Page 38 of Open Water
"Easy." His hand steadied my hip.
He licked again. A long, flat stroke from base to tip that made my vision blur. Then his tongue circled the head, found the ridge underneath, pressed there. I was leaking precum and he licked that up too.
He dropped lower. His tongue on my balls, wet and warm, his hand still wrapped around my shaft stroking in slow pulls. The combination of his mouth on my balls and his hand on my dick made me grab the shower rail.
"Jesus, Liam."
He didn't answer. Just came back up and took me in his mouth.
The heat. The pressure. His lips tight around me, sliding down, taking more than I expected. His cheeks hollowed and he pulled back slow, then sank again, finding a rhythm. His free hand dropped between his own legs and I watched him start to stroke himself — his fist working in the same tempo as his mouth on me, his eyes closing for a second as the pleasure registered.
He moaned and it made my dick throb in his warm mouth.
I looked down at him. Across my stomach, past the water running in rivulets down my abs, to his face. His green eyes opened and found mine. Held them. My cock sliding between his lips, his hand between his legs, the water streaming over both of us.
And the thing I'd been carrying. The thing I'd known since the dock at Brackett Lake, the thing I'd felt at the Charles when his blade entered the water at the same instant as mine, the thing that woke me up in the middle of the night and sat on my chest like a second heartbeat — it named itself.
The way a word you've been trying to remember finally surfaces and you realize you knew it all along.
I loved him.
I loved Liam Moore. The guy from the marina. The scholarship rower who had no business being in my life and had become the only part of it that was real. I loved his anger and his stubbornness and his hands and his mouth and the way he looked at me like I was worth something even when I never felt like I was.
I'd never say it. Not yet. The word was too big for a shower stall at five in the morning with my life in free fall.
Liam's eyes were still on mine. His mouth still on me. His hand still working himself. I could see him getting close, his rhythm losing its steadiness, his breath catching around me, his thighs tensing.
The feeling of love and the want fused into the same current. Every nerve ending in my body lit up at once. The recognition in my chest feeding the pressure at the base of my spine, amplifying it, making it unbearable.
The orgasm hit before I saw it coming. A wave that breaks before you see it crest. My hand found his head. My fingers in his wet hair. My hips pressing forward.
"Oh god Liam—"
He took everything. Swallowed. Kept his mouth on me through the aftershocks while his own hand moved faster and I watched him come a moment later. His groan vibrating through my cock, his eyes squeezing shut, his whole body shuddering against my legs.
The water ran over us. Neither of us moved.
Then Liam rested his forehead against my hip. His breathing ragged. His hand still loosely holding himself. I ran my fingers through his wet hair and the shower drummed on his back and on the tile and on the curtain and everything was quiet.
Liam stood up and wrapped his hands around my hips pressing his forehead against mine, nose brushing mine.
"It's going to be okay. I don't know how. But it will," he said.
I kissed him in agreement and wrapped my arms around his shoulders the buried my face in his neck. My chest throbbed with heat… in a good way. A love way.
Eventually, he said, "we should go."
"Yeah."
Neither of us moved.
"Five more seconds," I said.
He held me for thirty more.
***
"You're going to have to wear my stuff," Liam said, tossing me a gray Riverside crew t-shirt. It was a little loose across the shoulders when I pulled it on. The joggers fit perfectly.
