An itchy truck ride to the cottage led to Dusk convincing Kent to double up in the shower. So much sand in so many uncomfortable places. He caught the builder by the arm to drag him into the standing stall which had plenty of room for both of them. The condoms burned a hole in his pocket when he tossed his shorts to the floor.
Soaping up his hands once they stood naked under the warm water, Dusk tortured himself and Kent by slowly roaming over every inch of the man’s wet olive-toned flesh. His fingers plucked nipples, dragged along muscles, and dipped along the crease of his behind.
With the detachable shower head, Dusk rinsed away all the sand and suds. He took up the soap for a second time to start the next phase of his plan. Kent grabbed onto the safety bar unsteadily when a slick finger tapped underneath his balls and strayed further along the sensitive skin.
“Soap stings,” Kent said with what sounded like personal experience. “Not a complaint, an observation.”
“You enjoy it.” Dusk already knew the answer from the spongy head bumping against his forehead. “You do. Good. You’ll love this.”
Steam engulfed the room while hot water battered against them and the tiles relentlessly. Lusty, rough sighs mixed with the staccato of the shower. Dusk heard none of it while centering his attention on shallow thrusts of one then two fingers into Kent.
After rinsing off the soap once again, Dusk first nuzzled his nose against the dripping member before lapping at the head with his tongue. He nipped gently at it with his teeth, enjoying the hiss of approval from Kent. One quick move had the shaft engulfed by his mouth and gliding into his throat.
“God. Damn.” Kent’s fingers gripped his hair harshly. “Damn your mouth. I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” Dusk clamped his fingers tightly around the base of his arousal. “Not so easily.”
They tumbled relatively safely out of the bathroom into the bedroom. Not worrying about making the sheets damp, Dusk shoved Kent onto the bed. He sucked a drop of water from the man’s nipple, grinning before lifting himself up to press his swollen lips against the older man’s.
The first kiss was almost chaste, a simple peck of their mouths. Tongues met with the second. By the third, their hands had begun to feverishly explore their still wet bodies.
Sloppy kisses turned into lip biting and tongue sucking. Dusk searched blindly for the lube and condoms that had been casually discarded on the way to the bed. It took longer to find because he didn’t want to surrender the prize of Kent’s mouth.
“Found it.” Dusk held the items in his hand triumphantly. He ran his hand lazily down the center of Kent’s chest, flicking his fingers against his side. “Yes? Say yes.”
One hand idly kneaded Kent’s erection while his other returned lubed fingers to his sought-after treasure. He’d already stretched the man; this was more to draw out the moment. He playfully teased the already aroused body underneath him.
Holding out for when he could see the desire in Kent's eyes reach a feverish peak, he slipped on the condom and inched himself forward. His pace drew a frustrated curse from his sensual captive.
Their time on the beach had been rushed and frenzied. Dusk wanted to show the joy of slow lovemaking. He would wring out every inch of ecstasy possible, drive them both to the highest plateaus of satisfaction.
More importantly, Dusk had a savage need to make a powerful statement with his skill. Like mellow bourbon on a hot summer day, he drank in Kent’s essence with each calculated penetration. The older man’s fingers clawed at the mattress, bunching the sheets up while he met each thrust.
They made love lazily on the wet sheets. Dusk worked hard to guide them both to an almost simultaneous completion. They held each other’s gaze long after the electricity between them faded away.
“The sheets are wet.”
Wet sheets turned out to be as uncomfortable as wet sand. They got themselves cleaned up and changed the bed, collapsing on it with exhausted grunts afterward. He fell into an almost immediate dead sleep.
Their sleep was deep and prolonged. Dusk awoke to find himself alone in bed. Sounds in the kitchen told him Kent had decided to make something to eat.
For the first time since they’d met, Dusk wouldn’t be bringing in food from one of the many local restaurants. It had become a bit of a tradition almost, bringing new treats to entice Kent. He played the part of a true southern gentleman, well, as southern as any Floridian considered themselves to be. He sniffed appreciatively at the scent of bacon.
He couldn’t contain a massive grin at the plate of bacon in the center of the kitchen table. “You speak my language.”
“Hog?” Kent held up a carton of eggs to catch his attention. “Scrambled or complicated?”
Dusk choked on the piece of bacon he’d been in the process of inhaling, hacking and coughing to clear his throat. “Complicated? How exactly do you make eggs complex?”
“You’ll see.”
He learned quickly how complicated eggs could get if one didn’t know how to cook them beyond swirling them around. He peered over Kent’s shoulder at the stove. “What is that?”
“Sunny side up?” Kent scratched the underside of his jaw and jiggled the rubbery gunge in the pan. “So, scrambled?”
“Definitely.”
For a man who could turn a fried egg into a horror-movie-worthy mess, the scrambled eggs tasted almost heavenly. Kent refused to discuss the great gulf between the two extremes of his abilities in the kitchen. He had a sly way of redirecting the conversation without appearing to have changed it.
The one dark shadow on the morning had been the ever-present ringing of Kent’s phone. Dusk tried to ignore it. He really did. His curiosity had him itching to know who kept dialing over and over, trying to reach the man so desperately.
After the tenth attempt, Kent stepped out of the room with an apology. Dusk generally considered himself a well-mannered person, but he couldn’t help straining his ears to hear a part of the hushed argument or at least one side of it. The older man returned to the table after ten minutes with a broken phone and a face like a hurricane.
“Good talk?” Dusk went with the obvious. He picked up a section of the destroyed cell phone. “Did you decide to give it a time-out?”
“A permanent one,” Kent snorted. “My ex-husband can be persistent.”
“Ah, ex-tra drama you might say?”
“Clever.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dusk offered, expecting and receiving a refusal. He wouldn’t have wanted to air his dirty relationship laundry either. “What’s on the books for today?”
“For us?” Kent lifted graying eyebrows. “I’m hoping to make significant progress with painting. It’s perfect weather to have the windows open to air it out.”
“Painting it is.” He chugged down the last of his now cold coffee. “I’ll work for free today.”
While perusing the colors, Dusk had to react quickly to catch the old radio flung his direction. Kent told him to find something “not idiotic” to listen to as they worked. He ignored the popular stations. After several minutes of fiddling with dials, Tush by ZZ Top blared out of the speakers.
Ahh, the classics.
Two cans of a blue-gray paint pretentiously called Quiet Moments later, they had made good progress on not only the bedroom and den but kitchen as well. The effort and the paint speckles in their hair had been worth it.
Another shared shower led to Kent taking Dusk against the tile wall. He returned the favor, bending the builder over the sink. They’d required a second rinse by the time they collapsed exhausted on the bathroom rug, used condoms discarded in the wicker trash can in the corner.
They had intended to head out for dinner. Exhaustion caught them off guard. Sleep claimed their tired bodies, barely giving time to ensure the windows had been closed.
Growling stomachs woke them up the following morning. Dusk decided not to risk another questionable egg experience. He dragged Kent out to the Cuban Coffee Queen for breakfast sandwiches and iced café con leche, best in Florida.
Seeing one of his clients across the way, Dusk left Kent to jog over to catch up with the man. He returned to find his breakfast buddy scowling at him. Curious. He watched those work-calloused fingers rip a napkin to shreds.
“Who’s that?”
Dusk peered at him as the huffing and shredding suddenly made sense. “You’re jealous.”
“Not even close.”
“Yep, you are. First, allow me to laugh at you, considering we’ve known each other for barely a month and could only even loosely count having gone on a handful of dates at this point. Second, you should be aware the man you are jealous over is named Carlos. He is asexual, heteromantic, and happily married to his wife, Penny, and as likely to want in my pants as Jesse is. So not even remotely likely to happen.” Dusk reached over to grab the last chunk of Kent’s sandwich. “I’m eating yours by way of punishment.”
“I wasn’t jealous.” Kent crossed his arms and frowned at him. “Can I have my sandwich?”
“Nope.” Dusk shoved the remaining bit into his mouth and grinned around it. “Another coffee?”