Chapter 82 Tides of temptation
The storm came in sideways, a white-walled monster that turned the Aegean black and shredded the mainsail like tissue.
Alex had been screaming orders for twenty minutes when the mast cracked and the yacht rolled hard enough to throw Theo clear across the cockpit.
Saltwater filled his mouth. The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Alex’s face, jaw clenched, eyes wild reaching for him.
He woke up on sand that burned his cheek, the sun already high.
The cove was tiny, a crescent of blinding white ringed by cliffs the color of dried blood.
Wreckage floated in the shallow splintered teak, a life jacket, one of Alex’s boots.
Theo’s ribs ached with every breath, but nothing seemed broken.
He pushed up on his elbows and found Alex twenty meters away, dragging the emergency ditch bag above the tide line.
Alex looked like hell.
Sun-bleached hair plastered to his skull, white T-shirt ripped and clinging to every ridge of muscle, a cut above one eyebrow leaking blood into the stubble.
He had been a captain in the Hellenic Navy once; the body remembered discipline even when the man looked ready to drop.
“You’re alive,” Alex said. It wasn’t relief in his voice; it was accusation.
“Disappointed?” Theo spat sand.
Alex dropped the bag and stalked over. For a second Theo thought he was about to get punched.
Instead Alex crouched, gripped Theo’s chin hard, and turned his head to check the pupils.
“Concussion?” he demanded.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a fucking liability, that’s what you are.” Alex let go like Theo burned him.
“Radio’s dead. EPIRB’s gone. We’re off the charted route. No one’s coming for days, maybe a week.”
He stood and walked away, shoulders rigid.
Theo watched the way the wet fabric stuck to Alex’s back, the flex of his calves when he kicked debris aside.
He hated that he noticed.
Hated more that he had been noticing for weeks ever since Alex hired him in Mykonos with a curt nod and a handshake that lingered half a second too long.
They salvaged what they could, two liters of water, a flare gun with three rounds, a knife, half a packet of cigarettes miraculously dry inside Alex’s ditched boot.
By nightfall they had a lean-to of sailcloth and driftwood, a fire made from yacht varnish that stank of chemicals, and silence thick enough to choke on.
Theo sat on the opposite side of the flames, knees drawn up, trying not to stare at the way the firelight painted gold across Alex’s throat.
“Say it,” Alex finally muttered.
“Say what?”
“Whatever poison you’ve been swallowing since Santorini. You’ve had a hard-on for hating me since the day you came aboard.”
Theo laughed, sharp and ugly. “You’re an asshole, Captain. You bark orders like we’re still in the navy, treat the crew like disposable gear, and you look at me like I’m a walking mistake. Yeah, I hate you.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Hate keeps people alive.”
He stood, stripped off the ruined shirt, and walked into the dark toward the water. Theo told himself not to follow.
He followed.
Moonlight silvered the sea. Alex stood waist-deep, letting waves slap at the bruises across his ribs.
Theo waded in behind him until the water lapped at his own hips.
“You don’t get to walk away every time it gets hard,” Theo said quietly.
Alex didn’t turn. “I said hate keeps people alive.”
“Fuck your philosophy.” Theo grabbed Alex’s shoulder and spun him. “Look at me.”
Alex did for the first time since the storm. Theo saw exhaustion there, and something rawer.
“I thought you went over the side,” Alex said, voice rough. “I dove in after you. Couldn’t find you. Thought that was it.”
Theo’s anger cracked open like the mast had.
He reached up without thinking and brushed the drying blood from Alex’s eyebrow.
Alex caught his wrist, held it, thumb pressing against Theo’s pulse.
“Don’t,” Alex warned.
“Don’t what?” Theo stepped closer. Saltwater swirled between their chests.
“Don’t notice you’re shaking? Don’t notice you haven’t slept in two days because you’re terrified we’ll die here? Or don’t you notice it's been hard since I took my shirt off an hour ago?”
Alex’s grip tightened until it hurt. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I’m asking you to stop pretending you don’t want this.”
A wave hit them hard, knocking Theo forward.
Alex steadied him automatically, hands sliding to his waist.
Their bodies aligned wet skin, shared breath, cocks brushing through thin, clinging fabric.
Theo felt Alex’s shudder like it was his own.
Then Alex kissed him.
It was not gentle. Teeth and salt and weeks of suppressed rage.
Theo kissed back just as viciously, fingers digging into Alex’s shoulders, hips rolling to grind them together.
Alex groaned into his mouth and walked him backward until Theo’s spine hit the rock face at the edge of the cove.
Hands tore at waistbands. Theo’s shorts were gone in one rough yank; Alex’s followed.
Skin on skin at last. Hot, slick, urgent. Alex’s cock was thick against Theo’s stomach, leaking already.
Theo wrapped his hand around it and stroked once, hard.
Alex broke the kiss to swear in guttural Greek, forehead dropping to Theo’s shoulder. “Christ, your hand…”
“More,” Theo panted. “I want all of you.”
Alex pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes. Moonlight carved every plane of his face into something fierce and beautiful.
“You sure?” he asked.
Theo answered by sinking to his knees in the shallow water.
The first taste of Alex made Theo moan around him.
Alex’s hand tangled in his wet hair, not guiding, just anchoring.
Theo took him deeper, letting the head bump the back of his throat until Alex’s thighs shook.
When Alex tried to pull away, Theo dug fingers into his ass and held him there, swallowing around him until Alex cursed and dragged him up by the armpits.
“Turn around,” Alex growled.
Theo did, palms flat on the rock, legs spread.
The water lapped at his balls, a cool counterpoint to the heat of Alex’s body behind him.
Fingers slick with spit pressed inside him, one then two, scissoring roughly.
Theo pushed back, fucking himself on Alex’s hand, breath hitching.
“More, come on…”
Alex withdrew, lined up, and thrust in with one long, relentless slide.
The stretch burned beautifully. Theo cried out, forehead against his own forearm, every nerve alight.
Alex stilled, buried to the hilt, chest heaving against Theo’s back.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped.
Theo answered by slamming backward, taking him deeper.
Alex’s control snapped. He gripped Theo’s hips hard enough to bruise and started to move.
Water slapped around them in rhythm. Alex’s hand snaked around to stroke Theo in perfect counterpoint, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke.
Theo came first, vision whiting out, spilling over Alex’s fist and into the sea with a broken shout.
Alex followed seconds later, hips stuttering, burying himself deep and staying there while he pulsed inside Theo, teeth sunk into the curve of his shoulder to muffle his own groan.