Page 70 of Crashing Tides

“See anything you like?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows at him, hooking a foot behind his thigh and urging him closer.

“Holy shit,” he says, hands planted on either side of my hips as he looks me up and down. There’s something feral in those gray eyes, a glistening darkness that I should be afraid of, but I’m not. I’m drawn to it, no hesitation. “Do you even know how good you look?”

The compliment goes straight to my dick. “I own a mirror,” I say, trying to find the right balance between flattered and cocky.

A hand splays across my abs, moves downward, catches at the V of muscle above my hips. “I have to tell you,” he says, biting his lip. “This looks fucking amazing above a fish tail.”

That does something to me. A little flash of vulnerability, of aching wonder. It never occurred to me that someone would be attracted to me as—let’s face it—a glorified fish, let alone look at me like this, so soft and full of lust all at once.

It’s fucking dizzying. “Oh,” I say. Then, because I’m an insecure piece of shit, “But you like me when I’m human, too, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, nodding vigorously. He pulls off his shirt, and I finally get to see what I missed out on that night on the beach. A lean torso, firm muscle, slim waist. He’s stronger than me, but also less defined, slender and elegant where I’m more brick shithouse. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

A little thrill runs through me. “You gonna prove it to me?”

Duncan grins. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.” I wink, graze my fingers across his abdominals. The muscles clench beneath my touch.

My hand travels lower. He hisses, reaches to catch my wrist, then thinks better of it and withdraws just as I palm at his arousal. Even under a layer of jeans, I can tell he’s well-endowed. And about to bust out of his jeans.

But his reaction has me worried. “Is this⁠—”

“Don’t stop,” he says in a strangled voice. His eyes have fallen shut.

I move closer, adjust my grip, wonder if I’m getting him out of these pants tonight or if I’m going to have to wait to find out what’s under there. “You’re pretty pent up,” I say. Normally, I might unbutton his jeans, tease his cock free, maybe blow him. But Duncan is kind of… different, and while I can’t imagine a blow job is ever a bad idea, I figure it’s better to just wait until he can articulate what he wants.

When he opens his eyes, they’re yellow instead of gray, watching me intently as I stroke him through the fabric. “It’s been a while,” he says, voice tight. “Fuck, hold on.”

So I wait while he takes a shaky breath, then shucks his jeans onto the floor, until he’s standing in only silky black boxers, tented from his erection.

I’m not sure why he’s wearing them, but then again, I’m still in my jeans. Deciding now is probably a good time to remove them, I kick them off, along with my underwear. To my irritation, the remaining sock does not come free.

But there’s no time for that. Before I can lean over, he’s on me, pushing me down onto the mattress, kissing me hard as his hand works its way between us, first thumbing at the head of my cock, then wrapping around the shaft.

My lips part in a gasp, legs falling open as my hands scrabble at his back. His strokes are firm, rhythmic, quick. Is this how he touches himself?

I melt into the mattress. It’s been too long, and I’m determined to enjoy myself. I could come from this alone, but I haven’t even seen his dick yet. And that’s unacceptable.

Suddenly determined, I push at his chest. He backs off immediately, blinking at me with hooded eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I gesture. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Oh,” he says, like’s he’s just realized, and then the boxers are sailing across the room, past a neatly organized desk and an umbrella stand. “Sorry.”

“You shy?” I ask, staring appreciatively at his cock, which is almost exactly as I imagined, long and girthy, with precum pearling at the tip. “Because you definitely don’t need to be.” Something occurs to me. With a lurch of panic, I ask, “You’ve been with a guy before, right?”

It’s not that I’m against being someone’s first. But I definitely would’ve liked to have known ahead of time.

By the way he scowls, I know I’ve offended him. Before I can apologize, he scoots back on the bed, then lowers his head directly between my legs. Heat envelops me, and I groan as he runs the flat of his tongue across the underside of my cock, starts to bob his head up and down. His eyes meet mine, and there’s no mistaking the meaning behind them: challenge accepted.

“Point taken,” I choke, but he doesn’t back off. Instead, he hollows his cheeks, increasing the suction. I clench the sheets, trying not to thrust, making frantic little movements that I can’t quite control.

Somehow, even with my cock in his mouth, he manages to look smug.

I cram a fist into my mouth to cover the moan that escapes me. It’s wanton, decidedly obscene, and if I weren’t already flushed, I would be now.

He’s way too good at this and I’m too wound up, desperate now, staring back at him, trying to last just a little longer⁠—