Page 41 of The Fishermen

“Please,” I begged, my lips approaching his. Franky cupped my cheeks, his arms shaking with the emotional strength it took to hold me back.“Please.”

“I’m not good for you.” His voice broke.

“I’ve been warned,” I whispered before he closed the gap. Our lips collided with an intensity that literally knocked me off my feet.

Franky steadied me with an arm banded around my waist, crushing me to him, our hard cocks thumping against each other. The kiss was feverish and messy, and several times we had to break apart to suck in air before diving back in again.

He tugged my hair like it had somehow offended him, and I squirmed my hands between us to rip open his dress shirt, sending the buttons flying everywhere. He stopped me before I could undo his belt buckle.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said, accurately reading my panicked expression.

“If you’re worried I’ll get you sick, it’s a little too late for that.”

He shook his head, his hands dropping to my shoulders. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” I asked.

“Maybe we should take it slow.”

My first reaction was to be disappointed, maybe even scared that we’d both have a change of heart if we let this moment slip away. But I’d never taken anything slow, and he’d never done this before, and I surprisingly wanted to savor that. For once I didn’t want to rush in so that I could just as quickly rush out.

“Okay,” I agreed, kissing him again and peeling my lips away with tremendous effort. “Slow. But promise me that when we fuck, it’ll be anything but slow.”

“The antithesis of it,” he swore, but I didn’t miss the hard swallow he gave.

“You’re going to be a natural, Franky,” I swore in return before handing myself over to the kiss again.

We kissed until the rain stopped, until the moon replaced the blood-orange sun, and until the skin of our lips was raw to the touch and swollen.

We kissed our way to Franky’s bed, where he released his full weight on top of me, uncaring about my inability to breathe as he explored the inside of my mouth with his greedy tongue.

Franky prodded, and swept, and licked every crevice, and I patiently let him, even as my balls tightened painfully inside my jeans.

He still wore his now buttonless shirt, providing easy access to his muscled chest and back, and my hands took advantage, roaming and squeezing and imagining how they would bunch and release as he fucked into me.

“Top or bottom?” I asked during one of our rare breaks where we used the time apart to stare into each other’s eyes, expressions both excited and afraid. I knew better than to assume, even though my ass already knew what it wanted. It clenched around the emptiness as I waited in suspense for Franky’s answer. It was possible he didn’t know, and that would’ve been okay too.

“Top,” he said with a confidence at odds with his experience. “I have this need to be inside of you, Leland. I’ve always had that need.”

“Fuck, you’re making me wet, Franky.” I dug my heels into his lower back as my cockhead grew damp inside my boxers. Franky moaned from the assault against his dick and resumed our kiss, becoming consumed again.

“What about you?” he asked, chest heaving as he dragged in all the air around us, leaving me without.

“Bottom, Franky,” I breathed. “Fucking bottom.”

His eyes darkened as he held himself above me to take in the clothes covering my body with scorn. Franky’s scorching stare returned to mine, and I knew we were doing this. Fuck taking things slow, and inexperience be damned, we were doing this.

“There’s so much of you,” he said, already playing with my pebbled nipple through my thin shirt as our hips instinctively undulated against each other. “I don’t know what to do with you…”

“Are you calling me chunky, Franky?” I teased in a raspy voice, arching up, pressing my pec to his teasing fingers.

“No, I just don’t know if what I’ve done in the past would work now.” He avoided directly mentioning his wife, but I wasn’t a fool. My lip curled with jealousy, which should’ve been the first sign that letting Franky touch me was a mistake, that going any further would be an even bigger one. “Everything in me wants to tear you apart, Leland. And I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard thrust between my spread legs, “but I don’t think I can hold back. Not after holding back for so long.” The haunted gleam in his eyes said his refrain went further back than the day we met, and a thrill rocked my whole body because I’d be his first, I’d be on the receiving end of everything pent up inside of him.

I gripped two handfuls of his hair, tugging until it hurt, until the pain sent his eyes rolling heavenward, until he understood what freedom really felt like, until those eyes became ravenous for it. “You couldn’t fuck this up if you tried, Franky. Do whatever you want to me. Be as rough and as selfish as you need to be.” I swallowed, lowering my tone as I voiced the thought I probably should have left inside my head. “Use my body in all the ways you felt like you couldn’t use hers.” I tugged his hair harder to distract him from the guilt leaking into his expression, and he moaned, lust hardening every angle of him until even his pitch-black eyes had turned to stone. The bed rocked, beating against the wall as his cock attempted to cut through our layers of clothing to get at me.

“What if I hurt you, Leland?” His question held a double meaning, but I addressed the more pressing one, the one that would get his cock inside of me.

“My body can handle you, Franky. You don’t need to use caution with me. Never with me,” I whispered meaningfully.

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