Page 7 of Only One Beach House

Trembling with aftershocks, I collapse on top of him, both of us sweaty, sticky, and out of breath. My softening cock slips out of his hole, and he whimpers. I press my face into the crook ofhis neck, steadying my ragged breathing by filling my lungs with his sweet, earthy scent. I want to clean us both up. I want to ask how he’s feeling. I want to ask what this means, if it means anything at all. But my tongue and my eyelids feel too heavy right now, and it’s too damn nice having Nolan tucked close to me, his breathing slowing to match mine. We can talk about it later.

We have all summer, after all.

Chapter 4

NOLAN

The dim orange glow of the table lamp isn’t much, but it’s better than trying to go just by the moonlight alone. I left Caspian sprawled out on the bed, still naked and snoring softly when I gave up on the idea of sleep a few hours ago. I never knew racing thoughts could be so bulletproof that even a few shots of tequila and the orgasm of a lifetime wouldn’t be able to touch them, but here we are.

Caspian’s words keep playing on repeat in my mind, as persistent as the ache in my ass and the taste of him on my lips. At first, I couldn’t get past the way he saw me and wishing I really was that person he was describing. But the longer I lay there lingering on them, the more his comment about my art started to itch under my skin until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

A breeze from the open window flutters the edges of the notepad I found in the kitchen, and the quiet, rhythmic scratching of my pencil against the paper breaks the silence. It’s been years since I’ve picked up a pencil to draw, and it feels like a muscle I haven’t worked in ages. My hand cramps slightly, but Iignore the feeling, too consumed by the gut-deep thrill of taking a blank page and turning it intosomething. I can’t believe I ever let this slip away.

I bite the tip of my tongue absently, my eyes burning from the lack of sleep and poor lighting, but it’s not enough to make me blink or pause. I feel like I have years of neglecting this side of myself to make up for.

The creak of a floorboard and the quiet shuffle of footsteps finally make me tear my eyes off of the page and still my hand. Caspian stands in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, still bare assed. He grunts and I snort a laugh.

“Is this need to constantly have your dick flapping in the breeze a lifestyle choice or…?”

His expression is sleepy and confused for another second before his lips twist into a cocky grin and he playfully thrusts his hips, making his dick quite literally flap in my direction.

“Don’t tell me you’re offended by nudity, Nols. You didn’t seem to mind last night… or tonight… What the fuck time is it anyway?” He looks around the mostly dark living room as if it’s going to hold a clue about the time.

“No idea.” I turn my attention back to what I’ve been working on.

It’s not anything particularly impressive, mostly just random sketching, but I feel like I’ve unleashed something I’ve been burying for too long. My mind races with images of things I want to draw. If I had a sketchbook and some decent colored pencils it would be easier. I suppose that will have to wait until daylight hours though.

The couch dips and I look up again, my jaw cracking with a yawn as exhaustion finally starts to catch up with me.

“What are you working on?” Caspian asks, nodding at the notepad.

My skin heats and I have the urge to flip the drawing upside down so he can’t see it. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and tilt it towards him instead.

“It’s nothing really. I just… You were talking about my artwork earlier, and it made me think about how long it’s been since I’ve drawn anything.”

His brow furrows and he glances at the drawing, then back at me.

“Really? That’s surprising. I remember you carrying a sketchbook everywhere, filling it up with colorful character drawings whenever you had a few spare minutes. I figured it was like the way I was always writing short stories in comp notebooks, a compulsion in your brain that can’t be ignored.”

I set the notepad and pencil down on the coffee table and sink lower on the couch, stretching my legs out towards him without actually touching him. Am I allowed to touch him now? I suppose the ‘what the hell was that?’ talk will have to happen eventually. He doesn’t seem to second guess it or get tangled up in his thoughts though. He scoots closer and lifts my feet to put them on his warm, bare thigh.

My stomach flutters and my heart trips over a beat. Why does this feel even more intimate than fucking? I swallow, considering what he just said, feeling a long-buried sense of guilt rise up in my gut.

“It used to be,” I confess, looking past him at the sky outside, just starting to turn gray with the coming sunrise. “I ended up double majoring in college—fine arts and business. I told myself that the business degree was a fallback, you know, if I couldn’t find a way to make a career out of stupid little character sketches.” I chuckle, but Caspian growls and frowns.

“They’re not stupid.”

My lips twitch in a half-grin and I keep going, spilling my history even though he didn’t ask, part of me hoping that if I getit all out there, maybe I can figure out where I went wrong and how to fix the mess my life has become.

“My parents told me it was the smart thing to do, and it made sense.” I shrug. “Then graduation started creeping up and the fact that I’d have to figure out a way to pay for rent, get health insurance, feed myself, and generally be an adult really started to sink in. Everyone I talked to told me I should get a ‘real job’”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“and do my art on the side. They said once I got some traction, I could think about making it my main focus.” I huff out a laugh at how logical it all sounded then and how stupid it feels now. “They kept throwing around phrases like ‘job security.’ Clearlythatworked out.”

“You just stopped doing your art?” he guesses.

“Not right away, but work got busy, and I didn’t have as much time and energy. Then my focus became all about the next raise or the next promotion, and I guess somewhere along the way it just fell by the wayside.” I sigh and Caspian rubs my leg in a comforting motion.

“If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?” he asks. “Forget realistic, forget your bills, what’s your wildest dream?”

The question makes a slow smile spread over my lips and something expands in my chest. If I could doanything? I haven’t asked myself that question since I was a teenager, full of nothing but optimism and daydreams. Once you’re an adult, no one ever asks you about your silly fantasies anymore, it’s all about what’s practical.

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