Page 21 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)
R ory was glad no one else was hanging around the harbour when he brought the Star in to moor. He didn’t want to have to explain to Graham or Ol’ Doaty or any of the local busybodies why he was knocking off early with his boat still half full of empty creels.
He hurried home, firmly pushing all thoughts of Fionn to the very back of his mind. Once inside though, he was at a loss.
The evening stretched before him, empty of plans.
Rory wasn’t used to having free time. It was easier to just fill his waking hours with work so that he didn’t have to dwell on all the ways he hadn’t made anything of his life.
It was either that or lose himself with a pint and a pleasant pair of arms at the club—but there weren’t enough tourists in town for that to be a likely option just yet.
And even if it was, Rory couldn’t shake the sight of the leatherback turtle from his mind.
Not to mention, a certain blue merman would undoubtedly invade his thoughts as well.
That poor damn turtle.
How could Fionn stay so calm while faced with that? The merman had been patient and focused, fixed purely on saving a life rather than stewing over revenge.
The fact he’d previously destroyed some of Rory’s creels was a practically benevolent act, in this light. Rory was sure that if it were up to him, he’d have done much, much worse.
He convinced himself to run a bath. To try to spend the rest of the day relaxing, even though every fibre of his soul hated how unproductive that sounded.
He needed to wash the saltwater from his skin, anyway.
And maybe if he relaxed he wouldn’t feel so pent up, like he needed unscrewing.
Or rather, like he desperately needed screwing.
Once again Fionn’s thighs flashed across his mind.
‘Fucking hell,’ Rory hissed over the tumbling water.
Fionn was turning into a fixation.
Frustration simmered low and hot in Rory’s gut. By the time the bath was ready his cock was hard, spurred on by little more than the memory of being held tight in Fionn’s arms.
Rory sank into the steaming water, feeling angry with himself. Angry with his cock. It made no fucking sense.
Graham had always been gay, right? Surely, Rory thought, surely if he had any inclinations towards the same sex, then he ought to have already tried something on with Graham.
They’d grown up together, for fuck’s sake.
Why hadn’t his libido had an urge for experimentation way back then, when it might have made some kind of sense?
Maybe Graham’s not my type, Rory reflected, sinking right down until the bath water reached his nose. Maybe I only like ’em blue.
And tatted. Something about the marks rippling across Fionn’s body made Rory shiver. He wanted to run his fingers over them.
Unthinkingly, he gripped his cock. It allowed a sense of relief that came with even greater frustration, causing Rory to hiss a stream of bubbles. He sat up a little and gave a few half-hearted, mainly irritated strokes to his dick.
Was he supposed to be imagining himself doing this to Fionn, or Fionn doing this to him?
The thought of both made Rory squirm. And made his frustration coil tighter, winding a hot thread of need around his cock, tightening his balls and reaching deeper inside him.
Jesus, did he want to touch his ass right now?
If he concentrated, Rory imagined he could feel the insistent pulsing of blood rushing along all the tiny corridors in his body, all of it cascading downwards and pooling in an unnervingly warm basin between his legs.
His hand slipped from his cock and stretched lower, following the pull of gravity. Rory bent his knees and curled forward slightly, reaching beyond the crease of his inner thigh. He pressed on with one fingertip and experimentally stroked the rim of his asshole.
At first it was slightly ticklish, his body’s instinctual reaction to a foreign sensation. Then it became pleasant, a sensation that slowly unfurled as he explored further.
All right, he thought. This is new. Bit weird. Sort of nice, maybe…
Rory grew bolder, rubbing more firmly, then in tight circles, and then wiggling his fingertip down until it breached—
‘ Fuck, ’ he choked as his body shuddered. The warm pool in his gut turned to lava, igniting all the nerve endings that shot to a single point around the tip of his finger.
Jesus fuck. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that . As though a button had just been pressed that said ON and his body was going to eagerly comply without checking in with him first.
Rory felt a strange slickness on his fingertip. An oily texture like soap, but he hadn’t used any yet.
He whipped his hand out of the water. At first glance there was nothing, but when he rubbed his thumb against his middle fingertip he encountered something more viscous than water. It reminded him of the consistency of lube.
‘The fuck?’ Rory grimaced, wondering if it meant he was ill. Or was this normal? He’d never tried to inspect the inside of his asshole before. Surely someone would have mentioned if this was a common experience. One of Graham’s friends would have turned it into an insult by now, at least.
He made a mental note to google the shit out of it later. As for right now, an insistent throb of desire dragged his hand back down.
Rory twisted for a better position and tentatively pushed his finger back in. It went in more easily this time—too easily. His finger glided in the weird slickness, encountering little resistance, and pushed in right up to his middle knuckle.
Rory stared up at the ceiling, waiting for air to return to his lungs.
Okay, maybe he could see it now, why some guys might like this. It was like there was a direct line between his ass and his cock; it pulsed in time with his heartbeat, held taut with the pressure exerted by his finger.
When Rory curled his finger he nearly crumpled. A strangled moan fought its way out of his throat. What the fuck was this?
His cock jumped against his belly when he did it again.
And then again. He fell naturally into an insistent rhythm, pressing the pad of his finger against his inner flesh.
Feeding that line of pleasure to his cock.
Feeling it build inside him, until the pleasure forked and seemed to worm itself even deeper, connecting to the base of his spine.
A type of pleasure Rory had never experienced before and knew he’d never be able to coherently explain.
Threading through all of this was the tugging sensation inside his chest. That fucking soul bond Fionn kept bringing up, like a bad itch Rory couldn’t get rid of. He could almost imagine Fionn on the other end of it, being equally tugged in his direction. Maybe watching while he got himself off.
And just like that Rory’s thoughts were firmly on the blue merman. Imagining his rugged shoulders covered in tattoos. The arrogant glint in his dark eyes. Fionn’s fingers fucking him.
‘God,’ Rory stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut. Somehow he’d got another finger in, could feel his muscles straining against the stretch of it. But both digits moved easily, sliding without friction despite the water.
Rory registered this hazily. He’d had shower sex once, and learned very quickly that water was not a good lubricant. None of this should be feeling as gut-wrenchingly euphoric as it was.
His fingers were in up to his knuckles , for Christ’s sake.
He’d thrown his legs out over the sides of the bath, splaying himself open like he was inviting the faucet to come and get in on the action.
All the while pleasure built up inside him, straining within his untouched cock and thudding at the base of his spine. Fucking fuck, he needed to come.
A groan dropped from his mouth as he contorted his body so that his fingers could plunge deeper, harder.
Rory felt he was chasing the climax, desperately trying to catch up to it while his heartbeat drummed in his ears and the water sloshed all around him.
And his chest, his chest was going to fucking burst under the pressure.
He needed release. He needed help. He needed…
‘F-Fionn,’ he croaked, a dirty snarl underlying the moan.
The tension in his chest was going to snap him in half. It wound even tighter, like the bond itself was endeavouring to drag two souls together.
A chaotic clattering from beyond the bathroom reached Rory’s ears. Rather like a door being thrown off its hinges and someone racing up the stairs.
The bathroom door rattled—then burst open.
Naked except for his kilt, chest heaving and eyes wide, Fionn loomed large and beautiful in the doorway.