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My throat tightens.

“No,” I say honestly. Then I kiss the inside of his knee. “But I want to be.”

I move higher, mouth against his thigh, then higher again, feeling the heat of his skin and tasting saltwater. A tremor runs through him.

I take him in my mouth. Not fully or confidently, but the bolt that runs through me tells me this is right. I taste him, feel him on my lips, and then moan without thinking about it.

I take him deeper. His hips jerk, then stop because he’s trying not to push too fast.

The effort wrecks me.

I close my hand around the base of him and search for the rhythm.

Paul’s fingers drag over my buzzcut.

“God,” he says, voice torn thin. “Clint.”

His head is tipped back. His chest rises hard. His mouth is open, eyes squeezed shut like pleasure has made him lose his place.

I listen to find my way. The low moan he tries to swallow. The breath that catches when my tongue moves a certain way. The soft, broken little yes that slips out of him.

It makes my chest ache and my cock throb at the same time.

“Like that,” he says. “Clint. Yes. Just like that.”

I take him deeper, then ease back, learning the shape of him.

Under the water, my hand finds my cock.

Slow, Clint. Careful.

If I move too fast, this is over, and I don’t want it over. Not yet. Not when Paul is moaning above me, his thighs around me. He trembles like he’s trying so fucking hard not to ravish my throat.

The inevitable is coming for both of us. I can feel it gathering.

I pull off him with a wet breath.

Paul’s eyes open. His face is flushed and beautiful. Mouth parted, chest moving hard, wet skin shining.

“What do you want?” I ask.

The question leaves me rough.

Paul looks right at me. No flinch. No hiding.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Paul falls back on my bed still wet from the pool, still warm from the sun. For a second, all I can do is look at him. His chest pink at the center. His legs open. His cock standing hard and slick, still glistening with my spit.

Inside, the air is cooler. It raises pinpricks over my skin. My hands shake when I tear open the condom. My legs shake too, like they’re tired of faking stability.

I roll the condom on like I’ve never done this before.

I look at him again. His waiting face. His spread legs. His hole, tight and pink and never seen by me before.

As if he reads it off my face, Paul says, “I haven’t bottomed in almost twenty years.”

His voice is scared, but excited. Exactly like mine sounds in my head.