Page 4 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

He is lust and desire and coconut and lime.

His lips are soft and hot, his tongue strong and demanding as it explores my mouth with a possessiveness I’ve never encountered in my life.

My hands clutch at his hips and waist and shoulders, wanting him closer.

Needing him closer. His scent and touch and taste wash over me like waves pulsing against the shoreline and I want to drown in him.

I want to sink under the sapphire surface until nothing in the world exists aside from my burning lungs and tingling fingertips, and I don’t have to worry or wonder or think or remember.

I gasp, searching for oxygen when his mouth leaves mine and he shifts to sink to his knees in front of me.

The sensation of emptiness that rushes through me at the sudden loss of his body pressed against mine is cold and overwhelming in the worst of ways, and I want him back.

I want him to drag me under like a riptide and pull the air from my lungs until they’re bursting and on fire. Until he becomes my entire universe.

“Wait.” I’m panting and my voice is gravel as I try to catch my breath, and I don’t understand how he has destroyed me so completely in mere moments.

He halts his descent instantly, rising back up to slide his jaw along my throat before his eyes seek mine. They’re such a warm brown, filled with life and confidence and desire as his gaze holds mine, unwavering as he waits for me to continue.

“I don’t…I mean…Do you have a condom?”

He leans in once more, his stubble rasping against my neck as he nips at my ear, and god, the sound of his whisper and his breath rippling across my skin is nearly enough to make me come all on its own.

“I’m just going to blow you, sweetheart.”

“That’s…that’s still not safe for you. You don’t know me, and you have no reason to trust me if I say I’m negative.

” I stumble over my words, knowing they’re important and hoping I get them right, but I’m too lost in the feel of him against me and the way that not even close to enough blood is left in my brain for it to function correctly.

He shakes his head softly and brushes tender lips across mine with a whisper. “Oh my god, aren’t you the sweetest thing? How about I just touch you instead then, huh?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond before my bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his fingers are unzipping our pants and I don’t have time to help or think or breathe before he’s crushing our cocks together tightly.

I can't manage to get my voice to work again aside from whimpers and moans and involuntary growls, but he doesn't seem to mind, and he's smiling at me as the fingertips of the hand that isn’t trying to pull my sanity out through my dick trace along my jaw. He's so beautiful and colorful and charismatic and unbelievably full of life. Even here in this dim, clinically white club bathroom, he’s like a rainbow or sunrise or the first glimpse of a harbor after a long, stormy voyage across the sea. I’m fully aware that awkward, quiet guys like me don’t get to end up with guys like him.

Hell, we usually don’t even get to spend a few moments with guys like him touching us.

I know that when this is over, he’ll flash his blinding smile and press his lips to mine one last time and walk out of my life.

But just for now - for this one singular spectacular moment in time - he’s mine, and I’m going to cling to that, thankful that for a fraction of a second, I’m the one he’s chosen.

His cock is smooth and hot and, oh god, so unbelievably erotic against mine as he jerks us hard and fast and buries his face in the bend of my shoulder.

I’ve felt cocks slide against mine before, but none of them have separated my soul from my body and electrified the blood coursing through my veins the way his does.

My hair has fallen out of its knot, and he’s clutching at the strands that hang loose along the nape of my neck, pulling my head back so that he can suck along my throat and scrape his teeth against my collarbone.

He’s too much all at once. He’s waves and tide and strong enough swells to drown in and I’ve never felt anything like this before.

Never been swept up in touches and kisses and the almost too aggressive drag of nearly dry skin on dry skin.

I never want this to end, but his hips are thrusting, and his body is rolling against mine in some kind of mesmerizing, ageless, rhythmic dance that must summon rain or sunlight or command the very gods themselves to descend from the heavens.

His lips are so demanding, and his whimpers and moans are so very, very intoxicating as they bury their way into my mind and my soul, and I’m coming hard and fast and the world is dark, stormy seas and blinding streaks of light piercing through the shadows as he moans and shudders and bites down into my shoulder as he joins me.

I barely manage to fight my way back to the surface before he’s flushing the paper he used to wipe us clean and brushing his lips across mine tenderly.

“Thanks, hun. I needed that.”

His smile is brilliant and beautiful, as all of them have been, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

The small wrinkles I noticed beside them earlier are absent, but I don’t have time to ask him why his smile doesn’t seem real, or for his phone number or name, or to thank him or beg him to stay.

He’s gone, and there is only the echoing of jazz bouncing off cold, bleached tile as I step out of the stall to find myself alone and wondering if what just happened was real or if I’ve finally had a panic attack bad enough to land myself in the hospital somewhere and this odd hallucinated fantasy is the only thing my brain is capable of conjuring up.

Hazel and James smile and nod in understanding when I find them at the bar and tell them that I can’t handle any more noise or stimulation and I’m heading home for the night.

They don’t think anything of it. Even though I usually try to stay as long as they do to make sure that they get to wherever they’re going to spend their nights safely, it’s not unheard of for me to take off early if I’m feeling overwhelmed.

They thank me for coming with them and give me one last round of side hugs before wishing me well and waving their goodbyes as they head back to the dance floor to continue enjoying their evening.

I manage to hold myself together long enough to slide into the back seat of my rideshare, thankfully on my way back to my apartment, where I’ll once again be safe.

That was not safe. Nothing about that was safe or routine. Nothing about that was even remotely close to something that I’ve ever done before or plan to do again.

And yet…after I’ve showered off the scent of sweat and alcohol and coconut and slipped into bed on my own once again, when I dream, it’s not of sand and wind and steel and blood. It’s of brown eyes and mischievous smiles and strong fingertips gently pulling me apart.