Page 17 of Love On Deck
Connor’s eyes are still shining and there’s color on his cheeks from his time in the sun. “Yeah, man, me too. Thanks for going, and for watching practice even though you must’ve been bored out of your mind.”
Andrew shoves his hands into his shorts pockets. “I really wasn’t.” He glances around, but there’s no one standing close enough to overhear what he’s about to say. He makes eye contact and lowers his voice. “You’re a beautiful man, Connor. I enjoyed watching you on the field, and now I’d very much like to fuck you.”
Connor’s eyes go wide; color explodes on his face. A murmured “fuck” fills the space between them.
“Cabin 1445, Empress deck, very back of the boat,” Andrew says softly. With a nod, he turns and walks away, taking what he knows to be a less direct route. So much for having a conversation. He’s almost positive Connor will show up though. After they’ve done the deed, then they can have a little chat. If he doesn’t show, then a conversation is pointless.
It takes a good ten minutes to traverse the ship. He slows as he nears the L of the corridor and approaches his room.
“Hey.” Connor leans against a neighboring cabin door, arms crossed, looking pretty relaxed.
A smile snakes its way across Andrew’s face and his heart thuds like a bass coming through a speaker, loud and deep and sending out rumbling vibrations, or in his case, electrical currents along his skin. “Hey yourself.”
They enter his cabin, now glowing with the ethereal light of the setting sun. The door snicks shut behind Connor.
Andrew drops his wallet and key card on the desk. With a wave at the compact fridge, he asks, “You want something? Water, a soda?”
Connor steps into his personal space, runs his hands down Andrew’s arms. Mere inches separate them and the heat coming off Connor is intense. His eyes are big and blue right now. And just like that, the tension is dialed up to twelve.
“I believe you said som—”
Andrew cups Connor’s face, runs a thumb across the plump flesh of his bottom lip, and kisses him slowly, languorously. They’ve got all night, and he intends to make use of every hour. Andrew licks at Connor’s lips, nips the bottom one. A puff of breath brushes his cheek in response. The scrape of his teeth along Connor’s bristly jaw rasps in the quiet. The scent of sunshine and sweat lingers in the slope between his neck and his shoulder, and Andrew hums his delight. He kisses along Connor’s neck, the scruff prickling his tongue as he traces Connor’s Adam’s apple.
Connor’s thumbs rub circles along Andrew’s sides, and the good kind of cold chill creeps up his body. Long slim fingers slip beneath his shirt and slide it up and off. Connor’s shirt goes flying a moment later, and Andrew’s drinking in the sight of his sculpted body. He can see to do so. A light tan covers most of Connor’s torso, and then there are the tats. With a finger, Andrew traces the lines of the music staff up and down Connor’s right forearm. Circles the angel floating on the pec above Connor’s heart. Splays his hand over the large, round Celtic design on Connor’s abs. Abs that flutter beneath his touch.
Connor stands still, but there’s a charge simmering that fills the dimming room.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” Andrew takes a step back to unbutton and unzip his shorts. Connor’s eyes flick to the front of his pants and the erection that stretches the cotton of his boxers in the vee of the open zipper. Andrew’s chest expands and contracts, his blood goes thick as molasses in his veins. His cock throbs, begging for attention.
He moves away then, turning on the lights. He wants to watch Connor come apart this time. He retrieves condoms and lube from his toiletries bag. He toes off his shoes and peels off his socks, then pushes his shorts and underwear to the floor.
Connor’s standing where he left him, but watching intently, eyes wide and stormy. A heartbeat later, he’s naked as well, cock at half-staff, foreskin almost completely retracted.
The lights reflect yellowish off the mirror, the white walls, and the faux wood furniture. The air whirs softly.
The fluffy duvet, blanket, and top sheet are sent flying to the foot of the bed and the mattress dips beneath Andrew’s knee when he climbs onto the expanse of the king size bed. Yeah. Plenty of room to maneuver. “Com’ere.”
“I thought you wanted to fuck me?” Connor says, coming to sit cross-legged, facing Andrew. He strokes his cock once as if to entice Andrew into taking some sort of action.
“I did. God. I do. That doesn’t mean we can’t take our time.”
Connor looks confused, and Andrew smiles. He bites back an endearment even though Connor looks like he could use one. “Connor… I get that because of your career, your sex life has taken a back seat to just about everything and that, when you do get to have sex, it probably tends to be quick and functional.” He slides a hand down Connor’s mostly smooth thigh. His leg hair is sparse and light colored. There’s a smudge along the outer arch of his right foot and Andrew runs a finger over it. Only it’s not a smudge, it’s another tattoo, written in Cyrillic script. “What’s it say?”
“Freedom.”
Andrew almost has to blink back tears because it’s so sad that the Kulyk family came to the U.S. to live in freedom, and yet Connor has to hide a huge part of himself in order to play a God-damned sport he’s passionate about for money. “Freedom, huh?”
Connor nods.
Andrew takes a breath. His gut churns at the unfairness of Connor’s situation, but he doesn’t need to be angry or maudlin when he’s got a gorgeous baseball player in his bed. Moving to his hands and knees, he kisses Connor and says, “Well, right here, right now, you’re definitely free. Free to enjoy sex, free to make noise, free to bask in the afterglow.” Andrew waggles his eyebrows and Connor chuckles. “Free to let it last as long as you want. There’s no rush, there’s no chance of being found out.”
Connor unfurls to his back when Andrew licks into his mouth, tastes his lips, and generally pushes into his personal space. There’s a smile on his face and a light in his eyes as he sprawls flat in all his naked glory. “Okay. Yes. Please.”
The wonder breaks Andrew’s heart.
Chapter Seven
Connor’s skin buzzes as Andrew’s hands slide over him. Smooth kisses follow and, in no time, Connor is squirming. The last time he felt so desperate for a touch, for a kiss, for an orgasm was… God, he can’t even remember. That’s a pathetic commentary on the state of his love life. Drew was correct in his assessment of Connor’s hookups. They eased the physical urge, but always left him yearning for more. Drew is offering more, at least for right now, and Connor wants a chance at more. More than anything.
