Worship (On My Knees Duet 1)

FourVance

When I come to, I feel every minute of the last two days in one breath: Waking up in that hammock, no idea where I was. Realizing I’d been left. Spending a day thirsty until I managed to get that rotten coconut. Spotting his yacht as night fell. Gambling—should I swim or should I wait? Feeling something bump my ankle as I kicked. Hopping onto the yacht, only to get knocked back into the water. And then seeing him: my nameless savior, my captain.

When I come to, he’s standing over me. Where before he wouldn’t look at me, now his eyes are hot on mine. His erection juts out from his hips—waiting. I glance down at myself—pantsless, soaked in cum, my cock still mostly hard, my bare skin tickled by a warm breeze—and then blink up at him.

“Holy shit.” I push up on my arms, and he smirks. “I thought you…” I trail off.

“What?” His lips twitch as we stare each other down.

I thought he might be new to fucking dudes. My eyes drop to his long erection as I sit up. Clearly, I was wrong. “Come here.”

He moves closer, and I wrap one hand around his base, cup the other over his tip. His hand strokes my hair, fingers combing through it as I work him.

He groans. “Let’s go inside.”

“I’ll have to help you with this.” I squeeze his tip, and his eyelids sag as he smirks.

Then he thrusts into my hand, fucking it for just a second before stepping away. He scoops up his boxer-briefs and shorts and strides back toward the cabin’s door. I follow him without a word, because my body’s still lit up from what he did to it. From how damn hard he made me come. I follow him because I’ve swallowed his hook. Who is he? What will he do to me next?

He leads me past the kitchen, down the hall, and to a door on the left. It opens to a master bedroom with a king-sized bed. I note some plants beside the windows, a flatscreen on one wall. Then he’s opening another door, revealing a sleek bathroom.

“Turn on the shower, Vance. Wait for me under the water.”

I look over my shoulder at him. Something flickers through his features. He looks almost smug, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are strangely grave.

I have the thought, as I step into the shower—the one he told me didn’t work—that I don’t know him. When I called the cruise line, I declined to give his yacht’s name. I didn’t know it, and he heard her ask; he didn’t offer it.

I turn the shower’s nozzles on and look out through the door. He could be anyone. Sometimes that can be a good thing. In this moment, when I’m feeling dazed and heady from the work of his hands, it feels more like a liability—even as I know it’s one I’m going to accept.

I stroke myself as I watch him strip off his shirt through the wavy glass. I feel almost shaky as he steps inside. The heat bulbs above us shine on his unclothed body, and realize I was wrong. We’re not an even match—because he’s sheer perfection. He’s a sculpture come to life.

“Fuck, you’re—”

“What?” His lips quirk at the corners.

“Fucking flawless.”

“Far from true, Vance. Now turn around and face the wall.” His voice is soft, but I do as he asks. My heart pounds with the knowledge that he’s right behind me. My cock twitches.

“You like women,” he says softly. “And men.”

“Everybody.” It sounds raspy.

“Forever?”

His voice is so flat and quiet that it takes me a second to realize it’s a question. Did I always like fucking the whole world?

“Yeah.” The word catches as his hand cups my ass. “I went to art school. Fuck-fest.”

His fingers nudge their way between the globes of my cheeks, and my erection stiffens.

“Have you had a man here?” His finger makes its mark, but he exerts no pressure as he waits for my answer.

I can’t seem to find my voice as his cock brushes my hip. I inhale. Shut my eyes. “Just once.”

“So you’re a top.”

His finger presses—slight—but having him there again nearly buckles my knees. “No,” I rasp. I reach out and touch the stone wall. He shifts his hand so his thumb is teasing there and his fingers are stroking toward my balls, making me pant.

“I’m versatile.”

“Depraved.” His free hand moves along my flank, the motion gentle.

I inhale. “Do you like depraved?”

His mouth finds my neck, kissing gently…then harder. His erection presses against my bottom. “What do you think?”* * *Luke

I’m in trouble. Something prescient in me must have known it the first moment I laid eyes on him. I’m not a rash man. Never violent. And yet, before we even spoke, I wounded him. I damaged him, and then I mended him. I want to do it again. Not want, need. I need to bury myself in him. I want it more than anything…but I don’t satiate myself.