Page 36 of Hurricane Love

“Yeah, I liked that. What’s not to like?”

Wylie stood and thought about asking Diego to return the favor, but he wanted something else instead. “Turn around,” he instructed.

Diego shot him a suspicious look, but did as he was told. Wrapping an arm around Diego’s chest to grip one of his mounded pecs, Wylie held onto him firmly and licked the warm, salty skin of his shoulder. “Mmm, you taste good,” Wylie murmured, trailing his tongue up Diego’s neck to suck on the curve. Diego reached back and grabbed a fistful of Wylie’s hair, tugging at the root.

“Yeah, baby,” Wylie encouraged. With one arm still gripping Diego, his other hand grabbed hold of his own leaking dick and he pumped vigorously, grateful for the precum to soften the sting. His fist kept brushing up against Diego’s hip, and Wylie’s gaze caught on the tribal tattoo and lower, the soft upper swells of Diego’s ass. Lost in the scent and taste of the man in front of him, he imagined fucking Diego from behind, the squeeze of his muscle around his dick as it struggled to take him. Watching his cock shuttle in and out between those smooth, meaty cheeks. He bet that shit was tight. Would Diego be quiet and stoic during sex or would he moan his pleasure out loud? These were questions he needed answered.

“You ever been fucked before?” Wylie whispered into Diego’s ear, not giving him an inch of relief from his iron embrace.

“No. Well, once, but it didn’t really count.” Diego swallowed while pushing back against him, offering a grounding support to Wylie’s thrusts.

“Didn’t count?” Wylie asked, perplexed. Diego didn’t answerright away, so Wylie continued, “Bet you’d like it. Bet you’d love it. I’d make you feel so good. I’d take such good care of you, baby. God, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

Diego said nothing, but angled his head so that Wylie could maul his mouth. Wylie thrust his tongue between Diego’s parted lips, needing to own him in some kind of primal claim. More than accepting, Diego drew him in deeper, their tongues twisting and sparring as if battling one another. Wylie rocked into his own tight fist and Diego grabbed a hold of Wylie’s thigh to steady him. It was close enough to fucking that Wylie could imagine it clear as day, breaking down the other man until Diego was begging for it.

When his orgasm finally hit, the force of it left him breathless and dizzy and he had to lean on Diego for support. His jizz landed all over Diego’s smooth skin, pooling on the top curve of his ass and dripping down with more of it landing on his thigh. Wylie loosened his grip in order to lean back and admire his work. A friggin’ masterpiece, he loved seeing his cum splashed against the man’s skin. What would it take to make Diego his, permanently?

“What’s your love language?” Wylie asked, still panting and leaning heavily against Diego’s shoulder.

“What? What is that? I don’t know what that means.”

“Words of affirmation. Quality time. Gifts. Acts of service. Physical touch.” Wylie counted them off on his hand, not taking a breath the entire time, then demanded, “Which one?”

“I don’t know? Quality time?”

“Yeah,” Wylie said with a nod. “Mine too. That and physical touch. And words of affirmation. Absent fathers, abandonment, etc. I can work with that.” Diego only gave him a puzzled look in return.

“Turn around,” Wylie said, easing off the pressure of his fingers on Diego’s shoulder. Diego turned fully and took him in. Surely, he looked wrecked, not only from sucking Diego’s dick in the hot sand but also from the explosive orgasm. One of Diego’specs was red from where Wylie had gripped him so tightly. Seeing his own handprint on the man’s skin made him wild with desire.

Mine, goddamnit.

Wylie rolled his shoulders, trying to regain control of himself. His eyes landed on Diego’s face, and he intended to say something else, something sweet, when suddenly the man was upon him, gripping the back of his head and kissing the ever living shit out of him. That unbridled passion was something Wylie wanted to see more of; he just had to learn the trigger.

Diego backed him up slowly, lips never leaving his, tongue mining his mouth for buried treasure, until their ankles hit the water. Diego continued his pursuit, only stopping when they were waist-deep in the Gulf. Wylie was dizzy from lack of oxygen, and he never wanted this to end.

At last, Diego pulled off and pushed him backward into the water, as if done with him. Wylie came up sputtering, then laughed when he saw Diego’s scowl, him standing there with his arms crossed, as if annoyed by how affected he’d become.

“What?” Wylie asked innocently.

“What the hell am I going to do with you?” Diego asked with a mixture of awe and exasperation.

“You liked it,” Wylie challenged. “All of it, didn’t you?”

Diego shrugged.

“Tell me which part you liked the most,” Wylie demanded.

“I don’t know. Just…you really went for it, huh?”

“Yeah, I did. I know what I want.” Wylie let that hang in the air for a bit, staring at him intently, and then asked, “Want me to clean you off?”

“No, I got it.” Diego reached down, scooping up the water to rub at his ass and upper thigh. Wylie grabbed his own dick and pumped it a few times, remembering just moments ago when he’d dirtied the man so spectacularly. He stood in the water so Diego could see what he was doing.

“I hope you get sand lice,” Diego said without taking his eyes off Wylie’s rock-hard dick.

“Better than crabs,” he replied with a smirk.

“Your recovery phase is like a minute,” Diego said with a mixture of awe and admiration.