Page 45 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Nineteen
Freddie
If I don’t smother myself in factor fifty, I end up with a frightening resemblance to a savoury cheese flavoured snack, so getting Elliot to rub his strong, warm hands, slick with cream across my back, is, of course, purely for practical reasons.
I make a pillow for my head with my arms, and close my eyes. Above me, I hear the flick of the bottle top and then what seems like an obscene squirt as Elliot releases the lotion, dripping it along my back, and I suck in a breath at the sudden coldness. I bury my face deeper into my arms as more cream splatters over my skin. Deliciously filthy thoughts fill my head as I bite down on my lower lip, forcing back the traitorous groan that’s fighting to escape me, telling myself it’s sunscreen, only sunscreen.
Thank God I’m on my front, because my dick’s rock solid, and I can only pray he doesn’t ask me to return the favour in few minutes, or even a few hours. I wriggle around a bit, to try and relieve some of the pressure on my aching cock and balls, but it’s a bad move, because the friction only makes it worse, and I try to think of something, anything, that might help tap the valve that’s threatening to burst between my legs.
I jump as Elliot’s hands slap down on my back. He’s not rubbing the cream in, but massaging it into my skin. His palms push up along the valley of my spine, in a long slow sweep, before fanning out over my shoulders, moving down along my sides to the small of my back before repeating the journey. The smooth, strong slide of his hands relaxes my muscles including, I’m happy to say, the one pressing into the sun bed, and I sigh long and loud.
“That feels amazing. It’s like having a proper massage. How did you learn to do this?” I murmur.
Above me, Elliot chuckles. “My brother’s a massage therapist, and he taught me some basic techniques.”
I turn my head and squint up at him. I can’t see the expression on his face because he’s no more than a dark shadow against the bright blue sky. It’s another little piece of the picture, to add to what he’s already told me, which in truth isn’t much, that goes to make up who he is. I want to know more, I want to be able to see and know all of him. And it shakes me, with how much I want to know.
I nuzzle into my arms again, and close my eyes. Because what’s the point in knowing more? By this time next week, I’ll be home with a healthier bank balance than I’ve known in a long time, a tan, and some good memories of a man I’ll never see or hear of again.
“You’re very tight.”
My eyes snap open. “What?” Words I’ve heard before, but in a very different context.
“Around your neck and shoulders. Your muscles are very tight and tense.”
And is that any bloody wonder? Elliot, in arse-moulding shorts and torso hugging T-shirt, is rubbing cream all over my skin, in front of a captive audience. It’s a scene worthy of soft focus porn before the main action, and one I’ve engineered, because aren’t we meant to be putting on a show? But I’m definitely the support to Elliot’s lead role in this particular act.
More lotion squirts over my hot skin, and the shiver that rocks through me has sod all to do with our performance.
“I need to get into a better position so I can really push into you,” Elliot says above me.
The innuendo’s excruciating but, honestly, I don’t think he has a clue. I’m tight… He needs to push into me… He’s got to get into a better position… My dick’s woken back up and is ready to rock ’n’ roll.
In one quick move he straddles me, and I grunt in surprise as his thighs clamp on either side of mine. And I’m whimpering, I’m sure I’m whimpering, as I push my face harder against my arms.
“That’s better. Now I can really go to work on you.”
My only answer’s some weird, strangled squeak.
The heels of his hands push hard into my knotted muscles. What started out as something deliciously sensual has turned excruciating, and I gasp as he presses down upon me, his strong hands kneading, rubbing, and massaging.
“Feeling better?”
“Bloody sadist,” I grunt, and he answers with a laugh.
As his hands continue with their punishing work, his body rocks with him. The pressure in my dick’s mounting as he sweeps down my body, tugging at the waist band of my cut-offs, pulling them down a tiny bit so he can get to the base of my back above the swell of my arse. Jesus, if he carries on much longer, I’m in serious danger of coming, and there won’t be a thing I can do to stop it. When I think I can’t take any more and resign myself to the inevitable, everything stops.
“There you go, I think that’s enough.” He moves off me, leaving me both relieved and resentful of the loss of his weight pressing down on me.
I lift my head to look at him, ready to say thank you, but the words catch in my throat.
He’s pulling off his T-shirt, dropping it to the deck before he lays back on the sun bed next to me, and closes his eyes.
God, but he’s beautiful. He’s darker complexioned than me, his olive skin hinting at southern European heritage, Italy perhaps, or Spain. The hair on his chest, though sparse like mine, is dark and my mouth waters as I follow his treasure trail, over the honed muscles of his stomach, before it disappears beneath the waist of his shorts. He’s muscled but there’s nothing bulky about him and I suspect his build has more to do with happy genetics than to long and gruelling sessions in the gym, or running across Hampstead Heath in all weathers. He murmurs something, and I go to ask him to repeat it, before I realise that he’s slipped into sleep.
The gentle rock of the yacht and the background drone of voices is soothing and I close my eyes. My erection, thank God, has finally decided to subside and I’m able at last to shift around onto my back safe in the knowledge I’m saving my blushes.
The bottle of sunscreen lays abandoned on the deck next to me and I reach down to pick it up and smear some over my front. Instead of settling back down again, I look out to a sea that’s so dark blue it’s almost purple, sighing as the hot sun saturates my skin and sinks down into my bones. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the heat of a foreign sun on my skin. And that’s the reason why I agreed to this, isn’t it? The promise of sun and a much-needed cash injection? But, I’m also here for Elliot, because I like him. I like him a lot, and could like him a whole lot more — if I let myself.
