Page 33 of Free Wind (Lifeguards of Barking Beach #2)

Blake laughed quietly. “I had similar convos under the stars.”

“With the best and brightest of Blinman?”

“You know it. Squid Allen and Bluey Jones are leading philosophical minds.”

They chuckled, and Damo said, “I reckon we had the right idea, though. Sunsets and stars and mates. Maybe it’s not the meaning of life, but it ain’t far off.”

After a few moments of silence as they watched the red sky, Blake asked, “You ever fuck here?”

The simple question punched the air from Damo’s lungs like copping a wave and getting pushed under the whitewash. “No.” His voice sounded reedy. Needy.

“You ever wanted to?”

“I… I don’t know. Never came here with chicks. Don’t know why. This was just the boys’ spot. Mates.”

“Mmm. And you never wanted to fuck your mates?”

His dick throbbed, pressing against the tight neoprene. Blake stood close enough on his left that Damo could sense the heat of his body, but they weren’t touching. “I don’t know.”

“Did you talk about girls here? About tits and pussy and getting laid?”

Watching the light at the horizon fade, the red-tinged gray slowly seeping into black, Damo’s throat went dry. “Yeah.”

“Did you ever get hard just thinking about tits and pussy?”

“Sure. Plenty of times.”

“Did you secretly wonder about cock too?”

Damo’s breath caught, lust tugging at his balls, his toes curling on the rough edges of the rock.

“I… Yeah. But I didn’t let myself really think about it.

I kept it out there.” He motioned to the waves rolling in and crashing on the rocks below.

“Not here. Not on land.” He swallowed over his dry throat. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Makes perfect sense.” Blake trailed a finger down Damo’s arm, a whisper on the damp material, then over his hand.

Damo’s fingers twitched, lust simmering through his body. He grabbed at Blake, but Blake stepped behind him in a smooth movement, dancing out of his grasp. Now Blake’s strong hands rested on Damo’s shoulders, and Damo leaned back gratefully.

“Stars are coming out,” Blake murmured.

Damo blinked up at the sky, tipping his head back to see a few twinkling lights, the moon rising behind them. “The really bright ones are probably satellites.”

He didn’t really give a stuff about the stars. All he could think about were Blake’s hands heavy on his shoulders, and when Blake was going to touch more of him and how and when?

“I need—” Damo broke off, trembling. The wind carried the ocean mist, cool on his face.

Blake’s breath was hot on his ear, his body pressing close. “I know. You need so much, don’t you?”

Damo could only nod and try to make his lungs expand.

The slow snick and gentle tug of his wetsuit being unzipped sent a thrill shuddering through him, the air cool on his neck and back as the neoprene peeled open. As the zipper reached his tailbone, Damo tugged at one sleeve eagerly.

“No.” Blake ran his big hands down Damo’s arms firmly. “Not yet.”

“But—” Damo gasped as Blake nipped an earlobe with sharp teeth.

“Not yet,” Blake ordered.

Damo nodded, anticipation zipping over his flesh. He stood waiting as Blake slowly—bloody slowly—ran his hands back up Damo’s arms. When he slipped them inside the wetsuit, his fingers wrapping about Damo’s ribs, it was like the callused fingers were on his cock.

Damo could hear his own ragged breath over the hum and drum of the tide. His wetsuit hung open at the back, and Blake kissed the tops of his shoulder blades, pressing even closer now. His hands pushed up over Damo’s damp chest to his collarbone, then down to his nipples.

“Oh, Jesus,” Damo breathed as Blake caressed and teased the sensitive flesh. There was sand stuck on his skin, and the grit under Blake’s fingers sparked zaps of electricity.

His body was strung tight, thighs clenched, hands in fists. He wavered like he was trying to balance on his surfboard. Blake was the wave supporting him, his lips soft where Damo’s neck met his shoulder, then sucking hard.

Then one of Blake’s hands dragged lower on Damo’s stomach beneath his wetsuit, rough with the grit of sand.

Damo’s belly quivered at the hard touch, then the gentle comb of fingers through his pubes, brushing the root of his straining cock. “Please,” he begged, thrusting his hips.

But Blake’s hand stayed on Damo’s belly, his other fingers going back and forth between nipples. Tingles shivered over Damo from head to toe. Blake was so strong behind him, and Damo leaned back gratefully.

“Did you think about ‘that arse business’ we talked about?”

Damo’s laugh was half a groan. “Hell, yeah.”

He felt Blake’s grin against the nape of his neck. “So, you’re keen on the idea?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

Blake’s laugh was warm and sweet against his skin, his hands sliding up to Damo’s shoulders. He peeled down the wetsuit, Damo helping to tug his arms free. He didn’t even realize he was reaching for his cock until Blake snatched up his wrist.

“You’re not allowed to touch yourself.” He squeezed hard.

And shit, did Damo like that. Knees knocking, he nodded.

“I’ll take care of you,” Blake whispered.

Damo moaned high and tight, nodding again, giving himself permission to go slack like he was bobbing in the water, letting soft swells lift him gently up and down, forward and back.

Blake peeled Damo’s wetsuit until it hung limply from his knees.

Damo was about to lift a foot so Blake could take it off, but Blake urged him down.

The wetsuit cushioned his knees, and Blake tucked the upper half and slid it under for extra padding.

Damo felt like he was kneeling on a folded yoga mat, and as he spread his fingers on the cool, salt-sprayed rock, he realized what Blake was going to do.

His heart hammered, breath coming in eager pants.

“You want me to lick your arse?”

Any attempt at a smart answer died on Damo’s dry tongue. “Yes,” he croaked, moaning as Blake’s hands spread over his cheeks.

“So pale and soft,” Blake murmured. “Perfect for the moonlight.”

Damo blinked at the silver glow of the rising moon skimming over the breaking waves, the real stars brighter and brighter as the night fully took hold already, the few clouds wisps of ghostly white.

He imagined how he looked—on his hands and knees, basically naked with his pale arse in the air and Blake pressing little kisses to the dip at the bottom of his spine.

Goosebumps rolled over his exposed body, the cool wind spraying salt he tasted on his lips.

Blake tugged at his knees, spreading them wide, the thick, damp material tight now.

The feeling of captivity from the constricting wetsuit and Blake’s hands made him shudder.

He hung his head, ponytail brushing his cheek and tickling his nose.

The first touch of Blake’s tongue was so light Damo wasn’t sure it was real. Then it came again, a feather swipe along the edge of his arse crack. Blake spread him wide, cool air hitting his hole. Damo waited, locking his elbows to stop the shaking.

And waited.

“Chrissie’s comin’, mate!”

Blake laughed. “And you’re being very naughty instead of nice.”

“Uh-huh. Shit, I’m so hard.”

“Mmm. You’re beautiful.” Blake circled his thumbs on the fleshy part of Damo’s arse.

Damo had never looked at someone’s arsehole before—not if he could help it. He squirmed, not even knowing what he needed—

“Oh, fuck!” he cried out. That was it. The rough drag of Blake’s tongue from his balls to the dimple above his crack. Back down again. Harder, heavier, licking into his hole, his stubbly face buried in Damo’s arse.

Waves frothed over the rocks with increasing thunder, Damo’s heart pounding in time. He pushed back when Blake’s tongue and mouth disappeared, moaning as Blake spit on his hole, the noise and wet splats deliciously dirty.

Blake brushed the leaking tip of Damo’s cock as he brought a hand under him, pushing at Damo’s lips with the order, “Suck.”

Damo opened for him and sucked at the two fingers Blake shoved inside his mouth, licking and getting them as spit-soaked as he could, almost choking. When one wet finger worked roughly into his arse, Damo grunted and rocked.

His whole body was a raw nerve, nothing but sensation and release even while he was tensed and clenching. But he wasn’t in control. There was nothing he had to do, nothing he had to think about. All he could do was ride the wave and give himself over to Blake.

Blake’s face was back at his hole, stubble rough, tongue stabbing into him as he pulled at the rim with a finger. He ran his other hand up and over Damo’s hanging head, fingers digging into his skull. Damo moaned, lifting his chin, wanting more.

Blake seemed to read his mind. He tugged at Damo’s ponytail, and Damo practically screamed in pleasure. “Pull it,” he begged hoarsely.

He wasn’t sure Blake had heard him over the crashing surf below, but then Blake wrenched up Damo’s head, yanking his ponytail.

Damo stared up at the stars, pinned from all sides now.

The ridge of discomfort along his hairline was tight and perfect, like he’d scraped his curls back too tightly.

His back arched, Blake’s tongue rhythmically pushing in and out.

He was being fucked.

Blake was undeniably fucking him with his tongue and finger, penetrating him more deeply than Damo had ever gone with his own fingers, or when Shaz had stuck the tip of her finger inside when she’d blown him the night the Dockers beat the Eagles in year twelve.

Damo was naked on the rocks, exposed and moaning, trapped in place and dying to come.

The ocean surged in his veins, sea spray coating his skin.

He didn’t even feel the rock under his fingers now.

He was flying even though he couldn’t move, Blake’s finger finding the exact right spot that set off fireworks.

He let go of Damo’s hair, and Damo’s head dropped like a stone as Blake gripped his cock and stroked it.