Ex-Daredevil by Zoe Lee

Chapter 23

Gavin

“Congratulations,” I said sourly, pushing my sunglasses up my nose yet again because it was slippery from sunscreen I’d applied a couple hours ago. “This is an inspired choice.”

Eliott cackled as he cast his fishing line into the water again. He adjusted his feet, his sneakers making that sand-scraping-wood noise subtly as he did so. “Mmhm, I thought so.”

“You could have at least worn one of those dorky khaki fishing hats,” I muttered.

I half-heartedly cranked the reel to pull the line and lure back in, bored out of my mind after an hour of this. I didn’t want to catch a fish, the canoe was just drifting, and there weren’t other people around to look at while we fished. The only good thing was the way Eliott’s biceps flexed under his tight fleece jacket every time that he cast the lure.

Well, and seeing how happy he was—and not only because it was driving me crazy.

If I’d thought he was relaxed in this three-piece suit at the law firm, looking like a cool million dollars, typing on his neon blue lit keys with those elegant, skillful hands…

It was nothing compared to how relaxed he was right now. He wore cargo pants—which I would have thought he deemed a crime against fashion—and a faded Michigan Law tee shirt under the fleece. Plus he had a Cubs hat on backwards and aviators. The Cubs hat pained me—the crosstown rivalry was no joke in Chicago, and I was a third generation die-hard White Sox fan. But given the knowing way he caressed the brim while adjusting it, I knew he was wearing it mostly to add insult to injury on this Boring Date.

He smelled like sunscreen and bug spray instead of cologne, his opaque eyes were hidden by his aviators, and he was wearing clothes that were ratty, for him. He looked like a laid-back, frat boy clone of himself, or an evil twin maybe, and I almost hated it. But his body was liquid and loose, sipping beer and taking neat bites of a sundried tomato wrap with turkey and avocado. There had been pleasant surprise on his lips when I huffed that I already knew how to fucking’ fish, thanks, it just made me want to knock myself out.

“We can’t keep these fish, even if we catch a bunch,” I complained. “What’s the point?”

“How about because I enjoy it?”

My mouth gaped like a fish, damn it.

“And it’s not torture, is it? Sitting in a canoe with me, with beer and wraps?”

“There’s a really long distance between boredom and torture!” I argued, putting my pole down kind of clumsily since there wasn’t a cup holder for it or something like that.

Eliott put his pole aside too, only gracefully, and turned towards me, elbows braced on his knees. I assumed he was surveying me critically from behind his reflective sunglasses, because after a minute, he lifted his eyebrows in silent judgement. “Let’s say you have a few unexpected hours on a Saturday afternoon, after a hard work week. What do you do?”

Knowing it was a trap, somehow, I still answered honestly, “I don’t know, probably go indoor rock climbing or bowling, or hit up my favorite thrift shops. Maybe go to the salon.”

“Before you started watching Riverdale and The Great British Baking Show with me, when was the last time you watched TV?” he asked, and I could see the trap closing in now.

“I can’t remember. It’s boring watching TV alone.”

‘What about reading?”

“I listen to audiobooks alone in the car, since it’s usually at least an hour at a time.”

With a gruff laugh, Eliott leaned over and cupped my jaw. “You never relax.”

“Um, all of that is relaxing,” I countered, “it’s just active. What’s wrong with that?”

He dropped a soft kiss to my lips and laughed almost helplessly. “I honestly don’t know where you find the energy,” he told me. “But I like to be still, or mostly still, and take some time to let my mind quit analyzing and running like it does while I’m working. I need time alone, I get worn out sometimes socializing. So fishing is great. There’s no… goal with it.”

That made me frown in consideration. It was true that I very rarely spent a moment alone, other than sleeping or driving from destination to destination. I didn’t consider myself overly energetic, but now that I was thinking about it, I basically never got tired. Everything I liked to do was productive in one way or another. My hobbies produced a sweat or a thrill, and everything else I did in my free time produced a meal or clean clothes, or a new haircut. The bubble bath I’d had with Eliott weeks ago was probably the most pointless thing I’d done in ages, technically, if you didn’t count the orgasms.

“Okay,” I said slowly, realizing that while Eliott watched TV at night, he also worked very hard, exercised, and saw his friends from college and his mom and sisters regularly. He wasn’t lazy by any means, so if he liked doing nothing, there had to be some value in it. So I bent down to pick up my fishing rod again. “Now be quiet, I’m trying to fish in peace.”

A big grin flashed across his face, and he got his rod again too, and we both cast.

It was much harder than I’d thought to just fish in peace. Every thirty seconds, it seemed, an observation or funny story I hadn’t told him yet jumped onto the tip of my tongue, and I had to bite the words back. But as the time crawled by, the lazy repetitiveness of fishing, without having the goal of catching fish to eat or show off, began to soothe me.

After maybe another hour, Eliott finished his beer and sighed gustily. “You ready to head back? I’m thinking about a shower with you, some tacos, and a serious game of Risk.”

I jumped in excitement, rocking the canoe, and yelled, “Yes!” When I caught his smirk, I narrowed my eyes and claimed with a sneer, “Whoever wins can call the shots later.”

“Positive incentive, indeed,” he murmured, and I sat down so that we could row back.

Once we’d gotten back to Eliott’s, we showered, making out under the steamy hot water until the doorbell rang. “Shit, the food’s early,” Eliott groaned, turning off the tap.

When he reached for a towel, dappled in water, lips swollen from my kisses, I snatched it from him and wound it around my own waist. “I’ll get it,” I declared. “If you go to the door like that, the delivery guy will kidnap you, and I’m not the one who’s good at negotiating.”

I darted out before he could call me out for just not wanting anyone else to see him mostly naked and so very fuckable, and got the food. We ate the tacos in our underwear and then played Risk, and I was very impressed and turned on by his tactical and historical knowledge.

Hunkered over the board opposite each other, I pretended to be dumb and like I was just making impulsive, clueless guesses for my next moves, while Eliott tried to goad me into admitting I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t a quick game by any stretch, but it still took us three or four hours of intense move and countermove before I cracked.

“I’m going to crush you in the next four turns—”

“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” I cut him off.

His words stuttered to a stop and his tongue slicked over his bottom lip. But he rallied, stroking over his stubble thoughtfully before he answered, “But neither of us has won.”

“So we pause Risk, and you touch me—it’ll be like a side bet.”

He cocked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh?”

My mind raced as I tried to think of something that would override his competitiveness over the Risk game and let him give into me right now. I lifted and angled my chin a little, so my neck stretched out and drew his eyes to one of his favorite spots to bite, and then purred, “We’ll set a timer for ten minutes. If I can’t get you off before it goes off, then I’ll let you tie me up against your very classy, and very sturdy, wine rack.”

Pleasure visibly wracked his body. “Set the timer, Gavin,” he ordered.

“Turn your chair so it’s facing away from the table,” I ordered back.

We each followed the other’s order, and then I made a big show of starting the timer.

“I’ve never tried eye-fucking before,” he murmurered with a smirk.

I smirked diabolically back, and then I stepped to straddle his legs and dipped into a bend, running my hands through his hair while I rolled my body hard and sensuous.

“Lap dance,” he groaned, slouching down in the chair, hips sliding forward.

“Mm,” I confirmed as my body rolled again. “House rules: no touching the dancers.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, hands locking around the edge of his seat, just under my knees.

I worked over him, only touching his hair and scalp, all rolling waves of my hips, ribs and shoulders, rising up sometimes so my nipples almost brushed his mouth, curling down sometimes so my ass did brush over the straining erection in his boxer briefs.

When I saw the clock was down to three minutes, I suddenly ground down fully over his erection, groaning with exaggerated pleasure at the feeling. “Ooh, sexy boy,” I praised breathlessly. “You know, I went fishing today, and it looks like I caught a live one. A big one.”

“Fishing puns aren’t going to get me off,” he chuckled confidently.

Without bothering to answer, I gave in, grinding my ass in fast, tight circles over his cock while I ravaged his mouth, desperate sounds pouring out of me. I hadn’t been exaggerating. Watching his mind work and his mouth tease and wisecrack for hours had gotten me right up to the edge without a single physical touch. Now, locked together, our underwear providing soft friction, I felt feral—I had completely forgotten about the timer and the bet. All I wanted was for us to come in our underwear like we had no control.

“Gavin,” he shaped against my gasping mouth, so broken I could barely hear it, and I only knew it was my name because I’d heard him moaning it before, “Gavin.”

I came, somehow disconnected from my body while I felt consumed by pleasure in every particle, and only knew he was coming too when he shouted out wordlessly.

“Twenty seconds to go,” he rasped into my ear sometime later, “good job.”

“Huh?” I mumbled.

His body shook with silent laughter and then he cupped my ass and picked me up. “When you’re fully cognizant again, remind me to tell you how my kink is—was, I suppose would be more accurate now—to give lap dances, not get them,” he murmured.

I shivered and buried my face in his neck. “You’re the best serious boyfriend ever.”

“Am I now?” I thought I heard him ask right before I passed out.