The kiss started as a gentle brush of lips, but too many months of waiting, of wanting, meant it deepened quickly. Hot and wet, mouths opened and tongues tangled. Simon tasted of red wine, and his lips held a hint of chlorine from the water. Both were flavors Patrick would forever associate with this man. They pulled apart, foreheads resting together, and Patrick drew in a shuddering breath. His body tingled from top to toe, and the hard-on that had disappeared earlier was back with a vengeance, pushing at the flimsy fabric of his briefs.
Patrick practically crawled onto Simon’s lap, wrapping his arms around Simon’s shoulders, hands slipping over wet skin to pull him closer for another kiss. This new position, straddling Simon’s thighs, brought their chests into contact, and the firm muscles pressed tightly against his own, his nipples grazing on coarse hair as Simon dragged Patrick up his body.
Simon whispered against the side of his face. “I felt something was holding you back. You’re sure you’re up for this?”
“Does this feel like anything is holding me back?” Patrick thrust his hips, ensuring Simon was fully aware of the effect he was having on him. “C’mon.” Water splashed as he clambered off Simon’s lap, eager to get moving, to get them horizontal, and stood in front of him.
Before he could move any further, Simon grasped his hips.
Patrick looked down to see Simon staring in front him. The new position had brought his evident erection, encased in sopping wet cotton, front and center. A sudden flood of embarrassment washed over Patrick, but it didn’t last long, replaced by a wave of lust and more blood rushing to his groin, hardening him further. Oh, my God. Having Simon so close, so focused, was a total turn-on. He swayed as the strength left his legs, but Simon’s grip held him firm, the press of each finger likely to leave a mark in Patrick’s skin, he was holding on so tight. And that tightness felt right. Patrick wanted—more than wanted, he ached—to have Simon’s mark on his body, to be possessed by him.
The moment stretched to a minute—Patrick trembling, Simon not moving, just watching, and Jesus, the tension, the anticipation. His body craved Simon, longing for him to make a move, to touch him, and when he did, Patrick nearly shouted with gratitude.
As Simon ran a single finger along the length of Patrick’s dick, getting to a bed became the last thing on his mind. He’d stay in the swirling water until his skin pruned up if it meant he was the center of Simon’s world. And that was exactly how he felt, as if he was the most precious object on earth. It was amazing how such a simple touch—the stroke of one fingertip through a layer of fabric—could have such an effect. God help him once they were skin on skin.
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