17
Fishing for a memory.
He looks so peaceful.
Killian ghosted his fingertips along the fringe of light hair on Nick’s forehead, brushing away the strands to get a better view of his face. The tension…gone from his features.
He combed his fingers through Nick’s hair as his mind strayed. This was the Nick he knew lay buried beneath the stress and sleep deprivation. The man who delivered quick comebacks and snarky humor with a straight face. The giving soul who chose a profession to help and heal others. The man who shouldered far too many burdens on his own.
Nick was physically strong, but it was the force of his good-natured spirit that had wedged itself through Killian’s armor, awakening hope he had thought was lost long ago. Nick deserved a chance at the life he fought so hard to live. And Killian was determined to guard this beautiful soul against the evils of the world. Regardless of what it cost him.
He immediately withdrew his hand when Nick stirred.
“Don’t stop.”
Killian scoffed. “How long have you been awake?”
Those pale jade eyes slid open, staring back at him with a hint of mirth in their depths. “For a while. You?”
Killian had been awake for over an hour, and had carefully slid out of bed to grab some breakfast for them. He needed to make sure Nick replenished his energy, because he was definitely leaning toward picking up right where they had left off last night.
“Just for a little bit.”
“Liar,” Nick said, chuckling.
Killian shrugged, hiding a smile. He should know better than to attempt anything less than the full truth to the one man who could read him like a billboard. He reached over to the small table at the side of the bed. “I’ve got breakfast.”
Nick sat up in bed and leaned in for a kiss before grabbing the pastry. He closed his eyes and moaned with the first bite. “Where did you get this?”
Killian cleared his throat, trying to settle the jolt of lust triggered by Nick’s moan. “Aly made it. She has a bakery here.”
“It’s really good,” Nick said, covering his mouth.
Killian’s eyebrows twitched, seeing the bruising and angry marks on Nick’s shoulder. “Sorry about that.”
Nick shrugged his bruised shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a biter.”
Neither did I.
He hadn’t been nice and sweet but had managed to control himself as much as he could. Sorta. But his possessive streak had taken over, determined to claim the man.
Nick raised his shoulder and looked to his side at the dark bruise. “It doesn’t hurt, and you didn’t break the skin. Besides…” He returned his gaze to Killian, the desire burning vibrant in his eyes. “I like the idea of you marking me.”
Killian groaned. “Don’t say stuff like that to me.”
“I liked the way you didn’t hold back.”
It had taken every ounce of strength to retain some semblance of saneness. The feel of Nick’s body and the insatiable, voracious need between them were no match for whatever iron will Killian thought he had. The whispered yes had driven him to a delirious state of mind, where nothing existed but Nick and the solace his body and soul offered.
“You can bite me whenever…and wherever you want,” Nick said, licking a crumb off his finger.
“Nick…” he whispered in warning. There was no way he could take him again after their marathon night. Nick had to be sore.
“I don’t mind a little pain.”
Had he said that out loud? Was Nick talking about the bite? Killian scrubbed his face with his hand as a pained moan escaped. He was just a man, an obviously weak one who was no match for Nick’s teasing.
“I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
Killian’s iron will crumbled when those last two words hit his ears. He grabbed Nick’s face and devoured his mouth in a branding kiss, reciprocating that same sentiment, hoping his actions conveyed his message much clearer than his skill with words. Nick demanded and accepted him…all of him—his darkness, and the thin, broken shards of his soul—without reproach.
He slowed the desperate tangle of their tongues and gently held Nick’s face as he brushed their lips together in a tender caress. Still dressed, he slid under the sheets and pressed himself against Nick’s bare skin, blanketing Nick’s body with his own. If he stripped, there was no way he’d control this need thrumming within.
He placed a few, barely there kisses on Nick’s bruised shoulder while his mind battled with the regret of hurting him and the satisfaction of leaving a branding mark. He trailed kisses down Nick’s torso, licking and kissing every centimeter of skin.
“Ian.”
He glanced up, his body instantly hardening at the desire staring back at him.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll bite you all over.”
“Fuck,” Killian said on an exhale.
“Just not your dick. It’s too big and beautiful.”
Killian couldn’t control the chuckle that bubbled up in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist and rested his chin on Nick’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his bare flesh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called my dick…beautiful.”
Nick reached out and brushed his fingers along Killian’s closely cropped hair. “It deserves a monument. A nice big, erected monument. I’d definitely worship it.”
He couldn’t hold back the ridiculous grin he knew was plastered on his face. “You’re crazy.”
“And it needs a name.”
“I’m not naming my dick.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Everyone names their dick.”
“Oh yeah? What’s yours?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t see the point when I keep changing who I am.” A flicker of sadness blew across his expression before it was quickly locked away.
Refusing to break eye contact, Killian pressed his mouth to Nick’s torso and slowly licked each firm rise and dip of muscle with teasing swipes of his tongue, smiling when the edge of those full lips curled upward and the playfulness returned to those green eyes.
“I’ll name your dick,” Killian said.
Nick chuckled and moved beneath him. “What are you going to call it?”
He rubbed his stubble along Nick’s skin, grinning when Nick laughed and pushed at his shoulders, squirming under his hold. Killian slid farther down Nick’s body, pulling off the sheets and pitching them aside. He flicked out his tongue and slowly swiped it up the underside of Nick’s hardened shaft, smiling when the lick elicited a deep moan.
“I have the perfect name.”
“What’s that?” Nick whispered, breathless, digging his teeth into his bottom lip.
“Mine.”
Killian wrapped his lips around Nick, sucking and pulling, spurred by each moan and whimper he received in response. He hooked his arms under and around Nick’s strong thighs with a growl, pulling him deeper into his mouth, silently commanding Nick to use him as he wished.
A burst of flavor hit his tongue, igniting a fire of desperate need and awakening a raw hunger in his soul. He pulled harder and sucked deeper, craving each drop he drew, groaning when fingers dug into his scalp and pulled him closer.
His senses were drugged with Nick’s scent, his heat, his taste, the feel of him writhing beneath his hold, gasping each breath in a beautiful melody.
“Ian…I’m…”
Killian refused to slow his pace, lost in a fog of desire. His fingers dug deeper into Nick’s muscles with the telltale gasp of breath and the swell of flesh in his mouth. He sealed his lips tightly, greedily swallowing every ounce of Nick’s release until Nick hissed from sensitivity.
They lay in bed a few moments later, the pounding of Killian’s heartbeat finally calming to a semi-normal rate. He rested his head against Nick’s hip, basking in the rare peace filling his chest as fingertips stroked his head.
“Come up here and kiss me.”
He pressed a trail of kisses up Nick’s torso to his jawline, sighing when Nick wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss. Killian inched back, tugging Nick’s swollen bottom lip between his teeth.
“You said we were leaving today.” Nick fidgeted with the material of Killian’s T-shirt, avoiding eye contact. “I know it’s not safe as long as Petrov’s men are looking for me.” He glanced up, his eyes filled with an emotion Killian couldn’t decipher. “But…can we stay a day or two more?”
Killian pressed a kiss to his lips. “Okay.” He took a deep breath when Nick pulled him close and whispered “thank you” by his ear. “Don’t thank me. I’m being selfish.”
Nick chuckled and inched back, cupping Killian’s face. “So am I. By the way…”
“Yeah?”
“Take your damn clothes off.”
═ ☼ ═
Nick squinted as he stared at Ian. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the man and this new, casual side. But even with the basic white T-shirt with khaki cargo shorts he wore, Ian stood stoic and strong while commanding attention.
“When I said I wanted to stay here a few more days, I thought you were going to hold me hostage in the bedroom.”
A hint of a smile played on Ian’s features. “You can’t be on an island and not know how to fish.”
He should have known better than to have told Ian he hadn’t ever gone fishing.
“Can I help you bait the lines?” Cleaning his gun on the living room table back on the mainland or hooking bait on a fishing line on a tropical island, Ian always held laser focus on the task at hand.
“Nope.”
“But you’re supposed to be teaching me.”
“I did. And you obviously know how to do it if you need to.”
“Then let me.”
“You put sunscreen on. That leaves a lingering scent on bait. And if the fish taste it when they bite the hook, they won’t come back for a second helping.”
“Ah. Got it.” He wasn’t going to argue the point. Taking his time to massage that sunscreen into Ian’s arms was far more exciting than messing with pieces of slimy bait. He pulled his baseball cap lower, hoping to shield himself a little more from the sun.
“Why are you baiting so many hooks?”
“So we’re ready if we hit a school.”
“A what?” Nick stood, holding the railing of the boat’s center console. It was a decent-sized vessel—he assumed thirty-one feet by the model number displayed on the side—and big enough for a half dozen people to fish in comfort. They were surrounded by deep-blue water without anything in sight other than the island about a mile out. It was peaceful and quiet, with only the sound of the water slapping the hull of the boat.
“A school of fish.”
He neared Ian, watching every quick sweep of his hands as he worked. He had prepared a series of leads, each baited and ready with a quick clip at the end of about a foot of fishing line. Nick stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around Ian’s narrow waist. “How’s that going to work?” He rested his chin on Ian’s shoulder, observing the way he expertly looped and pierced each piece of bait.
“If we hit a school of dolphin, it’s going to get really crazy really fast. When they hit, you need to hit harder, or you risk losing the school. If we catch enough, we can have a big fish fry later on. Tali makes some awesome fish tacos and fish sticks.”
Nick followed the conversation but hung on a single word. “Dolphin?”
Ian turned toward him, their noses brushing together. His brow twitched behind his sunglasses before a grin split his face. “Sorry. Mahi mahi. I keep forgetting people think of friendly porpoises.”
“Oh.” Nick breathed a sigh of relief, returning Ian’s smile. “As opposed to angry mahi mahi?”
Ian chuckled and leaned in for a quick kiss. He finished the last of the rigs and set them all out along the tackle box.
Task completed, Nick finally released his hold on Ian and took a step back when Ian rose from the bench seat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man as he set the tackle box on the floor of the boat next to the center console. Ian grabbed his white baseball cap and popped it on his head, adding yet another appealing casual flare to this new, relaxed island version of the man. Nick tried to focus on the fishing trip, checking off the items against the essential tools and steps discussed during his earlier lesson. “So how do we use those rigs you just did?”
“When you hook a fish, bring it into the boat and unhook this part,” Ian said, demonstrating with the fishing pole and the new rigs he had prepared. “Don’t worry about taking the fish off the hook. We’ll worry about that later. Just clip on a new lead and throw it back into the water and another will strike again. Then just do it again.”
“That fast?” Nick asked, walking up to him.
“They get into this feeding frenzy and strike at anything. It’s fast and you don’t have time to think. If you worry about unhooking a fish, it often means the difference between catching two fish or twenty.”
Nick raised his brow. “Really?”
Ian nodded. “But you can’t pull out the first fish that strikes. You need to wait until the school is gone before you pull that one out.”
He cocked his head.
“That’s usually the bull and it’ll be the biggest one of the bunch. Think of it as the school’s teacher.”
“Are we keeping with the classroom analogies?” Nick teased.
Ian nodded, plopping himself back on the captain’s bench seat and starting up the engine. “And what happens when the teacher’s not around?”
“The kids do whatever they want.”
“Exactly.” And there is that striking big smile again. “And that usually means they go away.”
“Off to the playground?” Nick said with an equally wide grin, sitting next to him and resting his chin on Ian’s shoulder again. He couldn’t resist touching the man, or just being close enough to feel the comfort of his heat. Even in the middle of a steaming hot day.
“I like it when you do that,” Ian said, barely above a whisper as he stared ahead, steering the boat. A tic twitched his jaw, almost as if he were upset he had revealed a private thought.
Nick pressed a kiss to Ian’s cheek. “I like it when you do a lot of things.”
Ian turned toward him, bumping the bills of their caps together. His stare was intense, even behind the sunglasses. “I’ve been touching bait for the last ten minutes. I’m not touching you.”
“Is that a challenge?” He held back a grin when Ian groaned. He loved peeling back Ian’s defenses every chance he had. And it seemed far easier to do while here than back on the mainland. He leaned the side of his head on Ian’s shoulder, enjoying their quiet moment, out in the open without worry or fear. He closed his eyes, wishing they could stay like this forever. He tilted his head, trying to steal a kiss just as Ian tried to do the same. Their baseball caps bumped again, totally ruining the moment.
They both chuckled and separated, steering the boat farther out into the water, slowing when they found some birds flying over a large patch of seaweed—signs Ian had mentioned would indicate bait fish on the surface and the chance for dolphin directly below.
They each grabbed a fishing pole and cast out their lines, slowly reeling in and repeating.
After a few minutes and more instructions, Nick felt a tug on his line. “I think I got a—”
The fishing pole in his grip yanked him forward, nearly pulling him over the side of the boat, stopped only by his foot pressed on the edge and the strong arm wrapped around his waist.
Ian held him firmly, guiding him into the seat at the back of the boat.
“What the hell is that!” Nick tightened his grip on the pole and leaned back as the rod arched into a deep curve. He let the rod fall forward so he could reel in some line then slowly pulled back, struggling to maintain control.
“You’re doing great. Keep that up.”
He didn’t have much of a choice. He was using every muscle in his body just to hold the pole and attempt to reel in some fishing line.
Ian stepped away then returned a few seconds later, wrapping a belt around Nick’s waist. “This will help.” He guided the bottom of the fishing pole into the opening at the front of the belt, the butt of the rod falling into the notch and instantly relieving some of the strength he exerted to hold it steady.
Nick gritted his teeth as the pole yanked forward again, thankful for the relief of the belt as he maneuvered the pole and reeled in some more line. Again and again, he held as the fish pulled, then reeled when he slightly surrendered. Every muscle in his body quaked with the effort.
“You’re doing great.” Ian readied his fishing pole while keeping a close eye on the water.
A flicker of green and yellow in the water caught Nick’s eye, then zigzagged quickly, pulling his line along with it. He grunted as he tugged the fishing pole with more force, his muscles burning with the strength the fish demanded in this battle. His body jerked forward with another yank and the reel squealed as the line zipped out at lightning speed.
“Shit.”
“Control it, but don’t fight it.” Ian watched him carefully, standing a few steps away, ready to jump in but granting him the space to do the task on his own.
Nick gritted his teeth with the force, feeling the strain in his muscles. “Trying to.”
“Pace yourself. This can go on for an hour.”
An hour? There was no way he could survive that long. He had already lost track of time. “How long have I been at this already?”
Ian glanced over at the clock on the console. “Thirty-five minutes.”
“Are you serious?” He battled with the fish again, gripping the pole with the new surge of fight it delivered.
“Give him line. Let him get tired first. You’ll know the moment he starts to give in.”
A huge fish breached the surface of the water, capturing the sun in its bright teal and yellow coloring before slamming back into the water with a splash.
“See if you can get him closer to the boat, but don’t pull him out. I can see the school around him.”
Nick bared his teeth and fought the aching burn in his muscles, switching between reeling in the fish to keep it close while giving it the line to tire itself out. Ian walked around him and held the pole in his hand, offering a little relief to the fire blazing in his arm muscles.
“Let’s keep him in the water while we both fish.” Ian pulled the pole out of the fishing belt and held onto it, controlling the fish and reeling in a little more line. “Grab that other pole,” he barked out as he locked Nick’s pole into a tube at the side of the boat, holding it in place.
Nick ran on autopilot, following commands, ignoring the exhaustion seeping into his pained muscles. He peeked over the edge of the boat, amazed at the frenzy of almost glowing yellow and green fish, cutting through the water in sharp turns, moving quickly as if in fast-forward.
He followed Ian’s instructions, casting the line close to the boat and immediately feeling the yank of a bite, far easier to manage than the first beast that had attacked his line. They worked in tandem, hooking fish on the lines and throwing them into the boat, clipping on a new lead rig and repeating the process.
Another rush of adrenaline replaced the exhaustion, driving each of his actions. Nick laughed when the fin of a fish slapped against his ankle, adding another tiny detail to the memory he’d never forget.
He felt alive.
Free.
Happy.
After the frenzy settled, he glanced over to Ian as he unlocked the pole with the first bull dolphin still on the line.
“You want to pull him out?”
“You do the honors, my arms feel as if they are going to fall off.” He sat back and watched Ian’s muscles bunch and flex as he reeled the fish in until it was aligned with the boat. He reached over into the water, pulling the fish into the boat with a grunt.
They silently worked alongside each other, unhooking each fish and storing them into the coolers. They rinsed down the inside of the boat and discarded the remaining bait, leaving everything immaculate as if they hadn’t caught a single fish during their adventure.
Nick sat next to Ian as he steered back toward land, recalling every detail of their excursion, closing his eyes and locking everything into memory. The beauty of every second, the peace of freedom, and the happiness that still echoed inside him.
He leaned his head on Ian’s shoulder, reveling in the warmth of his nearness which heated his body far more than the late-morning sun. “I saw you wash your hands. You scrubbed the shit out of them with that little brush you had stashed in the tackle box.” He bit back a smile when Ian adjusted the throttle to slow the engine. “Shame you didn’t have any lube in there as well.”
Ian yanked off his baseball cap and pulled off Nick’s in a fluid sweep of his hand. He snaked his arm around Nick’s waist and manhandled him, positioning him between Ian’s open legs and flush against his hard chest. “What the hell do you think I have stashed in all the pockets of these shorts?”
Nick gripped Ian’s biceps when their mouths collided. He slid his fingers up Ian’s sweaty neck, yanking his head to the side to deepen the kiss, keeping pace with each aggressive suck and swipe of Ian’s tongue. He shoved his other hand into the pockets of Ian’s cargo shorts one by one, moaning when his fingers hit several packets of lube.
He tore away from the kiss, gasping each breath. “Are you always prepared for anything?”
A wicked grin spread across Ian’s face. “Always,” he said, slamming their mouths together again in a desperate kiss, bending Nick’s back against the boat’s center console and removing his shorts and underwear with a single, sweeping tug of his hand.
Nick surrendered to the strength of Ian’s hold and the powerful pull between them squeezing his heart. There, in the peaceful late morning with the sound of the boat bumping against the water beneath them, they created another memory Nick would never forget.