“Keep…” My eyes rolled back and my back arched. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop…”
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, his voice shaking as if he were the one on the brink. “Jesus, Zach, you are…” His voice trailed off and his rhythm faltered again, but I was so far gone, so close to coming, so-
His tongue ran around the head of my cock once, then twice, and I came so hard I thought my entire body had levitated off the bed. I was vaguely aware of my own voice vibrating in my throat, but had no idea what, if anything, I said. Something coherent started to form in my mind, working its way from thought to speech, but then Nathan’s mouth was over mine and I neither knew nor cared what I’d been about to say.
“I have got to fuck you,” he said, the desperation in his voice reverberating through every nerve ending in my body just like the thunder outside. “Please.”
Speech was lost on me, so I simply nodded. Nathan reached-no, lunged-for the nightstand and grabbed a condom out of the drawer. Lightning flashed and a second later, thunder rumbled, but the sound was lost behind my pounding heart.
Nathan sat up and guided his cock to me, pushing in slowly. As he did, he groaned as if already on the edge of an orgasm. Once he was all the way inside me, he shuddered once, pausing to take a deep breath, then withdrew and pushed back in, gaining speed with every stroke.
Each flash of lightning illuminated Nathan’s face for a fleeting second, burning every momentary image into my mind like a still from an old black-and-white film. Flash. His eyes screwed shut and his lips parted as his entire body rose above me with a powerful upstroke. Flash. Grimacing like he was somewhere between pain and pleasure as he thrust a little faster. Flash. Throwing his head back just as he released a roar that drowned out the thunder.
He collapsed over me and his body shuddered against mine as the world seemed to shudder around us.
After a while, he raised his head and kissed me as I ran my fingers through his sweat- and rain-dampened hair.
“I never realized thunder was an aphrodisiac,” he said, slurring slightly.
“Could’ve been a coincidence.” I grinned at him. “Maybe we were just horny as hell and there happened to be a storm.”
A warm breath of laughter rippled across my collarbone. He kissed my neck and said, “Well, there’s only one way to test that theory.”
“Which is?”
“Next time there’s a thunderstorm,” he murmured against my skin, working his way up my neck kiss by kiss. “We go out…” Kissed just below by ear. “…we get caught in it…” He nipped my earlobe. “…and see if this happens again.”
A roll of thunder and the gentle touch of Nathan’s lips made me shiver. “And if it doesn’t?”
“You’ll be there.” He kissed me. “I’ll be there.” Another kiss, longer this time. “Of course it’ll happen.”
When he kissed me again, I knew the storm outside would be over long, long before we were finished tonight.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Thanks to Dylan’s aggressive advertising campaign and a great deal of word of mouth from customers, The Epidauran’s lobby was packed with people on the first day of the Indie Short Festival. The line in front of the box office went down the sidewalk and around the corner. The concession stand could barely keep up.
With one auditorium down thanks to that damned projector, showings sold out even faster. Each showing was a three-hour collection of short independent films with an intermission in the middle, and by the third showing, Dylan and I had to call employees in on their days off to keep up.
“We have got to get that projector up and running,” Dylan said as we watched the crowd clear out after the second matinee showing. “If we’re this slammed on a Friday, then you know Saturday and Sunday are going to be insane.”
I let out a breath. “I know.”
“Think you can fix it?”
“Possibly,” I muttered. “I might be able to pencil it in after turning the water into wine.”
Dylan glared at me. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious,” I said. “That thing is completely fubar.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s what?”
“Fubar.” He gave me a blank look and I said, “Fucked up beyond all repair.”
Turning his attention back to the lobby as the last of the crowd funneled out through the glass doors, he scowled and said, “Well, if anyone can fix it, it’s you.”
“It’ll have to wait until after the late showings. Unless you don’t mind me disappearing and leaving you to handle all of this for the rest of the day.”
“If it means having another auditorium open tomorrow,” he said, grimacing as we watched the next flood of customers squeeze in from outside. “I’ll deal with it. Go.”
“You sure?”
“If I need you, I’ll come get you.”
“Dylan, are-”
“Go.” He pointed at the projector-room door.
I shrugged and headed upstairs, secretly glad to be away from the chaos. I was thrilled that we were so busy, selling out showing after showing, but being in the middle of it was exhausting.
In the projector room, I paused, eyeing the stubborn machine that was probably going to be the death of me.
Go ahead, it seemed to say. Just try to make me work.
“Oh, hey, boss,” Max said, scrambling to look busy. He quickly put his feet, which had been resting on the windowsill, on the floor and shoved his comic book out of sight. Clearing his throat, he said, “Gonna try to fix that thing?”
I nodded and pulled my toolbox out from under the table with my foot. “Figured I should get something working up here.” I eyed him, and he gulped nervously, but I let it go. Max was a good kid. He could be lazy, just as most of my employees could, but all it took was one patented Zach Owens Evil Stare and he’d be on his best behavior for a few days. That comic book probably wouldn’t move from its hiding place for a week, until he decided to try to get away with something again.
“So, uh, seems like things are pretty busy this weekend,” he said, craning his neck and watching people file into the center auditorium.
“That’s the idea of a film festival.” I opened my toolbox and seriously considered pulling out a hammer and making sure the projector never caused me any grief again, but eventually settled on actually trying to fix it. Part of me wondered if there was any point to this. As far as I could tell, the thing had gone to the Other Side and wasn’t fixable. But Dylan was right, it was worth a try.
As I reached for a Philips screwdriver, my cell phone vibrated on my belt.
It was a text from Nathan. How’s the festival going?
Better than expected, I wrote back. Probably have to make it four days next year.
Great! A few minutes later, Going to have time to grab something to eat later?
Doubt it. Will probably be concession-stand diving all weekend.
The phone was silent for ten or fifteen minutes. I guessed he was busy with a client or co-worker, and it gave me a chance to make a little headway on the projector. Right about the time I was ready to ask Max for a little help with some percussive maintenance, my phone vibrated again.
Want me to bring something by later?
I pursed my lips and looked at the message for a moment. As much as I wanted him to come by, there just wouldn’t be time for me to stop and eat with him. As it was, we had a hell of a time working in state-mandated breaks for the employees this weekend. I just couldn’t justify taking more than a few minutes away unless it was to fix this projector. Even my sporadic text messages made me feel a bit guilty.