Come here,” I whisper, leaning forward, feeling across the darkness, seeking a silhouette.

Tonight, it’s my turn to show him just how much what we have means to me.

I slip a hand over his shoulder, then up, circling around his neck as I come forward, pulling him close.

When our lips meet, its sweetness crackles into this electric feeling, then it turns downright erotic. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a chance to get intimate like this. The kids are always between us, or we’re just worn out from work and the struggle that comes with juggling opposing schedules.

The taste of oaky alcohol and dark red cherries coats my palate as soon as Dillon’s tongue breaches my lips. That, and his scent, which is the sexiest sensory thing that’s ever crossed my mind. I’ve been in love with him ever since the first hit of him. It’s chemical. We were destined to be.

My cock goes hard the second we make contact. We kiss, and the fireworks go off in my brain.

Dillon is many things, but patient isn’t one of them. He drags me onto his lap in a single, deft motion, pulling my shirt up over my head, casting it aside, his hands desperately seeking every inch of my exposed skin, his tongue probing hard. His cock stiffens against mine and he slips a hand around my lower back, drawing me in tight against him.

“You want to do this outside?” I ask hotly against his ear. “Or you want it inside on the bed? Either way, you’re mine tonight.”

He’s got size, but I’ve got speed and strength. Before he even quite knows what’s happened, he’s face forward, legs and hips pressed against the veranda railing, my body heavy against his from behind.

I’m hard as a rail, my cock shoved against the crack of his ass cheeks. The only thing separating us is the cloth of our boxer briefs. I reach around, pulling his down.

“Wait!” Dillon cries, louder than he should. Millie and the kids are just next door. It’s possible they could hear us if the veranda door on the other side is open.

“Inside. Our room.”

“It’s nice out here,” I whisper in his ear, my chest seared to his back and our hips locked together. “You sure?”

My fingers dig into the flesh of his hip and his shoulder. My body is hot against his.

“Yeah,” Dillon breathes. “I’m, sure. Maybe.”

All the breath escapes from Dillon’s lungs at once. When he recovers, he leans into me, laying his head back close to mine.

“Oh, Jesus…” Dillon moans.

I slide my hand into his shorts, then slip my fingers around his length. Stroking him firmly but gently, I draw him out, making him moan. He lets himself enjoy my lead, his head rolling back against my shoulder and the rest of him totally relaxed to my touch.

He’s hard in my hand, and I’m hard as a spike, trapped inside tight briefs. I hook a thumb around the waistband of his shorts, roughly pulling them down, then, without loosening my grip on his cock, I pull them all the way to his knees.

His ass cheeks are firm; a perfect fit for my hand.

“I love your ass,” I whisper against his nape, nipping his skin with my teeth while my free hand strokes him hip to thigh with a pass over that supple piece of meat I love so much.

I slowly release his cock as he lowers himself to the bed.

I grab the bottle of lube I’ve brought with us, yank my own shorts low onto my thighs, then slick myself generously with the stuff before I apply a palmful to the tight spot between Dillon’s round, lovely ass cheeks.

He moans and opens his legs for me as I press my shaft between his cheeks. It’s usually Dillon doing the topping still, but this is exactly what I want tonight.

Gripping his hip in one hand, guiding myself with the other, I press the tip of my cock inside of him. I go slowly, inch by inch, a tiny bit at a time.

I hold still, letting him feel me inside, letting his body adjust.

“Breathe,” I whisper, my hands stroking his back, reaching around to grasp him again, tugging gently before I ease out again.

I slowly, deliberately, begin moving, allowing myself to enjoy the tight heat of his muscles seizing my cock, feeling every rift and valley between us.

“Damn, you feel good,” I say, my free hand falling to his shoulder, pulling him down, getting him even closer.

Dillon cries, whining with pleasure and pain, his body surrendering to me, moving with me. His hands reach out, grasping my knees.

“Oh fuck,” he calls, his voice tight and high, just like his ass. “Oh fuck, Jack… feels… so… fucking… right…”

I stroke his cock in time with my thrusts, feeling him expand in my hand. He feels so good with his body at my command. I could fuck him like this, easy and slow, all night long, never letting him cum, holding mine. But I’m on the precipice of exploding just like I was the first time I sank into his perfect ass.

“Tell me when you want to cum,” I breath in his ear, bending down close, pressing my chest to his back. “We can do it together.”

“Oh god,” he moans. “Now—”

I huff a small laugh, amused that he’s so out of control. I like it, keeping him off-balance, making him mine every once in a while.

“Alright,” I say, feeling him tense under me, his asshole gripping me with a searing heat. I shove in hard, letting myself go.

Dillon cries out, his voice carrying out the sliding glass door for sure. He trembles, disintegrating, an eruption of cum flowing hard against the bed sheets and over his thighs.

I release a moment later, raising both hands to Dillon’s hips, holding him firm and high while I pound in as deep and as hard as I dare.

I cum like a hurricane, the wind rushing out of my lungs, feeding a howling cry. I spill of flood of passion into Dillon, not letting up and not stopping until it’s completely spent within him.

As soon as I’ve recovered my senses enough to process a thought, it occurs to me Dillon has hardly moved. He hasn’t spoken a word.

I turn my head to face him. He’s wide eyed, staring at me.

I feel my heart flutter. I love that look.

“Hey,” he says, blinking.

“Hey,” I reply, fearing the worst.

Dillon’s face, flush from sex and hyperventilation, very slowly breaks into a sly grin.

“God, you’re fucking awesome.”

I lick my lips, needing something to drink.

“Good,” I reply. “That’s what I’m aiming for.”

“You just keep on surprising me. Every single day.” He slips his arm over my chest, pulling me close, tucking me in under his powerful arm. “Don’t you dare even think about sharing that with anybody else. This is all mine.”

“I told you, I’m not into sharing,” I remind him. “Not that. And not you.” I lift my head up, pressing my lips to his. “I love you, Dillon. Get used to it.”

* * *

“This is what I want to do,” Jordan says, peering up at the artificial, colorful rock wall, its surface dotted with bright, manmade foot and handholds. It has a half-dozen climbers in belay rigs already hanging from its face.

The wall is more than one-hundred feet high, towering over us as though it were a real cliff face hidden within the cruise liner. It wraps in an arc, like a real canyon wall, with its top poking through the uppermost deck of the ship, letting a bright ray of sunshine in through a glass dome overhead.

You can’t go on the wall unless you take the two-hour belay climbing class led by a certified instructor. No one under ten is allowed, and a parent or guardian’s signature is required for anyone under eighteen. Everyone else signed up for the class is in their late teens or older. Jordan would be the youngest by far, which doesn’t fill me with confidence.

“I really want to do this,” he repeats. “I want to climb all the way to the top.”

It’s a long way up, and a long way down if he falls.

“Lot’s of kids do it,” the bright-eyed, twenty-something, instructor says. “It’s safe. He’ll be roped in and since he’s the youngest, I’ll partner with him.”

I gaze at the warning and safety signs attached to the walls behind the information desk. They’re not reassuring.

“Please,” Jordan begs. “I just want to see if I can do it.”

Dillon is off with Joey at the Marvel Avenger’s Academy, playing with superheroes. Millie and Chrissy are booked at the Bippity Boppity Boutique, where Chrissy’s getting a full-on princess makeover. She was skeptical about it at first, until she saw a little girl walk out of the place bedecked in crystals and lace.

I take the permission form in hand, scrawling my signature across it. I’m not Jordan’s legal guardian, but it’ll do for this.

“I’ll watch,” I say, peering up at the wall, sliding the form across the desk to the instructor. “I’d love to go up there with you, but I’m afraid of heights.”

Jordan grins. “Scaredy cat!” he teases.

“Guilty as charged.” Scaling radical heights has never been my thing.

For the next two hours I watch Jordan—decked out in a belay harness and climbing shoes, hooked to the wall and roped to his instructor—try with all his might to hang on to narrow grips and toeholds, reaching for spots just beyond his grasp, and then fall mercilessly when his small body fails him. Every time he slips and falls, my heart stops. Then his harness and ropes do their job and break his fall, leaving him swinging helplessly and gazing up at the wall is disappointment.

“You’re doing great!” his instructor calls. “Grab a spot in front of you and try again!”

Again, and again he tries, with his instructor showing him how to use his legs to power up. After two hours have passed, Jordan is exhausted and chagrinned—but not defeated.

“Can I come back tomorrow and try again?” he asks, slipping out of his harness, putting his shoes on the counter.

“We dock at Grand Cayman tomorrow,” I remind him. “But maybe after we come back aboard, after dinner.”

The following day we spend on Grand Cayman island, touring the kids through the Queen Elizabeth II Botanical Park. It’s a magical place, loaded with exotic flowers and more exotic wildlife. Joey discovers a lizard almost as big as he is lurking in the bushes, eating a piece of fruit. The lizard ignores Joey, but Joey is entranced with the thing. Overhead birds call out strange songs, while thousands of butterfly’s flitter about from blossom to blossom.

Chrissy, who’s come ashore in her glittering princess garb, looks for all the world like one of the butterflies she follows, dancing down the path with un-checked little girl glee.

After the gardens we have lunch on the beach, then spend our last few hours ashore snorkeling with Jordan and Joey in the shallow water over a coral reef, while Millie and Chrissy go shopping.

The novelty of Grand Cayman is diverting for all of us, but on the boat ride back to the cruise ship, all Jordan can talk about is returning to the rock wall and trying again.

“What’s his deal with the rock wall?” Dillon asks me later, after dinner, when the kids are out and about doing kid stuff.

I shrug. “I don’t know exactly, but he seems determined. I kept expecting him to quit, he fell so many times, but he never did.”

When Jordan returns from his second climbing foray, he’s beat and quiet, but say’s he wants to do it again.

“Can I go with you next time?” Dillon asks.

Jordan frowns. “Maybe after I get a little better at it,” he says. “In a couple of days.”