me like that, touch me like that, then there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.
He stands and is maybe gone a total of thirty seconds before he’s back, straddling my thighs and placing a few sandcastle-sized buckets of water beside us on the sand.
I can’t say he doesn’t come prepared for anything.
There are no words between us as he picks one up and drizzles water over my chest.
I gasp, not because it’s cold—the water is rather warm—but from the shock of it all, from the way the rivulets of water feel trickling down my abdomen, and he does it again before I fully recover. He leans in close as it cascades down my collarbone, and that wicked grin is back as he pours the last of the bucket into my hair.
Some of it drips into my eyes, but I don’t dare move my hands from where he positioned them, just blink through the discomfort until it clears.
The camera sounds above me, but I’m not paying it any mind, too busy watching the kaleidoscope of emotions play out on Dex’s face. Maybe he thinks I don’t see, maybe he doesn’t care, but he isn’t hiding the sadness, the need, the longing.
I don’t know what they’re for, but I know better than to think they’re directed at me. I just happen to be the one to catch them.
He stops to pick up the other bucket, but when I brace for the sensation this time, it’s not where I expect it. Dex pours the water over my hips, my thighs, soaking the material of my swim shorts until they’re clinging to me like a second skin.
And my dick is still hard.
Dex’s nostrils flare, but all he does is raise the camera again and start clicking away.
His lips are parted and his chest is moving with heavy breaths, and I don’t know if it’s from concentration or the attention he’s paying to my dick, which is throbbing and twitching and begging for contact of any kind. I’ll take more water if it relieves the pressure.
Dex glances around us and must be comfortable with what he finds, because he lowers the camera and hovers over me.
“Stroke yourself,” he whispers.
I reach for my cock so fast that the back of my hand brushes against Dex’s erection, and the sweetest sounding whimper comes from his lips. He sits up, watches the way I pump my thick length, then covers my hand with his own and changes my hold.
His fingers barely touch my cock, but I swear I could blow. He makes me frame my dick between my forefinger and thumb, the camera shuttering faster than I can keep up, and then all too abruptly the moment ends.
Dex is on his feet, flicking through pictures and staring hungrily at the screen in a way that I wish had more to do with me and less to do with his craftsmanship. I want to keep my hand on my dick, want to get off to the thoughts of Dex touching me, ordering me, but I let my hand fall to the sand and try to calm my racing heart.
Dex Ashford has me wrapped around his finger, and I’m suddenly not so sure I’ll survive the next two weeks.
Shouldhestilllookso unfairly attractive wearing a snorkel? I think that crosses the line from attraction to insanity because seeing his dorky face all decked out in swim gear shouldn’t make me want to tackle him into the water and kiss him.
Dex took some scenery shots after our wet and sandy shoot, and then I may have casually mentioned the possibility of taking a dive to see some sea turtles. We spent twenty minutes renting out everything he needed and finding a guide, and now Dex is snorkeled up (plus the flippers) and ready to swim with the fishes.
Well, turtles. Without the death metaphor.
I, on the other hand, am safely parked on the beach where I can’t accidentally drown by getting too wrapped up in Dex and his turtle adventures. It’s a genuine fear really given that I still have a hard-on from the feel of Dex on top of me. It’s a problem. An obsession even.
His smile is so wide and almost childlike as he listens to something the guide is telling him, and then those big blue eyes are on me, and I could melt right here into the sand. Staying away from Dex these last few years has been as much for my sanity as it was respecting his wishes. He’ll be the death of me.
I’d give anything and everything for this man to see the way he smiles. Double if it’s directed at me like it is right now. That’s a dangerous power to have.
“Get in here!” he shouts as he wades towards a boulder near the shore.
It’s kinda cute the way he pushes the goggles onto his head and still manages to get stray strands of hair in his eyes, but I shake my head and dig my toes into the sand. I figure he’ll drop it, shake his head, and go back to his dive, but stubbornness fills his gaze and he swims closer.
“I don’t have any gear,” I say as if I can’t walk twenty feet to rent out my own.
“Besides. Maybe I want to snap some pictures for you.”
