On the Sand

Sun.

Surf.

His rock.

The only thing that would make it better would be another cold beer, but Rig wasn't in the mood to move. Nope. He was in full basking-lizard mode. Well, trying to be. If the wind didn't blow he could forget it was just an incredibly warm day.

He let one foot dangle down into the water, the touch cool and comfortable, almost chilly.

Yep. He was a lucky motherfucking redneck.

A shadow blocked the sun, and something wet and warm slid along his exposed collarbone. "Mmm... sweaty cowboy. My favorite kind."

"Mmm. Blue." His own growly stud, right there. Life was good.

"I've got a thing or two for you." Rock's tongue slid up along his neck, circled the skin just below his ear.

"I. Uh. What?" He got a little side-tracked. Well, more than a little.

"They're kind of the same shape. Both hard. One's hot, the other's cold." Rock nipped his earlobe.

"Hard." Rig liked hard. He tilted his head, encouraging his big, studly ex-marine to keep going.

Those warm lips slid down his neck again and along his shoulder, tongue licking, wetting his skin. "Both hard. Here's the cold one." The bottom end of a beer bottle landed on an exposed strip of his belly, making him jump.

"Fuck!" He hooted, grabbing for the longneck. Oh, fuck yes. Beer.

Beer. Beer. Beer.