Milo leans back on his elbows and lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Damn is right.”
Being close with him like this makes me feel drunk. The guys I usually fuck, they roll off the second they finish, and that’s pretty much the end of it. But Milo nuzzles his nose to my neck, and I can’t believe how good it feels to have him there.
Damn it. What am I supposed to do with something that feels this good?
I paw the back of his head, then finally pull back and stand. Milo looks up to me and, with a gentle voice, asks, “Why did you get a rose?”
My fingers rest on the tattoo that runs down the side of my neck. “To piss my dad off,” I tell him honestly, the post-sex haze making it harder to hide the truth.
Milo laughs. “Did it work?”
I give him half a smile as I look around for my boxers. “Yeah. He didn’t think I should have a tattoo on my neck, and he especially didn’t like that it was something girly.”
“Girly,” Milo laughs. “That thing is all thorns.”
I snort. “His words. Anyway, I still had to keep up appearances at the dock.”
“The dock where you worked, right?”
I realize I’m telling Milo about my life for pretty much the first time. I’ve already broken a million of my own rules, getting close to him like this. But it’s wrong to keep hiding when he’s sitting there with his lips all puffy and this happy, contented look on his face.
Makes me want to fuck him all over again.
Okay, shit. Maybe I do owe him some of the truth.
“Uh, the docks in Milwaukee. Where my whole family works, actually.” I step into my boxers and hitch them up, then grab a paper towel and a wet wipe. “I started there when I was sixteen. Worked a bunch of different jobs, pretty much all the crews at one point or another.” I go to clean him first and gently wipe the cum off his warm skin, and my touch makes Milo suck in a sharp breath.
“I wish I had the steel to get something like this,” I say, then drag my fingers over the work on Milo’s arm. It’s new enough that the ink still rises softly, more since Milo’s sweaty and flushed, and I feel the raw heat beneath my fingertips. “I’m trying not to need so many thorns these days.”
Milo’s hand meets mine. For a second, we touch without saying anything. Then he hums quietly beneath his breath. “Are the docks why you have the ship?”
I look down at my arm. “Oh, the schooner? We didn’t service any ships like this at work. But I guess spending all that time at the docks, it got me interested anyway. Schooners like this one were all over the lakes a couple hundred years ago.”
Milo smiles. “Because you like history.”
I grunt, agreeing. Listening to history podcasts and watching movies and reading books, it’s always just been something I do on my own. College was out of the question with Dad, but my free time was mine. I never really talk about the books I read because who in the hell else would care?
Except Milo actually does care, I’m pretty sure. Or at least he’s curious about me, which is understandable, considering we’re sticky with each other’s cum right now.
I pull the wet wipe up my abs, wiping myself off. “The lakes used to be filled with ships, and back in the day there were more passenger freighters and steamers and everything, before other kinds of transport became prevalent, cheaper. There’s still a lot of ships, and some big ones now, too. But I’ve always liked these old schooners best.”
“It’s really nice to look at,” Milo tells me. He stands and lays his eyes on it for a second, then lifts his briefs from the floor and pulls them on. “The ship is so… elegant.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “The way they were constructed is pretty amazing, too. It’s done by hand, you know, and this is before wrought iron started replacing wood more widely.” I shrug. “I admire that.”
Milo presses his body to mine to touch the tattoo one more time, then steps back. He bends to get the rest of his clothes, and I see how full his ass looks in his briefs, which makes me stiffen up again. I’m caught off guard by it when he turns and nods toward my arm. “What about that date?”
My mom’s birthday is tattooed in small numbers, right beneath the bottom of the schooner. I doubt most people would notice it, but I know Milo pays attention to detail. It’s one of the things I appreciate about him.
“The date?” I hesitate. I can’t answer the question without talking about my mom. It’s been five years since she died, and I’m still working through all the complicated feelings. She was just as wrapped up in the family business as Dad, and she could be just as cold sometimes, but I still miss her.
I remember the way Milo talked about his dad in the past tense, and I wish I could connect with him on this, but I’m already starting to doubt myself, and I worry about leading him on by getting too personal.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him, and my voice comes out rough. He’s so easy to talk to. If I start to spill my guts, I don’t know how I’ll stop.
Milo seems to understand to leave it at that. He pulls his sweatshirt on, an old purple shirt with a floral pattern that’s well-designed, curved into a bouquet that my eyes could easily get lost in. When he turns back to me, he’s smiling again, and there’s a shy look in his eyes.
Fuck, I need to snap out of this. There’s a reason I don’t talk about my family business with anyone. The men my father works with would be happy to toss me off a building, if they thought I was going to spill their secrets.
