by L. A. Witt
“Did you warn him or something?”
“No. He knows me.” Anthony trailed a fingertip over my crotch. “And he knows how I get when I haven’t been laid in a while.”
I gulped.
“Especially,” he added, “when I’ve been climbing the walls and itching for one guy in particular.”
I squeezed his thigh. “You too, huh?”
Anthony glanced at me and grinned. Then he leaned back beside me and started the video.
I slid a hand over his thigh, my whole body hot with anticipation. I’d watched porn with guys before. A little something to get us both spun up before we fucked each other senseless.
Thank God, it was one of those videos that didn’t bother with a setup or dialogue. No pizza delivery men or plumbers. No broken-down cars or guys getting caught masturbating by other conveniently shaved guys who’d join in. The scene opened with two men in boxers making out on a huge bed. One already had his hand under the other’s waistband. Hell yeah. Get to the good stuff.
The guys on the screen were smoking hot too. That wasn’t a surprise. It was porn, after all.
Anthony twisted toward me and started kissing my neck. “Like what you see?”
“Of course I do.” Closing my eyes, I exhaled. “Much rather focus on you, though.”
His lips curved against my skin. “Mmm, but that’s the fun of this.” He slid his palm up my thigh, pressing in the heel of his hand as if to make absolutely sure I was aware of his touch. “You sit back and watch the show while I fuck with you.”
I groaned, suddenly very much aware of why he liked this game. I put a hand on his face and tried to kiss him, but he stopped me and flashed an evil grin.
“Sit back,” he repeated. “And enjoy the show.”
“But I—”
He kissed me again, winked, and moved onto the floor between my legs. As he unzipped my pants, I cursed under my breath. I was supposed to be watching the two tanned, oiled guys with six-packs and ten-inch cocks, but as soon as Anthony’s lips were around my cock, I couldn’t look anywhere but right at him.
The men on the screen were vocal and enthusiastic, but I was silent. All I could do was stare down at Anthony—lips apart, eyes blurry and wide—and breathe. Heavily, and rapidly, and unevenly, but quietly compared to the moaning, cursing, whimpering men in the porno.
And . . . oh my God, I understood what he meant. Getting a blowjob was hot. Getting one from him was spectacular. Getting one from him and realizing I couldn’t focus on two gorgeous men having wild, acrobatic sex on the screen?
Fuck, Anthony. You definitely have my attention.
I tried to glance at the screen a few more times, but I was too enthralled with the gorgeous redhead between my legs and the magic he was working with his mouth. We’d already had sex once today, and I still couldn’t quite believe we were in the same state again. He’d occupied my fantasies so much lately, I’d almost convinced myself he was a fantasy, and now he was here, kneeling at my feet and turning me inside-out, dick first.
“Oh, that’s it.” I carded my fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to grab on. “That’s . . . God, yeah, Anthony. Keep doing that.” For a split second, I thought he might change things up to fuck with me, but if anything, he doubled down. He tightened his grip. Stroked faster. Gave the head more attention with his talented tongue.
Movement on the screen caught my eye, and I glanced toward it. The top was drilling the bottom’s ass, and they were both being theatrically noisy, and it didn’t do a goddamn thing for me because nothing—nothing—could hold a candle to what this gorgeous man was doing to my cock right now, and oh fuck, oh Jesus . . .
I was vaguely aware of my own cry echoing off the vaulted ceilings, and Anthony moaned with delirious pleasure as I unloaded in his mouth. “Fuck, Anthony . . .”
He sat back on his heels. “I think my neighbors heard you.”
“Good.” Eyes closed, I let my head fall back as I licked my lips. “I’ll . . . send ’em a sorry card.”
“Nah.” He pushed himself onto his feet. “They’ll get used to it.”
I started to say something, but stopped at the sound of his zipper. I opened my eyes.
Anthony had freed his cock, which was fully hard, and he gave me that dirty grin as he stroked himself. Without a word, he put one knee on the sofa and pulled my head down, and I eagerly took as much of his cock between my lips as I could.
And, dear God, Anthony fucked my mouth. Not so hard he’d gag me, but enough that I could feel how much he wanted this. How eager he was. How demanding he was. Somehow he knew exactly how to toe the line, how to thrust into my mouth without going too deep. Or maybe he was only giving me the head and a little extra, but it felt like I was taking every inch.
“Oh yeah,” he groaned. “Yeah. That’s . . .” His fingers raked through my hair, but he didn’t put enough pressure on the back of my head to make me nervous. I hated when guys did that. His touch was light, though, and I was completely confident I could shake it off if I wanted to. Which I didn’t.
“Just like that. Oh . . . God, yeah, Noah. Oh yeah. Fuck!”
I dug my nails into his ass cheeks and groaned around his cock, and then he was shuddering and cursing loud enough for the neighbors to hear. When his cum hit the back of my throat, I almost choked, but managed to swallow it, and I kept going and going until he slipped his cock from my mouth.
He sank onto my lap, letting his hot forehead come to rest against mine. “Fuck.” It came out as barely more than a ragged breath.
“You were right,” I said. “This was hot.”
He laughed softly, then pressed his lips to mine and immediately pushed into my mouth with his tongue. My mouth still tasted like his semen, and his still tasted like mine, and he kissed me like he wanted to make damn sure I tasted both of us. Or so he tasted both of us.
“I swear to God,” I murmured between kisses, “there should be laws against the kind of sex we have.”
“I’m pretty sure there are in some states.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And besides.” Anthony flashed a devilish grin. “Then you’d just want it more because it would be forbidden.”
A groan escaped my throat, and I pulled him into another kiss. He was right. The only thing that could make sex with him hotter was if it were illegal. An image flashed through my mind of the two of us in the back of a police car, handcuffed and dressed and still trying to make out and fool around. It was ridiculous, and it would be disastrous in reality—the Navy would be pissed—but it was hot to think about.
“Any of those states within driving distance?” I said. “Because I really want to fuck you where it’s illegal.”
Anthony laughed, and that made my heart flutter almost as much as his dirty talk made my dick hard. “Illegal sex would be fun,” he said between kisses. “But that would mean driving for a while. And we could be spending that time having completely legal but still insanely hot sex.”
“Hmm. You’re right. Maybe we should just damage some furniture instead.”
“Oh God,” he growled, arching against me. “You really like it wild and dirty, don’t you?”
“Uh. Yeah? That’s why I’m here.”
“Mmm, you flatterer. For that, I might have to let you fuck me.”
“Let me?”
He met my gaze, batting his eyes but somehow looking even more wicked. “Or I could tie you down and ride your dick until you scream.”
I gulped. “I’d . . . I’d be okay with that.”
“Of course you would.” He licked his lips. “In fact, I’ll bet you’d be okay with it right about now.”
“You think?”
Anthony winked, sliding his fingers along the shaved sides of my head. “Maybe after we’ve both had a chance to recharge tonight.”
“Yeah. Good plan.” I sighed, running my palms up and down his powerful thighs. “I’m gonna need it after you made me come like that.”
“Fair.�
�� He craned his neck, glancing at the clock above the TV. As he turned back to me, he said, “You have ten minutes.”
I laughed and slapped his ass. “Yeah. After you’ve already made me come how many times today?”
He leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around my neck and brushing his lips across mine. “Not nearly enough to make up for not seeing you for a while.”
“You’re going to kill me. You know that, right?”
“Probably.” He shrugged. “But what a way to go.”
I just laughed and pulled him down into a kiss.
Yeah, he probably was going to kill me.
But yeah, what a way to go.
After spending last night and the better part of today either fucking, talking about fucking, or sleeping between fucking, we finally managed to pull some clothes onto our aching bodies and leave the house. That seemed like our MO on our visits: screw until we couldn’t get it up anymore, then go pretend to be a part of polite society while we recharged.
“Your roommate is probably happy to get rid of us for a while,” Noah said with a laugh.
“Probably. I don’t feel too bad, though.” I slowed to a stop at a traffic light. “If I have to listen to him and his girlfriend knock the plaster off the walls, then he can put up with us fucking like it’s going out of style.”
Noah squirmed. So did I. We exchanged glances across the console, and I ran my fingers up his thigh. We might need to chill for tonight, especially after we ate, but there would definitely be some more of that sex before he went back to Anchor Point.
I faced the road again, but didn’t take my hand back. “I have a feeling I’m going to hear”—I shifted to a nasal tone—“‘Yeah, give me that dick!’ for the next week or two.”
A laugh burst out of Noah. “Uh, yeah. I guess we both did get kind of . . . vocal.”
“Eh.” I shrugged. “It’s fair play for all the ‘Twist my nipples, damn it!’ I did around him and his girlfriend after they got together.”
Noah laughed again, and I swore that sound made me as tingly as when he moaned in bed. “She scream that a lot?”
“Nope. He does.”
“Oh.” He sobered abruptly. “That actually sounds kind of hot.”
I squeezed his leg. The light turned green, and I pulled through the intersection. “The part where someone’s yelling it out? Or twisting nipples?”
“Either.”
“Can’t promise much from me, I’m afraid. I’m kind of indifferent about my nipples.”
“Well, shit.” He threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. “There goes tomorrow’s itinerary.”
I snorted. “I’m sure you can find some other way to get me off.”
“Oh yeah. Probably by making you yell, ‘Yeah, give me that dick!’”
I laughed hard enough I almost swerved into the other lane, but recovered before I crossed any lines. “You would too, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Probably, my ass.” I gave his thigh a squeeze. “I haven’t known you very long, but I do know you.”
“Am I that predictable already?” His fingertips brushed my wrist, raising goose bumps all the way to my elbow. “Might have to change things up a bit, won’t I?”
I glanced at him, and he grinned.
And as I kept driving, I was already mentally calculating how soon I could come visit him in Anchor Point.
I pulled open the door to Mel’s Bar & Grill, and gestured for him to go inside. “This is one of my favorite places. Like, anywhere. My company actually brought me here when they were trying to recruit me. I think that was what tipped the scales.”
“Really?”
“Fuck yeah. Working for them meant living in the same town as this place. That’s a perk, you know? They could put that right in their benefits package.”
Noah laughed. “Well, now the pressure’s on. It better live up to the hype.”
“It will. Trust me.”
He took in a deep breath through his nose. “It already smells good.”
“Oh my God, right?” I took a whiff myself, catching the scents of their fresh-baked bread, steak, and a bunch of other things I couldn’t identify but suddenly wanted to devour with no regard for my waistline.
The waitress seated us at a table for two. Normally I liked the booths, but being a Saturday night, the place was packed. And, well, there was something kind of romantic about a tiny table where we sat so close our knees almost touched. Okay, so maybe “romantic” was jumping the gun where Noah and I were concerned, but I was keeping an open mind.
We ordered drinks—a glass of wine for me since I was driving, and a double Jack and Coke for him. The waitress came back with them, then left us to figure out what we wanted to eat.
Noah took a drink and grimaced. “Whoa. I like this place already.” He held up his glass. “They do not water down their drinks.”
“Well, you did order a double.” It sounded like more of an accusation than I’d intended. “I mean, you said you get them because that other place waters them down, so . . .” Still not much better, but I wasn’t sure how to save face this time.
He shrugged. “Habit, I guess. I’m used to places like this selling singles as doubles.”
Okay, I . . . could kind of buy that. Maybe. I gave a dry, uncomfortable laugh. “For what they charge, I would hope not.”
“You’d be surprised. I’ve been into some bars—especially overseas—that charge fifteen, twenty bucks for a drink that’s just been waved in the vicinity of actual booze.” He made a playful gesture with his glass. “For that much money, they better pour some of the booze into the damn glass.”
I laughed. “I’d hate to see what they charge for a strong drink.”
“Probably a limb and firstborn,” he grumbled, and took another sip.
I gnawed my lip, and reminded myself that Noah was a grown man who I had never seen get shit-faced. A touch wobbly coming off the plane, yes, but otherwise, he was always perfectly steady on his feet. He didn’t slur. He didn’t get crazy.
He isn’t Clint. Get it through your fucking head. Don’t let that asshole bomb your relationship like he did his own.
Still absently cradling the glass in one hand, and apparently oblivious to me, Noah skimmed the menu. “So. What’s good here?”
“Almost everything, but I’d steer clear of their chicken.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “I don’t know if they forget we’re at high altitude when they cook chicken, or what, but it is always dry.” I wrinkled my nose. “Everything else is fine, but their chicken is always shoe leather.”
“Eww. I’ve had enough dry chicken on ships, thank you.”
I snickered. “Kind of ironic, being on the water and getting dry food.”
“You know what they say—water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink.” He chuckled. “Or cook with, apparently. So, whatever you’d expect to see in a school cafeteria, only overcooked, undersalted, and probably stored way longer than it was supposed to be.”
I made a gagging noise. “Gross.”
“Uh-huh. And sometimes when they run out of something, they kind of have to take what they can get in port. One of my buddies was on a ship that apparently ran out of milk while they were in the North Arabian Sea.” Noah made a face. “Did you know camel milk was a thing? Because I sure didn’t.”
“Oh my God. Really?”
“Yeah. He said it wasn’t that bad, but it didn’t taste too great on cereal.”
I laughed, trying not to gag for real.
Noah chuckled. “I’m sure it’s fine if you’re used to it, but apparently if you’re expecting cow’s milk? Not so much.”
“I can’t imagine. I don’t think I want to.”
“Probably not.”
Naturally, that was the moment our waitress appeared again, notepad in hand. “What can I get you, gentlemen?”
Great. My appetite was so whetted after talking about being blindsided by
camel’s milk on one’s Cheerios. “Uh . . .” I glanced at Noah. “You go first.”
He didn’t seem fazed at all. “I’ll have the stroganoff. Oh and”—he lifted his glass—“one more of these too.”
She nodded and wrote it down before turning to me. “And you, sir?”
Shit. “I’ll have . . .” I gave the long-memorized menu one last skim, then closed it. “The linguine.” I’d had it enough times, I knew it was good. Hopefully by the time it arrived, camel’s milk would be the farthest thing from my mind.
She jotted that down, took our menus, and disappeared.
I swirled my wine. “So what do they serve on ships, anyway?”
“Whatever’s cheap, quick, can be bought in huge quantities, and can be prepared by tired, surly Sailors who’d rather be doing anything else.”
“But if they’re cooks, isn’t that their job?”
“Oh yeah, but not everyone working in the galley is a cook. Sometimes they’re doing their rotation through kitchen detail, and sometimes they’re being punished.”
“Punished?” I raised my eyebrows. “I thought that was a myth. The Navy still makes Sailors peel potatoes when they’re in timeout?”
Noah snorted. “Right. Like there’d ever be potatoes onboard that hadn’t already been ground into a powder.”
“Eww.”
“Yeah. But yes, if someone’s fucked up enough, they’ll suddenly find themselves moved to the top of the kitchen detail list.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve always hated that they’ll send people to work in the kitchen as an unofficial part of punishment if they go to Mast or DRB.”
“Wait.” I cocked my head. “Mast or what, now?”
“DRB is a disciplinary review board. Captain’s Mast is a step up from that, and then court-martial.”
“Ah, okay. I follow. And they can get sent to the kitchen as part of punishment?”
“Not on paper, but a lot of people who go to Mast find themselves in the galley in pretty short order. And everybody knows that’s what’s going on.” He shook his head and pushed out a breath. “I mean, that’s really who I want preparing my food—someone who’s pissed off, humiliated, and knows he’s losing a chunk of his pay while he’s at it.” Noah shuddered. “Though it does get worse than that.”