“You come here often?” Dax asks as he picks up a few flat rocks and shells, preparing to skip them out into the water.
“Dude, really?” I mock, playing on his use of the most cliché pick up line ever. “You can’t think of anything more original than that? If you wanted to get in my pants, all you had to do was ask.” Though I say them as jokingly as I can, I have to admit that I only mentioned my pants to see what he would say, how he would react.
Slowed by the wet sand crunching under his feet, Dax turns to face me. “In your pants?” His voice is brittle and frail, almost as if he’s afraid that if he speaks with too much force or volume, something will break.
I stifle a smile when I see he’s taken the bait.
Choosing to ignore him and his tone of deflection, I bend to gather some shells, turn to face the water, and avoid looking at him all together. “Well, back at the bar–”
An angry noise, sounding more like a grunt than anything, rumbles from his chest. Lacing his hands together behind his head, he looks up at the underside of the planks of the boardwalk, slit-like rays of starlight dancing across his face. “About that,” he begins to explain before dropping his arms back to his side.
In another smooth motion, he lowers himself to the sand, propping his back up against a flat side of a rock. “I sh-should explain,” he pauses, catching his breath and gathering his words, but I hear the stutter now—the same one from before.
Situating myself next to him, I find a stick and begin tracing a few random strokes in the sand. The sound reminds me of coal being dragged across paper. The pulses moving up my hand aren’t too far off from the ones I feel with the tattoo needle in my hand. “Here.” Dax eyes the proffered stick cautiously, like I’ve just handed him a dead fish. With an exaggerated movement, I brush my stick through the sand, the lines of a smiley face staring back at us. “Try it,” I suggest.
“Smiling?” he mocks, snatching the stick from my hand.
“No. Drawing,” I huff, running my fingers through the sand, wiping away the face, which I’d just drawn. “But smiling wouldn’t hurt either,” I add quietly.
With the tip of the twig pressed into the sand, he lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know I’m difficult to keep up with.”
I can’t stifle the sarcastic chuckle that bursts from my lips. “Difficult? You’re like watching The Flash play ping pong against himself.”
After the words are out of my mouth, I regret them, fearing I may have insulted him. But when his laughter mirrors mine, I stop myself from apologizing. “That’s a pretty good analogy.” His laughter quiets as he draws lines in the sand. I don’t push him to speak. He can say whatever he wants about the bar whenever he feels like it. Watching him effortlessly glide the stick across the grains, noticing his body relax as he does so, makes pride warm my chest.
We sit that way for so long, both of us drawing random nothingness, that the sound of his voice actual makes me jump in surprise. “The stuttering is part of my PTSD.” He doesn’t look at me, but continues as if I’d responded, “When I get stressed or anxious, it’s like my brain gets all jammed up. The thoughts are there and it’s almost as if I can see the words being spelled out in my brain, but by the time they get to my mouth, I sound like, well, like I sounded before. Like a stuttering fool.”
“I get that.” I keep my voice low, not wanting to break him from whatever train of thought he’s currently on. “But what made you flip out?” Again, I feel as if I’ve just put my enormous foot in my even bigger mouth.
Thankfully, he laughs in agreement of my description. “I guess I owe Ty an apology, huh?”
“Nah.” Waving a hand through the air in front of me, I dismiss his concerns. “I dropped a fifty on the table before we left. That’ll buy him more than enough drinks for the night. Chances are he’ll be thanking you for the free night out before he’ll be demanding an apology from you.”
“He’s a good friend of yours though, and I landed a knee to his gut.” There’s a nervous quality to his words as he recounts his actions.
“Yeah, so? And you didn’t really mean it, did you?”
He shakes his head, then casts his eyes down to the Rorschach like pattern he’s been drawing in the sand.
“So, he’ll be cool,” I say definitively, essentially shutting him up. “He might want to know what he did wrong though, so he doesn’t do it again.”
Dax’s stick stops moving, his body going rigid. I notice a subtle shift, his body pulling away from me. “Keep going,” I prompt, tipping my head down to his drawing. “You’re calmer when you do that.”
“What are you? A psychiatrist now?” Cynicism drips from his words.
Shrugging, I reach in my pocket for my pack of cigarettes. “Whatever, then don’t draw. Your call.” Cupping my hand over the lighter, I light the cigarette, the first inhale calming my nerves. “That’s why I use these,” I hold out the butt. “Started when I was about fourteen. That’s when shit got real heavy at home. A friend of mine swiped a pack from his dad. We coughed our lungs out that first time, but then the calm came.”
“You suggesting I pick up smoking, now?” he snips.
“Nah,” I take another puff, blowing the smoke away from him. “Just commiserating.”
“Still, you should quit. It’s not good for you.”
“You’re not concerned about me, are you?” I mock playfully.
He pauses for a minute, actually contemplating his response. His eyes search the sky for something, what I’m not sure. On a deep breath, he answers, “Besides Chloe, you’re the only person I know out here. You’re the only person who’s ever seen me at my worst. Even Chloe only catches the tail end of my attacks. So maybe not worrying about you dying from cancer would be nice.” His voice trails off, shy suddenly. After a few more seconds of silence, his stick resumes its movement in the sand.
Unsure of how to react to what he’s just said, I crush out my cigarette in the sand. “I’ll try. Can’t say it’ll happen, but I’ve been meaning to anyway.”
“I’ll keep trying this, too.” He lifts the sand-covered branch up in the air. “Maybe not drawing. Can’t say I’m as good at it as you,” he winks at me, obviously hinting at the drawing he wasn’t supposed to see—ever. “But I’ll try to find a more productive way to calm myself down rather than beating the crap out of your friends.”
Dax holds out his fist for me to bump, sealing the deal.
“He scared me,” Dax confesses quietly. “When he came up behind me, I panicked and went into attack mode. By the time I figured out what was going on, that’s when the embarrassment took over. That’s what caused the stuttering.” Shooting up from his seat, Dax brushes the sand off his ass.
The ass that I am most definitely checking out.
“I hate looking like an idiot in front of people I d-don’t k-now.” His stuttering picks up again and despite his deep breaths, he can’t calm himself down.
Stepping to his side, I drop a hand gently to his shoulder. Yeah, I know he just told me it was being taken by surprise that caused him to knock Ty out, but being able to touch him is worth the risk. “Hey,” he turns to my voice, not tensing at all when I touch him, “you are not an idiot. You might need help, but you’re nothing short of a hero.”
The air disappears from my lungs when I feel Dax lean into my touch. He turns to face me, that look on his face. The heated stare, the searching gaze, the uncertain eyes—it falls to my lips before quickly moving back up to my eyes.
“What are we doing?” his voice a breathy whisper. He takes a step closer and when I move my hand, he grabs my forearm, locking it in place.
“Talking,” I lie.
Quirking an eyebrow, he moves even closer. “No, we’re not.” He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips. I want more of it.
“Then you tell me.”
Dax’s warm, large hand moves to the side of my neck, his thumb brushing against the underside of my jaw. “I don’t know exactly, b
ut I do know that I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more than I want to kiss you right now.”
Letting out a low steady exhale, I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. “You didn’t stutter. You’re not nervous?”
“I’m nervous as fuck, but I don’t care.”
That’s all I need to know. Leaning into him, his other hand goes to the other side of my face. Our lips meet easily, softly, almost chastely before he pulls back.
Honestly, I had my doubts about his sexuality. When I first saw him with Chloe, I made the assumption most people would make. An attractive girl with a hot guy—they must be together. But there were signs that made me think differently, most notably this kiss. Yet, as we stand here, the stilted silence echoing in my ears, I can’t help but think I’m wrong, again.
Stepping back from him, his hands fall from my face and my eyes fall to the ground. “Well, I guess we better get go–”
With quickness I didn’t see coming, Dax has me in his arms, turning me so my back is pressed up against the boardwalk beam. “We’re not going anywhere,” he commands before crushing my lips with his. There’s nothing unsure about this kiss. His mouth is demanding, his tongue penetrating and licking every inch it can get to.
With his hands in my hair, he tilts my head to the side, diving in to devour more of me. My hands roam over the huge planes of broad chest and he winces. “Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“It’s fine. Shut up,” he chokes out before taking my mouth again. There’s a ferocious intensity moving between us. Twisting us around, I press him to the spot where I was trapped between him and the beam. Angling his head to the side, I attack his neck—nibbling and kissing up to the side of his mouth. Trailing along the seam of his closed lips with my tongue, I grind against his body, quirking a smile when I feel his cock hardening against mine.
“Is that good?” I ask, a half-smile twisting my lips as they press up against his. All he can manage is a quick nod. His Adam’s apple shifts in the thick column of his neck as he swallows hard. Rather than speak any words, Dax simply lets out a low hum of approval as he shoves his hands into the back pockets of my jeans, pulling me ever closer to him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“You don’t shut up, do you?” Dax groans between my wet licks and hot kisses on his neck. Shaking my head, I let the scruff of my beard tickle his skin, loving the way his skin dances under the movement. With fast, sure hands, I pull his shirt out from the waistband of his jeans, letting my hands travel under the fabric. Careful not to rub over his healing tattoo, I grab the other side of his chest, needing to feel the hard muscle in my hands.
His fingers lace into the long hair at the nape of my neck, angling my head back. There’s need in his kiss—both for more physical contact and for something else, something that goes much deeper than the glide of our bodies, the heat of our mouths, the rush of our excitement.
My thumb runs over his hardened nipple, eliciting a low growl from Dax. His hips thrust forward, tempting my fingers as they play with his belt. Leaning back enough so that my hand has enough room to do its work, I keep my eyes locked on Dax’s as his belt clinks open. Watching his eyes widen in shock—and hopefully desire—when I lower his zipper as slowly as I possibly can, makes me want to touch him even more.
“Need to see how your sketch measures up?” he breathes in my ear.
Nodding, I seal my lips over his as I push his pants down over his hips. His dick springs free from his boxers, resting heavily against my stomach.
“So?” he prods, both with his words and with his body.
He’s heavy and hot in my hand. My drawing does him no justice whatsoever. “I approve,” I deadpan, letting him rest in my palm as if I’m actually assessing his package.
“What am I a home loan or something? You approve?”
“Want me to write you a sonnet about your dick? I thought drawing a picture of it was enough.”
He has the good sense to chuckle, but the humor evaporates from his eyes when I move my hand over his hard length. A hiss of a sound passes over his lips before he curses a low “Fuck” against my lips.
Worked up beyond belief, I have to stop myself. Dax barely knows me and he had a fucking panic attack not more than an hour ago, yet here I am minutes away from jerking him off under some random boardwalk.
“Dax, wait.” My hand stills as he gasps for air. “Are you okay?” When he looks at me like he has no clue what I’m talking about, I clarify, “From before, the anxiety. I don’t want to make it worse, or take advantage–”
Cutting me off before I can finish, he moves his hips so that his dick slides through my loosened grip. “In case you haven’t noticed, yeah, I’m fine.” On his last word, he thrusts hard against my palm, proving everything that he’s just said. He adds, “More than fine” in a hoarse but soft voice before fucking my mouth with his tongue. The fragility that overpowered him before is gone, replaced by a man in control.
My other hand roams across his chest, rolling his nipple between two fingers before going lower, to the perfect lines of his abs. Sinking to my knees puts his dick right in my face where I can see just how much I underestimated him before.
Holding him firmly in one hand, I roll my tongue around his wide crown, lapping up the bead of moisture forming there.
With hooded eyes, he looks down at me. “I’m clean,” he mumbles with truth hanging from each word.
As I stroke him, I say, “You yelled at me for littering. I’m pretty sure you’d never put your dick in anything without it being protected. I’d expect no less from you.”
Before my last word vanishes into the air, I wrap my lips around his cock, effortlessly pulling him to the back of my throat. Gripping my hair, he pushes himself further, making me gag.
“Shit,” he growls before pulling back. “Sorry, it’s just–”
Smiling, I shake my head at him, “It’s okay. I know I’m good,” I joke, before swallowing him whole again.
It doesn’t take me long to find my rhythm. One hand works him over from base to tip as my mouth follows in its path. On each push and pull, his veins grow thicker, his movements more frantic, his breathing more labored.
“Beck,” my name is a warning on his lips, one that doesn’t need to be uttered. In fact, it makes me move faster, grip him harder. “Oh, fuck, Beck . . . I . . .”
Needing to let go—of more than just his orgasm, I’m sure—he twines his fingers in my hair again, shoving his ready to explode cock into my throat. With one more hard push against my mouth, he comes. The hot, salty-sweet combination of his release coats my throat. After licking him clean, I slowly lift up his boxers and jeans, carefully tucking him back inside.
When his breathing settles and the blood stops rushing in my ears, we’re both distracted by flashing lights off in the distance. “Shit, we need to get out of here.”
Flashlight beams fall on our retreating backs, but by the time anyone gets close enough, we’re already in my Jeep pulling away from the beach.
Breathless laughter fills the open cabin. “That was fun,” Dax says once we’re a safe distance away from actually being chased.
“Which part?” I shoot him a playfully curious look. “The blow job or the almost being caught by the cops?”
He laughs, a deep, full laugh, looking up at the stars as they pass in a blurry streak above us. “Well, mostly the first part, but the whole night was fun, honestly.”
We’re only down the block from our complexes, so in a matter of seconds, I’m pulling into his lot, wishing the night could go just a little longer. Dax directs me to the part of the building where his apartment is and when I pull into a parking spot, I kill the engine.
“So, what do we do? I mean,” he rubs his hand over his face, huffing out a half frustrated, half uncertain breath, “I’ve never done this.”
“What’s that exactly? Getting sucked off at the beach.” Nervous humor is my usual defense mechanism, but a large part of me is genuinely curious.
>
Twisting in his seat, he serves me a serious look. “Nope, that’s definitely never happened before. Can’t say I’d be happy if it never happened again.” A lopsided smile spreads across his face, relaxed and rugged at the same time. “I meant I’ve never been here before. Like do I call you or do you call me. Or is sucking people off at a random beach something you do all the time and you never want to hear from me again.”
Mouth opened in shock, all I can do is listen to his rambling, enjoying it too much to cut him short.
“You’re not going to say anything?” Dax asks, literally on the edge of his seat.
I pause, scratch my beard, and look out the front window, purposefully delaying my answer. “You know, I should be offended that you think I give away free blow jobs under the dock, but,” I puff out my chest proudly, “I’ll choose to ignore that comment seeing as I know you think I did a good job.”
“Good doesn’t even come close to what you did.”
Distracted momentarily by my buzzing phone, I can’t respond right away. When I slip it out of my pocket, I recognize the number immediately. It’s Nikki. I’ve been waiting to hear from her, but right now isn’t the time. First, I need to know what’s going on with Dax and then I can deal with her.
“Well, when you whisper sweet nothings like that, how can I possibly not want to hear from you again?” We share a laugh at our stupid banter. But it feels good to laugh—to let go.
“Yeah, but I figure I still owe you.” His eyes travel lazily down to my crotch. “I have a bunch of stuff to get done this week, but what are you doing on Tuesday?”
“I have work at night, but I’m free the rest of the day.”
“Okay, then want to pencil me in?”
“For a blow job?” Quirking an eyebrow, I add, “You said you owe me.”
Without missing a beat, Dax laughs. “Sure, but how about a pizza first?”
Angling my body toward Dax, I nod. “You already have my number,” I tip my head down the road to my building, “and you already know where I live, so I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”
On Solid Ground Page 9