He was so pretty, so perfect: still flushed, chest heaving, his little blue briefs ruined with his own cum and now mine, too. I briefly considered a round two—maybe cleaning him up with my mouth—but Heath looked exhausted. And a little awed. And happy.
I lay down next to him and gathered him into my arms. “How do you feel?”
“Floaty,” he murmured with a smile. “Sticky.”
I grinned and kissed his temple. I’d have to get up, clean us both up, and maybe even change my sheets. But for now, I was content to hold him for just a few minutes longer.
22
Heath
I pulled my sunglasses lower on my nose as I kicked my bare heels up on the dash of Dante’s truck. I glanced over at Dante, making sure that was okay. It was a hell of a nice truck—a big comfy passenger seat for me, and a bench seat in the back for three others if necessary. Dante drove with one hand on the wheel and one on the stick shift, and when we were on the highway, his hand often drifted from the stick shift to my thigh.
We’d been together for a couple weeks now, and hardly a day had gone by since the dinner at the Liberty Crew clubhouse that we hadn’t seen each other. Raven and Coop had taken to teasing Dante during baking lessons for the way he always had one hand on my back or hip or shoulder, and his other on the pastry. During self-defense lessons, Dante still demonstrated with Jazz or Siren, but he often practiced the drills with me, waiting until I had the moves down before he let his hands linger. More than one shift cleaning up his books—finally coming along!—devolved into a flour-dusted make-out session.
It was still new, and sometimes uncomfortable, but it was also thrilling and special and nothing I’d ever expected.
Dante switched lanes and shot me a grin, letting his gaze draw up my legs—a little exposed in my swim trunks—and then back to the highway. “You look comfortable.”
“Can’t complain,” I said with a happy sigh. “I like riding with you.”
It’d been Dante’s idea to drive down to Monterey for the day, and I’d been more than happy to agree. It was a date, certainly, but somehow—a little more serious. A trip together, even if it was just for a day. But with Dante, even that added weight carried no extra pressure, and I let myself relax. Really relax. I could just watch the scenery roll by, listening to Dante thumb through radio stations until he found classic rock he could hum along to. We didn’t need to fill the silence with idle conversation. Just being together was enough.
We spent a few lazy hours at the beach when we first got there. Dante threw the frisbee into the oncoming breeze so it flew right back at him—it was like watching a dog play fetch with itself, and I couldn’t help but think Coop would be delighted to learn this trick. I leaned back on my hands in the sand, content to watch Dante and sunbathe.
He trotted over a while later, grinning, and flopped onto the towel next to me, grabbing the bottle of sunscreen. “Ready for a reapplication?”
“Already?” I asked.
“Can’t hurt,” Dante said with that broad grin. I rolled over onto my stomach, letting him smooth sunscreen over my shoulders and back, in long, languid strokes that almost put me to sleep.
I dozed easily for a little while—it was easy to relax into a nap with the knowledge that Dante was close by. When I woke up, the sun had crept toward the horizon.
Dante was sitting next to me, thumbing through his phone. “Hey.”
I stretched and hummed happily. “Hi.”
“You hungry?”
“I could eat.” Honestly, in this moment—warm and happy and a little sleepy—I’d do whatever Dante wanted, and do it gladly.
“Great,” he said. “There’s a place we can walk to from here.”
The restaurant was on the pier just a short walk down the beach. We walked in the surf, the cool water lapping at my ankles. He told me more stories about growing up in the Liberty Crew, and I shared some of the few good ones I had from my own childhood—like the first time I’d had my mom’s lemon scones on my eighth birthday. Dante listened with a soft smile, strolling with his hand linked in mine. When we finally reached the beachfront restaurant, I tugged on my shirt and my shoes before we walked up the stairs.