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Artair’s raised eyebrow showed just how badly Luca had failed at subtlety. The man’s smile showed just how glad he was to have Luca in this position.
And then, without saying a single word, and still ostensibly tending to the lump on Luca’s head, Artair rubbed ever so slightly against the waistband of Luca’s shorts. His thumb tip ran between cotton and skin—as if saying want me to take these off for you, buddy?
Luca’s cock throbbed hard at that, and he was sure he let out a little whimper. He wanted to say yes. To cross the few inches of heat between their faces. To kiss him. To undress him slowly. To explore every curve of his amazing bear body.
But he didn’t.
With a resolve he didn’t know he had, Luca muttered some barely formed resistance. “I... work. Must work. Back inside. Where work be.”
And just like that, it was done.
There was no anger from the man. No protest or comments of are you sure? Instead, Artair clapped firm hands on Luca’s shoulders—strong and reassuring. “That’s fine, buddy! Thanks for the coffee.”
“I... I...” Luca stammered, suddenly worried that Artair might get the wrong idea. Bigger guys often doubted how sexy they were, and the last thing Luca wanted was Artair thinking he wasn’t desirable. Not when the opposite was true.
“Don’t worry,” laughed Artair, shooting a glance toward Luca’s crotch. “You don’t have to explain anything.”
Luca glanced down himself. A spot of precum was visibly darkening the fabric over his massive and obvious erection.
Soon, Artair had gathered his gear and was back on the trail, his big booty bouncing with each departing step. His smile was somehow undimmed despite the rejection.
Just before Artair disappeared around the bend, into the shaded bows of the pine trees, he called back with a friendly salute. “Have a great summer, Luca!”
Luca waved back weakly. “You too, Artair.”
That night, under crystal stars and deepest navy, Luca dreamed a heady dream. One of sweet-faced bears with emerald eyes. One of stocky hikers with thighs he wanted to bury his ears between. One of being stuck under the desk, in an exposed and vulnerable position, and of the stranger having no choice but to take full advantage of the situation.
And in that swirling space, he did take advantage. Confidently. Expertly. Flowing like rough water against a grateful shore. Crashing against the dunes. Raking strong fingers through timeless sand.
Together, they rolled on the tide. Driftwood on an ocean of nothing. Heat among the cold. Solid among the wet.
Then calm.
Content.
And just before Luca woke, at the deepest part of the dream, came an image. Hazy. Distant.
It was not of fury this time, but of peace. Of a powerful force holding Luca close, even though they were finished with their primal act.
It held him close because the seas beyond were too cold to explore alone.
Because the night was too long and the stars were too few.
Because it couldn’t imagine facing any of it without him.
The image lingered after Luca woke.
But it didn’t stay long.
Because it was just a dream.
On the next morning’s check in, Sandy was surprisingly interested in his visitor. Not that Luca told her the full details of their encounter. It wasn’t that he needed her to keep secrets or anything. As far as Luca was concerned, he hadn’t broken his celibacy pledge. But if she was going to keep the details of her own life secret, there was no reason he needed to overshare, either.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Six foot three? About two-hundred-and-seventy pounds? Hair like a strawberry haystack and a face about forty percent freckles? Looks like an Irish hammer-thrower?”
“Yes?” said Luca, curiously. “How did you know that?”
“Name of Artair Osmond?”
