Tate

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I slid out of bed, climbing over Aerie, clutching the towel against myself. Tiptoeing carefully around the boy—still snoring in front of the fireplace—I found my clothes and put them on, absorbing the interior of the cabin as I dressed.

It was picture perfect. The back right corner was dedicated to a kitchenette, with a tiny sink, an antique olive-green refrigerator, a stovetop oven, some counter space, and a couple of cabinets. Beside the kitchenette was a postage stamp-sized bathroom, and then the back left corner of the cabin contained a hand-carved four-poster bed—where Aerie was still passed out. There was a quaint, rustic-scene oil painting on one wall, some crossed snowshoes on the other, a jackalope head on another, and an antique oil lamp hung on the wall above the doorway to the bathroom. It was a warm, cozy, rustic little space, and I was in love with it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a city girl. I do love Manhattan, the bustle and the chaos and the bewildering number of stores and restaurants and diners and markets, the bodegas you can’t find anywhere else, the street vendors, the smell, the sounds…but deep down, where I don’t dare look too closely, I’m still the small-town Alaskan girl. While I love the glass-and-steel wilderness of cities, and love seeing new places and exploring new cities, when I need to get away, when I need to recharge and relax, there’s only one place that can really feed my spirit, and that’s Alaska.

Alaska is just…home.

And this little cabin rammed that fact home so suddenly and so sharply it actually shocked me, forcing the breath out of my lungs in a rush. To cover the moment, and my bizarrely emotional reaction to being here, I wandered into the kitchen, staring out the little leaded window at the tree trunks and the glinting ripples of the pond in the distance, watching a little brown bird hop from branch to branch, watching the branches wave and nod. My heart squeezed, and I felt a sense of belonging so sudden and so intense that I almost panicked. It wasn’t centered on the cabin in particular, but more what the cabin represented: home, and belonging, and being where I felt most comfortable.

Here, amid the trees and the breeze, far from anything, in the Alaskan Bush, I felt like a simple, uncomplicated girl.

Which was what I wanted to be, more than anything else.

Outside, it was cool, dawn just beginning to break, shedding a pink-gold light on the hazy gray of dawn. I left the cabin and trotted down the porch and around behind the cabin, in among the trees, tying my sweatshirt around my waist and wandered toward the pond. It was a bit farther away than it seemed, since I walked for almost five minutes before I began to get a better view of the pond itself. It turned out to be somewhere between a large pond and a small lake, several hundred feet across, the forest running right up to the very edge. A couple of old dead fossilized tree trunks protruded from the water in a few places, and there was a very rough, very old, handmade dock extending maybe twenty feet out into the pond, sturdy and wide enough that you could pop a camp chair out there, toss a line into the water, and take a little nap. And, there was an old, weathered Adirondack-style wooden chair at the end of the dock, just waiting for someone to sit in it.

Which is what I did.

The sun was warm and golden as I sat there, eyes closed, absorbing the warmth and the shush of the breeze, the tweeting and whistling and fluttering of the birds…the sense of peacefulness and serenity was so overpowering in that moment I could have cried.

In fact, an actual tear or two may have slid down my cheek, just because I was so deeply content in that moment.

Which, of course, is when I heard footsteps approaching on the dock. I smelled him first, and knew, without looking, that it was Corin. I felt him slip beside me, and then he sat on the dock at my feet. My legs parted automatically, and he slid backward into the open space between them, resting against me. My fingers slid down to his head, tugging his hair free of the dumb little topknot, and I knotted my fingers into the silky soft locks.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

“I woke up just in time to see you leaving the cabin like something upset you,” he said, eventually. “Is it about what happened last night? Or something else?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Care to try? Not pushing, just sayin’, I’m a good listener.”

I sighed, and ignored the fact that I was still playing with his hair, which felt too intimate and too tender and too personal considering how short a time this thing had been a thing.

“I just…god, I don’t even know how to put it into words.” I hesitated, thinking through what to say. “It’s not last night—that’s something I’m not even ready to think about yet.” I was realizing that if anyone would understand what I was feeling, it’d be Corin. “It’s about…home. The idea of home. Where I belong. What I want.”

Corin huffed a laugh. “Wow. Pretty heavy stuff for barely past dawn.”

Corin was wedged into the V of my open legs, his arms resting on my thighs, hands on my knees, head tipped back against my belly, and I had his hair spread out so I could comb my fingers through it, occasionally pausing to massage his scalp. I knew without looking that his eyes were closed, as were mine, both of us not willing to risk disturbing this moment by even opening our eyes. His thumbs were rubbing in circles, a minute, innocent, but powerful little gesture of affection.

“Yeah, well…sometimes this stuff just hits me all at once. I tend to suppress this kind of thing, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to really think about it.” I tried to sort out my thoughts, and eventually words started pouring out. “Obviously you’re familiar with the basic course of Aerie’s and my lives since we left Ketchikan. We started out small, going to high-profile parties with Mom and husband Bob. Bob is, somehow and in ways that are a complete mystery to us, part of the familiar circles of a lot of different prominent New York socialites. He’s a complete tool, and we both hate him, but he did provide us entry to that whole world, which is just weird. Anyway, we went to parties, started a blog, took photos, got into the whole fashion scene, started Instagramming ourselves in various outfits, which led to a couple different clothing companies asking to sponsor us…which led to more serious modeling stuff.

“And, of course, mixed in there is the whole wealthy Manhattan party world, which is a very small world, actually, believe it or not. We’d frequently attend mixers and fundraisers and various events, and sometimes it would be on the arm of some rich, arrogant Manhattan asshole, just because that’s how things work in that world. You get invited to an event with someone, and you go, and you wear a specific gown provided for that party, and you wear heels and jewelry, and get your hair and makeup done, and it’s all very structured, and then you go to the party on the arm of the guy who invited you. They pick you up in a fancy limo, or sometimes, if he’s really important and rich, he’ll just send a car for you. Usually, that’s about it. You mingle and network and except for posing for photographs at the very start, but you don’t even have to stay with that guy the whole night. It’s all about seeing and being seen.”

“Sounds like absolute hell if you ask me,” Corin mumbled.

I laughed. “It’s actually kind of fun, most of the time. You get to dress up in really expensive stuff—which unfortunately you have to give back, which sucks, but whatever. You pose for photos in front of those black and white sponsor boards, and mingle with celebrities and stuff. I can’t even begin to list the famous people I’ve bumped elbows with. I could name-drop all day!” I joked.

“Anyone cool you’ve bumped more than elbows with?” he asked.

I knocked him on the top of the head with my knuckles. “Don’t be a dick, Corin. We’re not trading that info just yet, okay?”

“I wasn’t trying to be a dick,” he said with a laugh. “We used to talk about that shit all the time.”

I went back to playing with his hair. “Yeah, but things are different now, Cor.”

I felt him tense. “They kind of are, aren’t they?”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, a lot different.” He wiggled his head a little, seeking a more comfortable spot against my belly, which was less my belly than the upper swell of my core, and I was fighting and failing not to think of it as erotic. “So, that’s the lowdown on your lives since you left Ketchikan. What was with the sudden departure from the cabin?”

I let out a slow breath. “I’ve been all over the world, you know? London, Moscow, all over the Caribbean and Mediterranean, Thailand, Australia, Japan, lots of little South Pacific spots. Mom and Bob live in this condo in the Upper West Side that’s worth, like, into the eight figures, easy. I’ve been in Bentleys and G6s, bumped elbows with…not to name-drop too much, here…but Brangelina, Iggy Pop, Madonna, Matt Damon, Paris Hilton, Donald the Orange Cheeto Hitler, back when he was still just a rich real estate slash reality TV tycoon—which was a truly weird and slimy experience, let me tell you—Bono, Cher, James and Kirk from Metallica…that’s been my life, and I’m not even twenty-one. It’s been…charmed, there’s really no other word for it. Just absolutely charmed.”

“But?”

I huffed a laugh that he’d heard the “but” I hadn’t actually admitted yet. “But…the moment I walked into that cabin, I just…something hit me. This is hard to put into words. A sense of…longing, sort of? And a sense of belonging. A sense of…of home. Not the cabin itself really, since obviously I’ve never been there before, it’s just feeling like being here, in Alaska, where it’s rough and wild and not all that sophisticated and just…real…it’s home. It hit me so fucking hard it scared me. Like, there was this palpable moment of…what was I doing out there, living that other life? That’s not my life, this is my life, here. But there’s so much else attached to that that I can’t put into words. Responsibilities, obligations to my sister, to my mom, wondering what I would do here, and with whom, and how, and when…so much.

“That doesn’t even scratch the surface, that’s just what I can actually verbalize right now. All of it…all at once…it felt like being tackled by JJ Watt, whom I’ve also met once, and no, all we did was talk for a minute at a party. It just overwhelmed me. Then I came out here, found this little dock, and it’s so peaceful and beautiful and…” I blew out a breath.

“There. An unloading of the inner workings of my mind. You should feel privileged, Corin Badd—I don’t share that kind of thing with just anyone…not even Aerie, most of the time.”

“Really?” He tilted his head all the way backward so he was looking at me upside down. “I thought you guys shared everything.”

“We did as kids. We still do share just about everything. Boys, clothes, gossip, all that…yeah, we talk about all that. But the deep stuff, like what I just dropped on you? That’s hard for me to talk about.”

He smiled upside down at me. “I do feel absolutely privileged, then, Tate, seriously. Thank you for trusting me.”

I’m such a hopeless idiot. Know why? Because with him upside down like that, smiling, looking goofy and earnest and sexy all at the same time, I couldn’t help but kiss him.

I know, I know—I’m supposed to let him kiss me first, right? That’s how it’s sexiest, right? When you stand there in the porch light staring up at him, waiting, waiting, waiting, all but puckered up, mentally chanting Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!

I’m not that girl. I take what I want, I do things my way. Fuck the patriarchy, right? It’s also just that when I want something, I’m going to take it. Why am I going to wait for the guy to make the first move? Out of some sense of obligation or tradition? That’s a laugh.

In this case, though, I very simply and truly could not help it. Corin, thus far, had a way of pushing me past the bounds of my control. My body acts without consulting my better sense. Like, I know, mentally, it’s way too soon to be kissing.

But then, we’ve held hands…

And he’s pinched my butt and groped my breast…neither of which I actually did mind, by the way. Like, at all. I may have fought and protested and acted one way, but inside, I liked it. I liked the game, the anticipation, and the feel of his hand. I liked all of it.

And now, after pouring out my heart to him, unburdening my most intimate doubts and feelings to him…

Something about him being upside down was what did it for me. Upside right, he’s almost intimidatingly gorgeous, rock star hot, and also just plain beautiful, to the point that it’s difficult to absorb, sometimes. Upside down, though, it made him seem more vulnerable.

He was just upside down, smiling at me, hair down and loose, and I was feeling emotional and happy at the same time, and everything was beautiful, including and especially him, so I found myself leaning forward over him, and my hands were palming his cheeks. And god, his lips were so soft, warm and moist—sorry, I hate that word…his lips were damp? Nah, that’s not any better. I don’t know. They felt like heaven, is what they felt like.

It was like that moment from that Spiderman movie, where Tobey Maguire’s dork-a-potamus Spiderman is hanging upside down in the rain and Kirstin Dunst rolls his mask down and kisses him upside down—that’s the only good scene out of that version of Spiderman, if you ask me. It’s hot and sexy and romantic, and you could almost feel the tenderness in the kiss.

This, with Corin, was on that level.

I felt his smile fade as my lips touched his. I hadn’t leaned slowly, hadn’t really given him time to absorb the fact that I was about to kiss him, so I think it came as a bit of a surprise to him, and thus took a moment for him to realize what was happening. When he finally got with the program, though, he came alive. His hand drifted up to grip my braid, pulling at me, and his other hand slid up from where he’d been gripping my knee, sliding up my thigh to cup the side of my butt. He lifted up, deepening the kiss. Which, being upside down, was kind of bizarre and awkward, but seared it all the more indelibly into my mind as the best kiss of my life up to that point.

I say up to that point, because as we kissed, I suspected each next kiss would be the new best kiss of my life.

Corin moaned, his grip on the side of my thigh tightening, and that sound sizzled through me, a sound of raw male pleasure, just from a mere kiss.

I had to moan back, had to. My moan was high pitched, more of a whimper than anything else.

We were kissing eyes closed—or at least, I was, right then—because who doesn’t close their eyes for a kiss? And, for some reason, I opened my eyes…and caught him subtly and surreptitiously sliding his hand into his pants to adjust himself. And, from the angle I had, him being stretched up and back, I caught another glimpse of that plump, pink, glistening cock of his.

Which made me moan again, which made him deepen the kiss…

It was untenable, long-term, this upside-down kiss.

One of us was going to either break the kiss, or take it right side up.

I kissed him first, but Corin was the one who changed it, upgraded it, made it not just a sweet, hot, weird, upside-down kiss moment. He made it into something scorching hot, took it from a flickering tendril of flame into a wildfire raging across a tinder-dry forest.

I’m not sure how he did it, but he managed to twist around to face me and rise up to kneel between my legs in one smooth move, and his palm was on my cheek and he was wrapping my braid around his fist to jerk me closer, roughly, demandingly. His lips were fierce and firm, now, rather than soft and pliant. The hand palming my cheek slid down to my waist, then around and down, and he cupped the upper swell of my ass where it met the chair, pulling me to the edge of the Adirondack, and he was kneeling upright between my open thighs, and his grip on my braid vanished, dropping to clutch my thigh in a needy vise. Up, then, from my thigh to the crease of my hip, his grip powerful and rough. Demanding, just like his kiss.

This was a Corin I didn’t know, had no understanding of. The Corin I knew was sweet and funny and vulgar and brash, thoughtful and artistic and impatient and kind. This Corin, the man kissing me…he was wild and fervent and demanding and rough, whereas Corin was always gentle, even when he was being crazy and crude, he was never rude about it, just…crazy and funny. This Corin was…

He was erotic as fuck, is what he was. The way he kissed me was wildly arousing. My core throbbed and pulsed and dripped with need, and my hands shook as I buried them in his hair to return the rough and demanding touch, moaning into the kiss as I knotted my fingers in his hair next to his scalp, pulling him closer even as he clutched his entire arm around my ass to jerk me more tightly against his hard, lean body.

He shifted his grip upward again, from the crease where thigh meet hip to my waist, underneath my T-shirt, the heat of his hand branding my skin. I expected him to go for the gold, continuing his hand’s upward journey to the promised land of my boobs, but he surprised me by not doing that. Instead, he brought his other hand up under my T-shirt to span the bare expanse of my waist just above the waistband of my jeans. The feel of his hands on my bare skin was enough to ratchet my pulse into heart palpitation territory, feeling so crazily, nerve-wrackingly amazing that it scared me, putting my heart in my throat and my stomach somewhere near my ankles.

That’s all he did, clutch my back and my waist. His hands slid up and around from my waist to my back, teasing near my bra strap, and then smoothing back down to my sides, and he did this again and again as we kissed.

And the kiss itself? God, oh god, oh god. It felt like I’d never kissed anyone before. It was thrilling, intoxicating, and arousing to a degree that I’d never experienced in my life, making my whole body tremble with need, making me whimper into the kiss helplessly. My nipples were painfully hard peaks, and my clit throbbed. I needed more, and Corin wasn’t giving it to me.

I wanted to crawl on top of him and devour him, taste him, feel him. More. More.

I tried to wait for him, but he was maddeningly precise in his touches, never quite daring to move where I expected and wanted him to go. His hands moved around to my stomach, and his thumb traced my diaphragm and ribs just beneath my breasts, and even traced the lower line of my bra, but he never cupped or fondled or even grazed my breasts by accident, instead traveling back down to my stomach, and then to my waist, and then around to my back and upward once more.

I lost patience.

My hands fisted in his T-shirt, lifting it so I could palm his chest, moaning as I slid closer to the edge of the Adirondack, wedging his body between my thighs so I was levered above him, face tipped down so he had to tilt his head upward to kiss me. I wanted the heat of his skin under my hands, needed to feel his muscles.

Somehow, I don’t know how, his T-shirt ended up on the deck behind him, and now I had his shoulders and sides and back all to myself, unhampered by a stupid thing like a damn shirt. He was still infuriating me with his non-erogenous but so intoxicatingly amazing wandering hands, and I was scouring his torso wherever I could reach, teasing around the waistband of his jeans. He was wearing a belt, but it was for looks rather than function since his jeans were pretty tight, which meant he had it buckled loosely. And the waist of the jeans had some play, as well. I knew these things, since I found myself allowing my hands to delve under his jeans to cup his bare ass, fondling the taut hard mounds of muscle, alternating between clutching and grabbing, and tracing with fingertips and gently smoothing with my palms.

This, my hands on his ass, was yet another catalyst of change, altering the kiss from a handsy make-out session to something hotter yet. He moaned blissfully as I palmed his butt with both hands, and this made something in my brain short out, and I clawed my fingers into the firm flesh and muscle. His groan turned into a growl, of something like frustration, and he broke the kiss momentarily, the first time we’d broken lip-lock in several minutes. He gasped, sucking in a breath, tongue toying with his lip ring, and the breath became yet another growl, and then he bit my lower lip sharply, nipping hard enough that I squeaked a yelp, and he soothed the sting with his tongue, the stud cold and hard against mine, intense and arousing

I laughed, and then roughly slammed my mouth onto his, shoving my tongue into his mouth, tasting him, demanding him. He rumbled in his chest, and his hands stuttered over my flesh from my waist up to the middle of my back, and he nimbly unhooked my bra in a single deft movement, and then his hands were under the bra and cupping my bare breasts, thumbs flicking my nipples and then his palms grazed over the taut peaks before he clutched the soft pliable mounds of flesh in his hands, moaning raggedly as he fondled them with expert appreciation.

He knew how to touch me, just knew. No pinching here, not yet. Just soft, gentle, affectionate touches. His palms were flat against my nipples, then sliding down to frame their weight in the V of his thumbs and forefingers, lifting them up until their heavy weight slid back down his palms, and then finally he ever so gently pincered my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the aching, turgid points until my gasp of shocked pleasure became a helpless whimper. My hips flexed automatically, grinding my core against his stomach, needing friction, needing touch. Needing more.

I definitely needed more.

I withdrew my hands from the back of his jeans and found his belt. I tugged it free of the loops to loosen the prong, and then unthreaded it from the buckle. Pried open the button of his jeans. Tugged down the zipper. He was commando, and his cock sprang free, right into my waiting hand.

HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT.

Corin Badd was hung like a goddamn horse. I whimpered at the feel of him in my hand, a massive, thick, hot, hard, steel-under-silk rod. Slick and smooth and warm, veiny. Long, so long. I moaned yet again, and had to break the kiss so I could open my eyes and see what I was clutching.

God, it was so fucking beautiful.

His cock was…glorious. There was no other word for it.

I dissolved into disbelieving laughter, giggling breathlessly as I gently began to glide my fist down his length. “Jesus, Corin.”

“What?”

I squeezed him. “This. God, this thing is so much more than I ever expected you to be packing.”

He brushed my shirt and bra up out of the way to bare my breasts to the air, and to his eyes. He cupped their heavy weight. “Same here, babe.”

I stroked him, because now that I had my hand on this beautiful cock, there was no way I was letting go. Especially with the way he was playing with my breasts. The air was slightly cool as the evening drew down on us, but his breath was warm.

Wait, his breath?

I’d closed my eyes again, relishing the magnificence of his cock, just gently exploring his length as he toyed with my tits.

But then I felt his breath, and my eyes flew open; he was leaning in, mouth open, and his tongue was extended: I opened my eyes just in time to watch his tongue flick against my nipple, and then his mouth closed over my breast, and I went limp, my hand squeezing around him involuntarily.

“Shit, Corin, shit…that feels so good,” I breathed, unable to stop the words from pouring out of me.

His hand was on my other breast, playing with my nipple, tweaking and twisting and rolling it, and his tongue and mouth were doing wild, wicked, delightful things, and he still had another hand free.

Which went to my jeans, flicking open the zipper and button in another single deft move, and then his fingertips were leading the way under the elastic of my underwear, seeking my opening.

I wanted to warn him, but I couldn’t. With his mouth on me, with the state of arousal I was in, the way he was playing my body like an instrument, I was going to last about ten seconds if he directly touched my clit. I was like a virgin teenage boy getting his dick touched for the first time. In this state I was going to last all of half a minute max before coming all over the place.

I wanted to warn him, but I didn’t. Not only couldn’t, but just intentionally did not want to: I wanted him to find out the fun way.

Which…he did. Oh god and holy shit, did he find out.

I lost all control over my body when his fingertips slid over my mound, and then became incapable of any kind of rationality when his long middle finger delved over my seam, tracing the outer surface of my vagina before brushing back up the opening. My head tipped back and my mouth fell open, and my hand spasmed around his cock, and my spine arched as he mouthed my nipple. And then, oh…and then his finger parted the lips of my pussy, starting at the bottom and gliding up and sliding inward on the upward journey, until he came to my clit.

I gasped sharply at this touch, jerking.

“Cor…” I breathed, meaning it as a warning.

He just growled wordlessly, sucking on my nipple, pulling it away until my breast was stretched out and the ache of the suck was so intense I cried out, eyes flying open, head rocking forward, and his eyes were open, on me, watching me as he slid his middle finger into my channel, gathering the dew of my arousal and spreading it over my clit.

Was this real?

Was this happening?

Was this another wet dream?

It felt so real, but it couldn’t be real. This was Corin.

It was Corin, the boy I’d grown up with, had milkshakes with, watched Yo Gabba Gabba and Power Rangers with before graduating to Dawson’s Creek and Seventh Heaven, the boy I’d once caught trying to smoke oregano, the boy who had dared me to steal a pack of cigarettes and then dared me again to smoke one with him…I’d done both, and we’d gotten caught and grounded. This was Corin, the boy who had shared each of his teenaged conquests with me. The boy I’d watched come alive onstage, blossoming into a rock star.

This was Corin.

I opened my eyes, and understood in my blood and bones that this was real, that he really did have his mouth on my tit and his fingers in my pussy, and that I was seconds from coming apart…

“Oh, oh god, oh god,” I whimpered, feeling the orgasm beginning to blast through me with sudden and ferocious power. “Corin…Corin!”

He snarled, lupine, gently gnawing his front teeth over my nipple, just hard enough to send me over the edge, and I squeezed his cock so hard as I began to come that he gasped in pain, and that was when awareness rocketed through me.

I had his big, perfect, beautiful cock in my hand. I glanced down, thrashing my pussy against his fingertip, which was circling my clit to draw the wild ecstasy out of me, making me whimper and bite down on shrieks. I glanced down, and saw his cock in my hand. Huge and pink and thick, straight, straining upward, the plump tip even plumper and broader out in the open, now smeared with glistening pre-cum.

I was coming and coming, orgasming so hard I couldn’t even thrash, coming so hard I couldn’t even gasp or whimper, could only sit upright and fall backward, tensed, paralyzed. Corin wrapped his not-busy-in-my-pussy hand around my back, holding me upright, for which I was thankful, because I’d been about to fall over backward.

Involuntarily, once again, my hand began sliding as I regained control over my muscles. Jerking upward, grinding downward. Corin, his mouth still paying homage and reverence to my breasts, now flitting from one to the other as I descended from the peak of orgasm, glanced up at me, his brows furrowed.

I had another moment of a disoriented sense of reality, where I again attempted to comprehend that this was real, Corin making me come, my hand on his dick, sliding and gliding, bringing him closer to that same edge. His hips were flexing and he was forgetting what his mouth was meant to be doing, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, and his jaw was tensed, frozen half-open. This was Corin I was doing this with. He was my best friend. Was this wrong somehow? No…no. It wasn’t wrong. If anything it was all too right, something that should have happened years ago but never did—

But…Corin?

Not Canaan.

Corin.

It was backward somehow.

I felt him tense, every muscle tightening.

“Jesus, Tate. Fuck.” His forehead was resting against my breasts, their peaks smashed against his face, and he was gasping, nuzzling them.

God, that was beautiful, the intensely affectionate—even loving—way he nuzzled my breasts as I touched him, stroked his length.

This wasn’t a dream, was it? It wasn’t a wet dream, a fantasy, or a daydream.

“Is this real?” I heard myself say.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he growled back. “If it ain’t, I don’t wanna know.”

“I dreamed about you, like this,” I murmured.

“I dreamed about you, too,” he said.

“This isn’t a dream, though, is it.” That wasn’t a question.

He growled again, and his hips were moving nonstop now, flexing in time with my steady strokes. His eyes flew open and met mine. “No, Tate, this isn’t a dream.” I think he said it as much to remind himself of that truth, saying my name out loud to make it seem more real.

Because it felt like an erotic daydream. Too perfect to be real, the way it had so smoothly and naturally escalated from a kiss to touching to…this.

To him, moments from coming.

I sank forward, off the chair, to my knees, so we were both kneeling on the dock, both of us with our jeans open, his now down around his thighs. I had him in both hands, because he had way too much cock for just one hand. He clutched my breasts and groaned, pivoting his hips with increasing need.

“Tate?” His breath of my name was a query.

“Yeah, Cor.”

“I can’t stop it anymore.”

Fuck, oh fuck. What do I do? Let him come on the dock? Into my hand? I hadn’t thought this part out.

I panicked, a little. What was I ready for? I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—

So fast, so soon, unexpected, too much.

He was groaning, grinding into my hands.

I met his eyes, and I saw the moment he finally let himself go, when he could finally hold back no longer. His mouth fell open and a breathed curse—“FUCK!”—fell from his lips with a heavy sigh, and he thrust into my hands once more.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. I didn’t think it out, didn’t plan it, didn’t even know it was on the table as an option—

I sank down, hunching forward, both of my hands clutching his cock, stroking hard, jerking swiftly in short, sharp movements around the base.

My lips closed around him, taking that beautiful plump pink crown into my mouth.

“Fuck…Tate!” This was a raspy gasp of utter shock, and intense, overwhelmed bliss.

God, he tasted good, felt good, and was so perfect. So amazing. God, this wasn’t real, was it? I got to do this? I got to taste this incredible man’s cock? So fucking good. He held utterly still as I sucked the cum out of him, swallowing for all I was worth as he came and came and came, coming so much it went beyond my ability to keep up, and I had to break the suction and open my mouth to gag and gasp and swallow a breath of air, but he was still coming, and it shot onto my tongue in a thick tangy salty hot pool. I buried him in my mouth, stroking just beneath my mouth with both hands, not taking more than an inch or two of him, to just beneath the ridge of his circumcision.

“Mmmmmmm…” My moan was involuntary, tasting him, feeling him in my mouth, the insane eroticism of this.

He was groaning as I sucked the last few droplets out of him. “Tate, oh my fucking god…Tate!”

I finally straightened, his cock slipping out of my mouth with a comically audible pop.

We stared at each other, both of us gasping breathlessly.

“Holy shit,” I murmured, staring down at his still-hard cock, now wet with my saliva and leaking dribbles of cum.

He slipped his finger into his mouth, the finger that had been inside me. “Yeah…holy shit.”

I laughed, a sudden huff of disbelief. “Did…did we just…did we really just do that, Cor?”

“I think…” He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off my boobs, which were still bare, as the T-shirt and bra were still rucked up over them. “Yeah, we just did that.”

“Holy shit.” It was all I could think to say.

He nodded, equally stunned. “Yeah…holy shit,” he said, echoing his own words.

It all washed over me, suddenly. The fact that I’d just given Corin Badd a blowjob. That he’d fingered me to orgasm. We’d kissed, and that kiss had been…beyond incredible. That my orgasm, just from his fingers and a little attention to my tits, had been more intense than any other I’d ever had, bar none.

But the kiss? God…

A kiss I’d been somewhat prepared for. What we’d just done…not so much.

Panic started to blast through me.

“Corin, I…” I shook my head, overrun by an onslaught of emotions. Too much, too much.

I stood up, hurriedly refastening my bra, stuffing my tits back into it, and tugging my shirt down.

Then, with one last glance back at Corin, I fled.