Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

“Yup,” I said, leaning forward to lick his jaw. I reached down and palmed his dick through his pajamas, and he started breathing heavy in my ear, and I was so totally about to get laid—

And then he threw me off of him, and I landed on the bed before bouncing and falling off to the floor. “Ow,” I said as I stared up at the ceiling.

He peered over the edge. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

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“Just because we’re getting married, doesn’t mean you can start abusing me,” I reminded him as I rubbed my elbow.

“You were trying to sex me up,” he accused me.

I rolled my eyes. “I really wish you’d stop being trapped in the nineties.”

“We can’t have sex before the wedding,” he said, completely serious.

“It’s tradition.”

My eyes bulged. “What? Fuck tradition! We’ve had plenty of sex before the wedding. You’re not exactly a virgin, you jerk.”

He shook his head as he pulled me up and back onto the bed. “Not on the wedding day,” he insisted. “We have to save it for tonight. Because then you’ll be my husband.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gag,” I said. “That sounds even worse than partner.”

“Lover?”

“What are you, a sixty-year-old woman who raises ferrets?”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Soul mate?”

“Gross. Kind of.”

“Yours?”

“Better. But I still want sex.”

He snorted. “You can wait until tonight, horndog. It won’t kill you.”

“It might,” I groaned as I rubbed my dick through my shorts. I made sure his eyes were on my hand as I arched my hips. He licked his lips. And then looked away.

Bullshit.

I slid my hands down my shorts and grabbed my cock, starting to stroke up and down, letting him know how good it felt with my voice, how I wished it was his hand, his big strong hands wrapped around me. I reached up and tweaked my own nipple, and I cracked an eye open to find he was watching me again, breathing awfully heavy for one who was planning on saving himself for marriage.

“What are you doing?” he said hoarsely.

“Jerking myself off,” I grunted. “You won’t do it, so gotta take care of myself, you know.” The moan that followed was completely unnecessary, but I could see his resolve crumbling as I stroked the slit with my thumb and brought it to my lips to taste the pre-come dripping from my dick. I groaned again, and Otter lost it completely.

He snarled at me and batted my hand away, and then his mouth was on me, moving up and down as my back arched off the bed. He was rough with my balls as he sucked them in his mouth, first one and then the other, his hand sliding up my stomach and chest and pressing there to hold me down, to keep my from bucking into his mouth. He liked control, my Otter, and I was glad to give it to him. Before long, I was spilling down his throat, a blissed-out grin on my face as he came up and kissed me savagely.

“That doesn’t count,” I reassured him. “You swallowed, but your virtue is still intact. Even if my swimmers are now being broken down by your digestive tract.”

“Fuck tradition,” he growled at me as he reached for the lube.

“Fuck tradition,” I agreed, grinning up at him as he loomed over me.

AND fuck tradition is exactly what we did. The wedding was held down on the beach, as it was the only place that made sense to the two of us. Otter figured that it was a place that started many things for us, both good and bad, and that it was there that we would build this memory as well.

The Kid begged to lead the ceremony and went so far as to go online to try and become an ordained minister. Apparently, it only takes, like, five minutes to do, and I honestly considered it for a moment, before I realized that his sermon would probably go on for days and cover such topics as the Japanese slaughtering dolphins and how he had finally picked out a wig to go with his stage name, Minerva Fox. He disagreed with my assumption, telling me that he would promise to keep things short and sweet if I allowed him to, at the very least, wear his new I THINK THEREFORE I AM