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Wyatt Fortner
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2022, Northern France
The waves shimmered in the early light, painted gold by the rising sun, as I watched him shake seawater from his curls—blonde and wild, catching the light like something out of a dream.
Fucking beautiful.
It was always 7 AM. Like clockwork, he’d finish his morning surf session—same time, same rhythm, for the past two weeks. Not that I was obsessively keeping track.
Okay, fine. I was counting.
I moved to France to escape—silence, solitude, and a fresh start. My career in software engineering allowed me to work from anywhere, and the French coast offered the perfect retreat—briny air, endless sea, and not a soul to disturb me. I bought a modest manor tucked against the sand, the deed granting me private rights to the stretch of beach he now unknowingly lazed upon.
I don’t think he had any idea he was trespassing. But he never caused trouble, never brought friends. Just arrived at dawn, surfed until the afternoon, and vanished as quietly as he came.
Sometimes, if I was lucky, he stayed longer. He’d nap in the sand, read dog-eared paperbacks, or sketch idle shapes with his fingers into the gold grains. There was a kind of reverence in how he treated the space, like he needed it the same way I did.
I hadn’t planned to let it continue. But each morning, I found myself pulled into the same rhythm. Wake up. Make coffee. Watch him. When he left, I’d retreat inside. If he lingered, I’d work from my balcony, stealing glances over my laptop screen.
He was tall, sun-kissed, golden from salt and time. His curls were bleached at the ends, and I swore his ears caught the sun with something metallic—earrings, maybe? I never got close enough to get a good enough look.
And maybe that was for the best, as I soon enough found myself thinking about him more and more as the days passed.
Intrigue had quietly morphed into curiosity. And now, curiosity had twisted into something deeper—something aching and raw. A slow, simmering need for a boy I’d never even spoken to. Never touched.
A stranger, really.
Maybe the loneliness was clawing deeper than I wanted to admit.
I leaned back in my chair, mug warm in my hands, and watched as he tossed his surfboard down with careless grace, collapsing on top of it like he belonged to the sand. Sunlight draped over his skin like
honey, and his chest rose and fell with a kind of lazy contentment. No urgency in his limbs, no plans, it seemed. Looked like today was one of those days—one where he lingered.
And I hated how that made my heart flutter like a struck chord. Hated how his presence, stretched out under the rising sun, stirred something deeper in me than the caffeine in my mug ever could.
I must’ve been staring. Really staring. The kind of shameless observation you slip into when you think you’re safe behind tinted balcony glass and three stories of distance.
But then—he moved.
A sharp sound cut through the air, snapping me from my haze. I blinked, and there he was—down on the beach, waving up at me. One hand in the air, the other on his hip, his stance cocky, challenging.
“Hey! The hell are you staring for? You got a problem?”
I froze, breath caught in my throat, stunned that he even noticed me. All this time, I thought I was invisible. Three floors up, shaded by shadows and reflection. I owned the beach, yes—but the edge of it was still a four-minute walk from my doorstep. I hadn’t expected to be seen.
He had no right to be that ethereal while confronting me.
I didn’t answer. Just rose from my chair, coffee mug still in hand, my pulse thudding in my ears. I ran a hand through my dark hair, pushing it back from my face, trying not to let it show that my fingers trembled.
Then I walked out.
I made my way toward the balcony gate, stepped out, and began descending the stairs.
Down the sand path.
Right to him.
To my surprise—and admittedly, a little to my pleasure—he met me halfway down the path, cutting the distance between us with bold, barefoot steps. His brow was furrowed, mouth curled with suspicion, but the closer I got, the more that confrontational edge softened. Wariness gave way to something else. Something unreadable. Curious, maybe.
“The waves weren’t very big this morning,” I said lightly, my tone warm, conversational—like I hadn’t been caught red-handed watching him like a goddamn movie.
His frown deepened. “You would know, huh?” he shot back, folding his arms across his chest. The move made the lines of his body shift and flex in ways I shouldn’t have noticed—but did. “How long have you been watching me?”
His English was clean, fluid, but laced with a soft French lilt that curled at the edges of his words.
Now that I was this close, I could take him in fully—and Christ, was he a sight. His body was dusted in freckles, warm against sun-tanned skin. Tiny silver hoops in each ear caught the light, but what really stole the breath from my lungs were the two silver bars gleaming across his nipples.
Sweet fucking Christ.
I sipped my coffee, careful not to react, eyes drifting out to sea as if he wasn’t short-circuiting every nerve in my body. I shrugged lazily.
“Doesn’t matter,” I murmured into the rim of my mug, the heat of it grounding me. Then, with a glance back at him: “Most people start with their names when meeting a stranger.”
That made him laugh—sharp and a little cheeky. There was bite in it.
“Cassius Grant,” he said, arching a brow like he was daring me to flinch. “Now, are you gonna tell me why you were staring, or are you hoping I just forget about that part?”
I tilted my head, letting a smirk ghost across my lips. Bratty. Brazen. Fire in his voice, spark in his eyes.
Dangerous type.
And not one I typically tolerated.
“Wyatt Fortner,” I replied coolly, savoring the moment. Then I nodded to the patch of sand where he stood, my gaze steady, calm. “But you can call me Mr. Fortner. And I reckon I can stare at whatever I damn well please, seeing as this is my beach—and you’re trespassing, boy.”
That last word hung heavy in the air—low, deliberate. I watched with satisfaction as the heat in his face flickered, his confidence briefly knocked off its axis.
“I… there was no sign,” Cassius stammered, his eyes darting around the cliffside as if a Private Property stake might suddenly appear to condemn him. I chuckled under my breath.
“Relax,” I said, voice low and easy. “You’re right. I never bothered with a sign. No one really wanders to this side of the coast. And most people aren’t keen on scrambling down jagged rock faces just to find a bit of sand.”
His posture eased, the tension rolling off his shoulders, and a hint of a bashful smile played across his lips. That look—vulnerable, sweet—hooked something deep in my chest. I wanted more of it. I wanted to know what other expressions I could pull from him.
“Yeah, I just sort of… stumbled across the clearing one afternoon after classes. Started coming back. I like that it’s empty,” he said simply, honestly. It made me hum in acknowledgment.
“You’re a student, then?” I asked, already knowing, but needing to hear it. The idea of him here, a boy burning through his twenties, killing time on the sand before rushing off to lectures, made me feel fond.
And frankly, old as hell.
“I go to the local university,” he replied, and I felt his eyes sweep over me for the first time—really look. I was still in my loungewear: white linen shirt, sleeves half-pushed, cream pants hanging loose on my frame. Comfortable, sure. But suddenly I was all too aware of how casual I looked under his curious gaze.
“You must have a good job,” Cassius said after a beat, eyes flicking up toward the manor beyond the cliffs. “House like that. Strip of beach.”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I make a decent living.”
That amused him. His lips curled, smug and charming. “That’s what filthy rich people always say when asked about income.”
I gave him a mock-glare, one brow raised. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
He grinned wider, and something warm lodged in my chest. I took the final sip of my coffee, trying not to let my eyes stray too long to those damn metal bars gleaming through his shirt.
“So,” I said after a beat, voice even, “no classes today?”
Cassius stretched his arms overhead in a slow, careless motion, and I tried not to stare at the way it pulled at his chest. “Nope. Was gonna just lie around, maybe read. Nap if the breeze holds.”
It sounded ideal, but I had a better idea.
“Well,” I said, stepping just a little closer, “I was about to go in and make breakfast. Thought maybe you’d like to join me.”
There it was. No pretense now. My heart drummed hard behind my ribs, but I kept my face calm, unreadable.
He blinked. And for a moment, I thought I’d overstepped.
But then—he shrugged. “Yeah. That sounds nice, actually.”
Victory coiled low in my stomach, warm and smug, but I didn’t let it show. I simply nodded toward the path with a slight tilt of my head.
“Come on, then.”
And just like that, the stranger on my beach became a guest in my home.
Cassius wandered through my living room like he belonged there—barefoot and sand-dusted, touching the spines of my books, thumbing through a few stray photographs laid out on the shelves and coffee table. I stood at the stove, turning over an omelet, casting a glance back every now and then.
His confidence was amusing. Brazen, really. The kind that came with youth and beauty. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he was tracking a trail of fine sand onto my pristine hardwood. And stranger still—I didn’t seem to mind.
“What kind of books do you read, boy?” I asked, keeping my voice casual, light.
He hummed in thought, setting a thick novel back on the shelf. “The easy kind,” he replied, crossing back toward the kitchen. “I’m dyslexic. Reading’s a bit of a slow grind for me.”
He slid up onto the center island behind me, settling there like it was his spot—comfortable, uninvited, and somehow welcome all the same.
I arched a brow, flicking the burner down and reaching into the cabinets for a plate. “That's why you practice on the beach in your spare time?”
There was a pause, the kind that thickens the air just a little. When he answered, his tone had a tinge of curiosity to it.
“The last time I brought a book to the beach was… four days ago.” His voice was light, almost teasing. “How long exactly have you been watching me?”
I sighed quietly, plating the omelet and turning to face him. His eyes scanned my face, slow and intrigued, trailing down my chest before flicking back to meet my gaze. But he didn’t say a word—not until I gave him an answer.
“Since you found the beach,” I admitted, handing him the plate and a fork. His fingers brushed mine as he took them, but his eyes never left mine.
“You just sit up there on your balcony every morning, Mr. Fortner?” he asked again, and this time the words were dipped in something warmer—bemusement, yes, but also something more dangerous. Intrigue. Temptation.
I hesitated. Could have lied. Should have.
“And during the day, if you stay long enough.”
Something flickered in his expression. His lashes lowered for the briefest second, his lips parting just slightly—not quite a smile, not yet. But I didn’t give him time to dissect it.
“Eat,” I said, tone dropping just enough to carry weight. A quiet command.
Cassius grinned, wide and slow. That grin hit me straight in the chest, then rolled lower.
“Yes, sir,” he murmured, and it wasn’t the words, but the way he said them—playful, knowing, warm as sunlight—that nearly made me forget how to breathe.
And God help me, I'd do unspeakable things just to hear them again.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
The sun sat high overhead, the heat tempered by a salt-sweet breeze. I sat on the balcony with my laptop balanced on my thighs, the soft clack of keys mixing with the hush of waves below. Cassius lounged nearby on the outdoor couch, shirtless and golden in the light, watching me with that quiet, probing curiosity he didn’t bother to disguise.
After breakfast, I’d told him I had work to do, expecting him to thank me for the meal and disappear back down the path. Maybe hit the waves again or vanish entirely.
But he didn’t.
He simply nodded, trailed after me like a shadow, and made himself comfortable. At first, he read quietly, curled up with a book and the contentment of someone at home. But as the minutes stretched on, I could feel it—his eyes pulling at me more often, lingering longer.
“You need something?” I asked, not looking up as I answered an email.
Silence. Then—
“I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger.”
My fingers paused on the keyboard. I didn’t need to glance at him to know exactly where this was going.
“I don’t see why I’d be eyeing you up if I had one,” I replied smoothly, fingers resuming their rhythm. I could hear the grin in his voice when he responded.
“Fair enough.” A beat. “Maybe I should be more straightforward.”
That got my attention.
I glanced over to find him fully turned toward me, lying on his side like some irreverent little muse—head propped in his palm, that honey-blonde hair a tousled mess around his face. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and something else—something low and simmering.
“You like men. That much is obvious,” he said, voice soft but sure, dragging his gaze down my body in a slow, unhurried sweep. I swallowed, jaw tense, refusing to squirm under the weight of it.
“What’s your type, Mr. Fortner?”
The question was blunt enough to punch the air from my lungs. I exhaled hard through my nose, pretending it didn’t rattle me.
“I like men my age,” I said evenly—though even I could hear the lie in it.
Cassius arched a brow, clearly amused. “You’re a bad liar.”
I glanced up from my screen, just in time to catch him smirking.
“You’ve been checking me out since breakfast,” he added, all airy confidence. “And I know I’m not anywhere close to your age.”
I snorted. “You’re in college. What, twenty-four?”
He grinned widely, pleased with himself. “Barely twenty-one.”
I choked on a breath, coughing once before setting my laptop aside with more force than necessary. Jesus Christ. Twenty-one.
Ten fucking years.
My eyes flicked back to him, laid out and glinting with smug satisfaction. His skin was sun-warmed and dappled in freckles, the silver of his nipple piercings catching the light like temptation made manifest.
“You’re young,” I say, my voice cutting through the quiet like a blade—measured, firm. “Too young. I’m thirty-one. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I meet his gaze, steeled hazel to green, and I hold it there—no softness, no smile. Just the hard line of a boundary I wasn’t sure I wanted to draw, but knew I had to.
Cassius didn’t flinch.
A laugh slips from him, light and shameless, like I’d just said something funny rather than serious. His lips twitch upward into an infuriatingly amused smile.
“I do,” he hums, sitting up from the couch in one fluid motion.
For half a second, I allow myself the comfort of hope—that maybe he’d nod, laugh it off, turn away and say it was fun while it lasted.
But of course, that hope is short-lived.
“I understand that you sound like someone who’s never had the pleasure of experiencing the stamina of a 21-year-old.”
I let out a sharp breath that starts as a scoff and lands as something closer to surprise.
Before I can summon a retort, he rises—unhurried, cocky—and starts toward me. That same grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, all teeth and sin, like he knew exactly what he was doing. And maybe he does.
Every step of his feels like a deliberate dare, a test of how far he can push me before I snap. My pulse kicks up, but I don’t move. I just watched him approach, jaw tight, my hands flexing on the armrests of the chair like I'm anchoring myself there.
His bare chest glints gold in the light. His piercings catch the sun again, and I swear they wink at me like they’re in on the joke.
Cassius stops just in front of me, standing close enough that I can smell the faint salt on his skin, can see every freckle that dots his body like stars.
And God help me—I want to touch him.
I couldn’t stop it—the way my legs shifted open on instinct, inviting him in without thought. And when he stepped between them, like it was the most natural place for him to be, my hands moved on their own, too—barely brushing the backs of his thighs. A whisper of contact. A claim I couldn’t let myself make, but couldn’t help hinting at either.
Cassius looked down at me with that look—smug and sweet all at once, lit with something that made my chest tight and my jaw tense. I hated how much I wanted to kiss it off him.
“You’re not taking me very seriously,” I murmured, looking up at him. The sun behind him framed his curls like a halo, casting a golden glow around his face.
He tilted his head, eyes flicking from mine to my mouth and back again, unafraid.
“No, I’m not,” he said simply. Truthful. Unbothered. “But that’s because you’re not stopping me.”
The air crackled around us—thick with everything I wasn’t saying and everything he already knew. I hissed a breath through my teeth, my grip tightening slightly on his thighs. Damn him. He was right. If I didn’t want him here, I wouldn’t be touching him. Wouldn’t be letting him press into my space, tilt the balance of power just enough to make me feel like the one being hunted.
I wouldn’t be sitting here thinking about what it’d feel like to drag my tongue down the line of his abdomen, to see if those silver bars were cold on my tongue or warmed from the sun.
Get it together, Wyatt.
“You’re good-looking,” I murmur, my voice low and unapologetic as my hands slide slowly up the backs of his thighs. My thumbs barely graze the inner edges—just enough to feel the skin there go taut with goosebumps. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but his body speaks louder than words ever could.
“And yet,” I continue, my eyes raking over him with open hunger, “you could have anyone. Literally anyone. So tell me, Cassius—what is it about a man in his thirties that gets you so worked up?” The question falls into a whisper, heavier than it should be, weighted with something more than lust.
Cassius shifts, just a fraction, leaning into my touch. It’s subtle, but not lost on me. His body betrays him, even if his expression stays unreadable.
“I fool around,” he says, breath brushing soft and close, eyes half-lidded with intent. “Here and there. Some guys. Some girls. But I’ve never been with someone older.” His gaze lingers on my mouth like he’s already imagining the taste of it. “And now here you are—so close, wanting me so badly I can feel it.”
He leans down just slightly, voice dropping into something darker—thicker.
“So why shouldn’t I want you back?”
The way he says it—it’s not a question. It’s a challenge. A dare, cloaked in the velvet edge of desire.
And I have no good answer.
So I say nothing.
And that silence speaks louder than any yes ever could.
Cassius reads it like scripture, sliding forward with a cautious boldness, straddling my lap like he’s testing the strength of thin ice. His movements are careful—measured—but underneath them is that same relentless want, pulsing like a live wire.
He perches over me, hips aligning with mine so perfectly it’s criminal. And I let him. Weak-minded as I am, I let him. My hands move on their own, sliding down the curve of his back until they find the firm weight of his ass, my fingers digging in with a restraint that won’t last.
He’s already hard. I can feel it pressed against me, and the heat of it sends a thrum low in my stomach.
“You’re shameless,” I whisper, our mouths a breath apart, eyes locked in a silent war neither of us wants to win. “No hesitation. You just take what you want?”
Cassius swallows, and I can see the pulse in his throat—feel the tension in his thighs under my hands.
“You’re not telling me no,” he murmurs, voice husky and tinged with desire.
I squeeze his ass in reply, enough to make him flinch just slightly, his breath catching.
“I’m not tellin’ you yes,” I counter, my tone slow, rich, heavy with warning. “And you’re going to learn real quick—”
I lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.
“—I don’t entertain boys who think they’re in charge.”
Cassius lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a choked-up groan and a daring scoff. And fuck me, it’s like pouring gasoline on a flame. He reaches out to grasp my shoulders, and I stop him in his tracks.
“No,” I say firmly, and his hands stop in their tracks, much to my pleasure. “Hands at your sides.”
Cassius lets out a soft breath—half thrill, half arousal—at my words, and his hands retreat obediently to his own thighs. The control, the obedience, it sends a pulse of heat straight through me.
“Good,” I murmur against his neck, right before I sink my teeth in—not enough to bruise, but enough to make him gasp, his hips twitching forward instinctively.
He fists the fabric of his shorts, trying not to buck. I watch him, enthralled, as he shifts in my lap, his muscles rippling ever so slightly with restraint.
Then slowly, reverently, he slides one hand lower, grazing over the outline of his cock through his swim trunks. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering, and it’s the prettiest fucking sight I’ve ever seen.
“You look like a dream,” I mutter, letting my tongue follow the curve of his neck. “You want to come just from sitting on me, Cassius? From a few words in your ear?”
He nods quickly, breathlessly—so eager it makes my chest tighten.
“Then do it. Touch yourself. But you keep your hands off me,” I remind him, my voice like gravel. “You’re the one who started this, boy. Now let’s see how far that pretty mouth of yours can take you without laying a single finger on me.”
Cassius bites his lip, eyes locking with mine.
And then, he obeys.
He works his shorts off just enough to free his erection, his hand instantly going to pump himself. My eyes find the movement, my mouth going dry at the sight.
“Just like that,” I breathe out in assurance, my cock beginning to harden at the sound of his soft pants and the sounds of fist against skin.
“You’re so riled up, and I’ve barely laid a hand on you,” I taunt, unable to hide the predatory tremor to my voice. “You always this easy?”
Cassius groans, his head lulling forward to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s so intimate, I let the touch slide.
“Call me whatever the fuck you want, Mr. Fortner, just don't stop talking,” he pleads, his voice thick with need as his breath cascades across my lips. The pace of his hand quickens, and it takes everything in me not to replace his grip with my own.
No—I needed him to ache for it. To beg for it.
My fingers dragged slowly up the expanse of his chest, deliberate and unhurried, until they found the cool metal of those piercings. I rolled one between my fingers, then gave a teasing tug.
Cassius shuddered—moaned—a sound so raw and involuntary it lit me up from the inside out.
God, he was beautiful like this.
The corner of my mouth curled without permission, the smug satisfaction spreading in my chest like wildfire. He was unraveling, thread by thread, and all I had to do was pull.
“You got a thing for words, or is it voices?” I rasp against his throat, my mouth closing over his adam’s apple in a slow, deliberate suck. My teeth graze the tender skin, just enough to make him twitch. My fingers never stop their teasing dance over the cool metal bars through his chest, tugging, circling, tempting.
Cassius writhes in my lap, all breathy gasps and stifled moans, his body strung tight with want. Each sound that slips from him is a reward—soft, desperate music spilling out with every shaky exhale.
“I don't know,” He stammers, his back arching as his hips jerk to meet his fist with every stroke. “Fuck, I don’t know,” Cassius reiterates in a pant, voice cracking with need. “But everything you say to me makes me want to come.”
I chuckle low, the sound rich and dark, threading through the air like smoke. His desperation hits me like a shot of adrenaline.
“You know I’m not going to let you, right?”
His lashes flutter as he opens his eyes, confusion flickering across his face, chased quickly by something more helpless—something raw.
“Why not?” he whimpers, and Christ, that sound—broken and begging—makes my cock fully harden.
“Why not?” I echo, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. I lean in, kissing up his throat as I whisper, “Because I’m not done playing with you yet.”
Cassius shudders against me, his hand still working himself, but slower now, uncertain. I can feel the war in him—obedience battling instinct.
“You’re gonna sit here,” I murmur, my fingers dragging down the ridges of his stomach, “and take whatever I decide to give you. If you want more, you’re going to have to beg for it. Understood?”
He nods quickly, too quickly.
“Use your words,” I warn, giving a firmer tug to one of the metal bars in his chest.
“Yes, sir,” he breathes, the words breaking off into a gasp.
“That’s better,” I praise, my voice low and approving. “Now keep your hand right where it is—but don’t you dare finish. If you do, I’ll make damn sure it’s the last time you ever get to touch yourself in my presence.”
Cassius’s jaw tightens, the challenge clear in his trembling restraint.
And what a delicious sight that was.
“Get up,” I say, voice a low command. “I want your shorts off.”
Cassius pauses. For the first time, hesitation flickers across his face. “Here?” he asks, voice quiet, eyes darting toward the open expanse around us. There’s no one in sight—no neighbors, no passing strangers. Just the salt air and my private stretch of beach.
I tilt my head, amused. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you pulled your dick out a few minutes ago, now did you?”
That earns me a flushed look, his cheeks blooming with heat. He swallows hard, the blush crawling down his neck like fire under his freckled skin. Still, he doesn’t argue. He rises slowly, standing in front of me, and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his swim trunks.
And just like that, he slides them down—exposed and unashamed once more, even if the pink at his ears betrays the thrill humming through him.
I take a moment to drink him in, letting my gaze trail down his body like a caress. One hand shifts to palm the growing ache in my shorts as I admire every inch of his sun-kissed skin—smooth, golden, not a single tan line in sight.
“You tan naked?” I ask, the question slipping out more breath than voice.
Cassius nods, the corner of his mouth curling in the faintest, knowing grin.
I groan, low and shameless, the image already burned into the back of my mind.
“New rule,” I murmur darkly, eyes raking over him. “You do that on my beach from now on. Regularly.”
Cassius chuckles, his teeth catching his lip as he flashes a teasing grin.
“I don’t know, Mr. Fortner,” he drawls, a teasing lilt in his voice as he drops to his knees in front of me. “Let’s see what you’ve got to offer before I commit to making this a habit.”
The air leaves my lungs in a slow exhale, and I stare down at him—kneeling there like some obedient, wickedly beautiful thing. His eyes glint with mischief, but there’s hunger beneath it. Want.
I brace my hands on the arms of the chair, trying to memorize the view. If there was ever a moment worth carving into stone, it was this one.
Cassius leans in, his breath ghosting over the drawstring of my shorts, so close it makes my stomach clench. He bats those sinful lashes up at me, lips glistening as his tongue swipes across them with deliberate slowness.
“Can I pull these down for you, please?” he asks, voice syrupy sweet and soaked in obedience.
I fight back the groan that claws its way up my throat, every nerve ending lit up like a wire.
“Go ahead, boy,” I whisper, the words trembling out of me, far less composed than I’d intended. It’d been a while since I’d felt anything other than my right hand.
Cassius wastes no time. One fluid motion, and my pants—and boxers with them—are pooled at my ankles. He shifts in closer, his breath teasing the sensitive skin at the base of my cock, his lips just a hair’s breadth away.
The anticipation nearly undoes me.
His eyes flick up, locking with mine, and there’s nothing bashful left in them now, just hunger and the kind of focus that makes my pulse stutter. There's a flicker of surprise in them, as if he wasn't expecting my size.
I reach forward and thread my fingers into Cassius’s hair, my cock throbbing.
“Open,” I instruct him simply, and I watch with bated breath as he obeys. I don't hesitate in tugging his head forwards, my leaking tip slipping past his lips.
I toss my head back, a shuddering moan erupting from me, the sensation bordering on euphoric. I feel his tongue wrap around my length as I slide my cock further into his mouth.
He moans around me, and I can feel the vibration to my core. My eyes flutter shut, and my hand quickens its pace as I guide his head.
“So much more useful when you’re not causing trouble with your mouth,” I grunt, “Go on, boy, I know you can take more.”
Cassius’s breath hitches as I guide him—his lips obedient, mouth warm and slick—but I feel the tremor of his restraint in his hands, the way his fingers twitch and dig into my thighs. Not submission, not really.
He wants control, too, wants me to notice.
I curl my fingers in his hair, tugging just enough that his head tilts back and he’s looking at me. His eyes are glazed, but defiant. Simmering with challenge.
“You like this, huh? You like me using your mouth like this?” I murmur, thumb dragging slowly along his jaw.
Something akin to a moan leaves him as he nods around me, his mouth full of my cock, drool pooling and dripping out around the corners of his mouth.
“You’re making a mess, boy.”
I slip free from his mouth with a long drag that makes my spine tingle and back arch slightly, Cassius licks his lips, slow, like he knows it’ll wreck me.
His eyes are locked onto mine like he knows exactly what he’s doing. My breath stutters for a moment, one hand still tangled in his golden curls.
“Look at you,” I rasp, my voice low and rough. “You get off on this, don’t you?”
Cassius doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to. His flushed face, the mess on his chin, and the uneven breaths say it all. The twitch in his throat as he swallows the last ghost of restraint, it’s all I need to know.
But there’s a hidden layer beneath his silence. Defiance simmering below the obedience, a dare. Like he’s waiting, buying his time to flip the script on me.
I lean in closer, one hand trailing down his throat, feeling the hitch in his breath as the pad of my thumb passes over his pulse point. My lips brush against the shell of his ear.
“You want me to praise you, boy?” I whisper. “Call you a good boy? Or does desperate slut suit you better?”
Cassius tilts his head slightly, just enough that our eyes meet again, his voice wrecked when it finally comes back.
“Only if you mean it, Mr. Fortner.” A smug smirk quirks up on his lips, taunting and knowing.
I lose all restraint after that. I stand up and throw him over my shoulder in one swift motion, planting a firm smack to his ass, which earns me a yelp.
I don’t remember anything between the balcony and my bedroom, all I know is I lost the last bit of my sanity when I saw him spread out on my bed, body taught and glowing in the dim light.
He’s spread out like temptation itself. Hips tilted, lips parted as he watches me from over his shoulder, back arched just enough to make me lose any scraps of patience I had rolling around in my head. My skin buzzes with need, and I walk toward him like I’ve forgotten how to walk, only how to reach.
My hands roam, greedy and reverent. I skim my hands down his sides, feel the crackle of goosebumps forming beneath my fingertips. I trace the curve of his spine and thumb over the dimples in his back, just above the curve of his ass— earning a shiver, a quiet breath sucked in through his teeth.
I press a chaste kiss to the back of his neck, letting my weight blanket him as I mouth along his star-dusted shoulders.
“Still behaving?” I mutter against his skin.
Cassius hums low, doesn’t answer with words. He pushes back into me, languid and intentional, rubbing his ass against my cock. And I feel it, the shift—his body coils, like it’s holding something back.
Then he flips me, quick and fast. I'm not sure how he did it so smoothly, but he did. I land on my back, breath punched from my lungs— not from force, but from how good he looks above me.
Wild. Glowing. Mouth set, jaw tight, eyes dark with something more than hunger.
“You think you’re the only one who can play boss, Mr. Fortner?” He keeps his voice low and teasing.
My pulse stumbles, and my hands find their way to his thighs, steadying him, but he’s already leaning in, bracing himself above me, caging me in.
“I’m not yours to ruin,” he leans in close, his forehead resting against mine. “But I let you pretend for a moment there, and that was fun.”
His hands find my wrists and he pins them above my head. There’s no question now who holds the reins.
I may not be the one to ruin him, who knows. But I do know that this golden boy mounted above me will be my undoing.
I bite down a groan and watch him with something that borders on awe. His hair is a tousled, beautiful mess, golden and gleaming as the light catches. It dances across his body. Highlighting the curves and dips of his muscles.
Then back to those fucking nipple piercings.
That sight alone sends an electric shock to my dick.
He knows I’m mapping him out, recording and committing every freckled speck and imperfection into my memory.
My arms tremble with the force of restraint, and one thing becomes painfully clear: he knows and sees how far gone I am.
“I thought you liked control,” he says, voice teetering on the edge of a purr and a growl almost. “Now look at you, all needy and quiet.”
I buck beneath him, not out of resistance, but desperation. He lets go of my wrists and presses a palm flat to my chest, pinning me there with a maddening calmness.
“Mr. Fortner,” he breathes, and there’s a certain lilt in his tone now, softer and riddled with heat. “Tell me what you need.”
That undoes me. Eyes closing, breath shaking, shame curling somewhere within me. Because it’s not just physical, no, and I think we both know it. I need him. Not just his body, mouth, or the edge of him—I need the way he sees me.
“You-“ I manage. “I need you.”
Cassius exhales like I’ve fed him oxygen, like something inside him snaps loose. He leans in, sliding against me, our bodies flush, heat overwhelming. His hand slides lower, slow, testing, guiding.
“I’ve got you,” he says, no bravado now. Just promise.
And when I look up—when I really see him—I realize this isn’t about who’s in control. It’s about trust. He’s giving me something just as raw as I gave him.
And just as if he’s been here a hundred times over, he leans over to my bedside drawer, opening it and finding the bottle of lube I keep tucked away in there. The action is so mundane, and I have to fight the flutter in my chest.
Cassius doesn’t look at me as he pops the cap— his focus razor sharp, deliberate. He settles between my legs like it’s his god given, rightful place.
I swear he slows down just to test me.
The lube pools on his fingers, dripping down to his wrist, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then he’s touching me. Soft, steady, drawing a quiet gasp from my chest. His fingers coax me, rubbing slow circles around my hole. His gaze flicks up once, checking, and I nod without meaning to, a breath catching in my throat.
“You ever let anyone take care of you like this?” He asks, voice low, almost gentle if it weren’t for the look in his eyes.
“No,” I rasp out.
“Didn’t think so.”
This absurdly cocky fucking boy.
His fingers press into me, slowly, coaxing me open with maddening patience. Each slick slide feels more intimate than anything that came before— and he knows it. He’s watching me fall apart, and he’s eating it up.
I grip the sheets, hips stuttering, my pride dissolving into need. There’s no pretense now. No control.
“You’re so tight and warm-“ he murmurs, voice turned molten now.
Cassius leans down and kisses me hard, tongue slithering in slow and possessively, like he’s sealing something between us. And when his other hand finds itself wrapped around my cock, stroking me painfully slow, I snap.
A deep, muffled moan leaves me, and he swallows it whole, devouring my lips as both hands work in tandem to bring me to the brink of insanity.
His fingers crook inside me, and I almost cry, fire erupts in my stomach. The familiar heat begins to pool and coil there, taking root and blossoming into the most delicious feeling.
“Tell me when you’re ready.” He says, but I already am. I already was the moment he looked at me like I was worth devouring.I can’t bring myself to say anything. No words come to mind as he slides his f ingers in and out of me.
“Turn over for me,” he withdraws his fingers, almost making me let loose an embarrassing whimper at the feeling of emptiness he leaves me with.
I do it, slowly—roll onto my stomach, cheek to the pillow, breath stuttering and heart hammering in my chest. My nerves burning hotter than a live wire.
He settles behind me, one knee between my legs, hand sliding low. Then he stops. Quiet, like something’s caught his eye.
“Well,” he says, thumb brushing the ink right above the dip of my waistline. “Didn’t peg you for barbed wire.”
I tense under his touch. “It’s old,” I mumble. “From a time I thought surviving meant being sharp. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Cassius hums, low and approving. “It suits you,” he murmurs back, leaning down to kiss the ink adorning my skin, mouth soft and slow.
A gentle sigh slips past and I can feel him grin against my skin.
“You want more of my tongue, Mr. Fortner?” His voice oozes intent, like he was going to do something anyway.
“The hell are you talking about boy?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“You know where, don’t play coy.” He purrs the words, already making his descent, hands gripping the globes of my ass, parting the cheeks with a devilish grin.
“Hey, don’t even-“ I start, but his tongue darting out and lapping at me shuts me up real quick.
Oh fuck.
My brain goes static. Thoughts knocked loose by the overwhelming feeling of his mouth and tongue licking and sucking at my hole. I’m far too taken aback to be ashamed of the sounds that just slipped past my lips, desperate and foreign.
This boy is foul.
Filthy in all the best ways possible. Never in my life did I think the kid I observed from my balcony would have me like this, right in the palm of his hand and molding me like putty.
He pushes one of my legs up and dives in deeper, his tongue darts inside me, flicking and teasing at a steady pace.
“God, Cassius-“ I press my face into the pillows, trying to hide from the boy, heart thudding and erratic, but Cassius doesn’t slow.
He grips my ass tighter, mouth relentless and worshipful, and it’s humiliating how fast I’m coming undone.
“Stop hiding,” he mutters, his breath hot against my skin. “I want to see what I do to you.”
And I know he means it—not just the moans, not just the way my body arches, but the way I shake, the way I clench and grip the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering me to this moment.
I try to turn, but he moves against me, one hand pressed to the small of my back, keeping me there.
He slides his fingers back in, alongside his tongue, and god, I think I see stars.
A deep moan leaves me, this one devoid of any shame, just pure need and utter desire.
And then he curls his fingers again, finding that spot that lights me up. “Oh, Cassius-“ I arch back into him, needing more.
“Boy, you better quit fucking around,” I say gruffly.
He chuckles low and draws away from me, climbing up my back, his cock pressed between my cheeks, sliding through the slickness as he whispers into my ear. “Yes sir.”
And then he’s inside me, starting slow, inch by inch, stealing my breath away.
My mouth falls open, a broken moan sounding out in the room, and I swear I can feel him get harder inside me.
He angles his hips as he slides the rest of the way inside me, his cock pressing against that spot that makes me feel like jello.
And that’s it, right there.
He starts to move, targeting that spot with reckless abandon as I writhe beneath him, rocking back against him.
I didn’t know it could feel this good, feel this fucking amazing, like every nerve in my body has been set ablaze and he’s the only thing that can put it out. He thrusts again, a long, deep stroke, right against the spot that is making me fucking melt.
I moan. Soft and choked.
“Fuck, Wyatt, you feel so good like this-“ he lets loose a string of curses and moans. “Every time I push deeper, and hit that little spot, you clench tighter, like you wanna swallow me whole.”
I can't.
I’m so close to finishing, and he’s barely started fucking me. It’s humiliating, yet exhilarating all at the same time.
I need more.
Before he has any time to react, I move away from him, pushing him down onto his back and straddling his lap.
He stares up at me with a look of shock, those green eyes reflecting that same need back up at me.
“My turn.”
I lean down and kiss him, hard. My tongue snaked past his lips with a need I didn’t know I possessed. He tasted of salt and sea, yet slightly sweet, like mango.
Teeth, lips, and flesh mingle in a feverish rush.
His body goes pliant beneath me, his hips bucking up and grinding against me.
“Don’t move,” I command, the words gruff from my throat, and he complies. He goes dangerously still, and I feel his heart hammering in his chest.
I grab the lube and slick my fingers up, bringing them to his tight pink hole, and push in.
His back arches beautifully as he moans out for me, so fucking gorgeous.
My eyes are dragging down his body like I could set him on fire with my stare alone.
This boy, no. This angel, beneath me, is sculpted with every intention of undoing my very being. Every dip and curve, every twitch of muscle, every speckled inch of his skin makes a deep desire twist and fester into something monstrous in my bones.
I hook my fingers and press against his sweet spot.
He whines.
Fucking music to my ears.
I draw back and push them in again, slamming into that spot, and he arches up off the bed, attempting to close his legs around me, but I force them open again with my knees. I devour every second like I might never experience it again.
The way he shakes beneath me, the way he clenches around my fingers, sucking them back in like he can’t get enough.
His thighs tremble with each thrust of my fingers, his hole twitches around them, so I add a third, stretching him further.
“Oh f-fuck, Wyatt-“ he reaches down and grips my forearm, fingernails biting into my skin, leaving little halfmoons in their wake, his hole spasms around my slicked fingers.
“You don’t get to come yet, boy, not until I’m balls deep inside you and you’re screaming my name. Hold it.” I pump my fingers in and out of him, the obscene squelching sound of flesh and lube mingling with his whimpers and cries.
I lock my eyes with his; he’s teary-eyed and trembling with the force of holding back an orgasm.
I’d bet money that he comes right when I slide inside him.
“Mr. Fortner, fuck, please-“ he whimpers, back bowing and pushing back against my hand, trying to take me deeper.
“Please what?” I lean down and nip at his lobe, taking his earring between my teeth.
“Fuck me, please. I need it-“ he keens the words out, sharp and needy. “I need you inside me.”
I wait for nothing else. I pull my fingers out of his hole, watching it twitch around nothing as I grab the lube and pour a generous amount in my palm. I stroke myself, slicking every inch of my throbbing cock until it’s dripping.
He spreads his legs wider for me, inviting me in while his pretty, blushed cock lies against his stomach, leaking like a broken tap on his navel.
That sight alone is enough to make me come untouched. But I won’t. I want to be buried inside him when I do, feeling his tight warmth stretched around me as I pound him into the sheets.
I line up at his entrance, teasing his hole with just the tip. I want him to beg for it. And he does, too, I can see it in his eyes.
C’mon, boy, beg for it.
Beg for me to fuck you senseless.
Mindless.
Boneless.
“Mr. Fortner, please, fuck.” He tries to push back onto me, but I draw my hips back just enough to leave him wishing for contact.
He whimpers again.
“Ask nicely.” I grin down at him, cocky and unrelenting.
It was wicked, really—diabolical, even—but I didn’t care. Not when he was looking up at me like that, breath shallow, squirming beneath the weight of my hands.
“Please, Mr. Fortner, I need you.”
It was so sweet, so earnest, so needy coming from his mouth. The slight tremble to his lip, the way his body practically vibrated in anticipation.
Something snaps inside me, and every ounce, no, every shred of self-control and restraint leaves me.
I slam into him without hesitation.
His eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack as a silent scream falls past his lips.
He swallows me up in one go, his tight heat pulses around me, and I think for a moment I’m going to lose it and blow my load like some teenager experiencing his first lay, like some one-pump chump.
I start off in a slow, tantalus rhythm, but before I know it, I’m rocking into him with a fervor that sends tingling up my spine.
He hooks his legs around my waist, pulling me closer, deeper, and I let him.
I sink in and out of him, watching him unravel with every bated breath and moan that leaves both of us.
“You feel amazing, Cassius, so good, so good for me-“ I grab his hips and pull them up, angling my own to hit that spot that makes him sing.
And he does, beautifully.
“Oh fuck, right there, don’t stop-“ he cries out, that hint of a French accent twisting on every syllable.
I don’t stop, I don’t dare even slow. My pace becomes relentless, and I pull him back onto me with each stroke.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, baby,“ I choke out, leaning down to kiss him, bracing myself on the bed to cage him in as I fuck him to oblivion.
I can feel him growing rigid beneath me, and he clenches so tight I think he might snap my dick in two. He’s close.
I don’t let the thought linger long, because that delicious feeling creeps up my spine again, and I know I’m close too.
I reach down between us and take him in my palm, stroking him in time with my thrusts. His hips buck into my hand, and a wild, unfiltered moan slips out of him. He writhes, trying to choke back his desperate whines.
“Come on, you asked to be fucked. Come for me,” I coo the words into his ear. He looks almost on the verge of tears, the stimulation too overwhelming for him to bear. He shakes his head, his face flushed red, his core trembling with effort.
I laugh, the sound mocking and dark.
“Bold to think that I was asking you, not telling you.”
I shift my hand, brushing my thumb over the tip of his blushed, leaking cock, thrusting deep and hard.
He cries out a sound so mesmerizing I shatter. His back bows into the arch I’ve grown weak to, and he tightens around me. His cock twitches in my palm and spurts out thick white ropes onto his stomach and chest.
My body goes taut, and my balls ache from the sheer force of my release. I empty myself deep inside him, slowing down but not stopping, letting us both ride out the high.
I collapse against him, not caring that his stomach and chest were painted in his release. We both grasp for a steady breath, needing the oxygen, but not needing it more than the proximity.
I rest laxly on top of him, still nestled deep as my cock twitches.
“I should trespass more often.” He mumbles into my shoulder.
I can’t help the deep chuckle that takes root in my chest and bubbles up my throat, turning into warm laughter. “Mm, maybe you should.”
I gently pull out and fall to his side. He’s covered in a thin layer of sweat, and I can see him shift slightly, trying to avoid the sensation of my cum leaking out of him.
My eyes drag over him for what must be the hundredth time today, drinking in the view like it’s the first.
He’s beautiful—undeniably, stupidly beautiful. The kind of beauty you don’t just see, but feel. The kind that lodges somewhere deep in your chest and refuses to leave.
And as I stare—quiet, unblinking—I get lost in the thick of my thoughts, watching him like I could see all the way through to his core.
For a moment, I remember what it felt like to be twenty. Reckless. Bright-eyed. Full of hope and hunger. Like a breath of fresh air.
Fond.
That’s the word for it. That’s what blooms in me the longer I look at Cassius.
I want him to keep coming back. To keep climbing over that bluff, barefoot and grinning, until the path to my door is so worn it belongs to him.
I want to wake up with the sun just to watch him catch the perfect wave, then make him breakfast while he flips through his worn paperbacks on my balcony like it’s the only place in the world worth being.
I want to see the golden hour wrap him in light, like even the sun understands how precious he is. Too good. Too rare.
I’ve done things—things that weigh heavy on a man when the world gets quiet. Things I’m not proud of. But if there’s any grace left in the universe, if there’s a single thread of mercy still tethered to me, I hope it brings me this:
Him.
And I hope he stays. Long after the sun disappears beyond the sea. Long after the wind dies down and the tide quiets under the watchful eye of the moon.
I brush my finger along his jaw, soft and reverent. A touch I don’t deserve—but take anyway.