Lake Tahoe Heat with a Wildland Hunk

The gravel popped under my tires as I rolled up to the cedar cabin above Zephyr Cove, late sun breaking on the lake like sheet metal. My buddy had canceled and texted that a firefighter he knew might still use the place. I expected an empty dock. I got a green pickup and a man on the deck, shirt off, shaking water out of his hair.

He was built the way men get when they carry weight uphill for a living. Wide chest, thick neck, arms roped from real work. A pale scar crossed one shoulder. Wet trunks sat low on a hard waist, lake water running down the groove of his stomach. He looked me over the same way, from the dirt in my forearms to the pull of my shirt across my chest. Thirty, I guessed, a few years under my thirty-four.

- You Marcus?
- Yeah. You Rhett?
- That's me. Cal said you might roll in. Water's mean today.
- Good. I need mean after six hours in that truck.

We grilled tri-tip while the pines went black and the lake turned to ink. He talked about a burn outside Truckee and the way his shoulders seized after a long shift. I talked about stone walls and a back that barked by Friday. His knee found mine under the table and stayed, heat through denim. When he stood, the long muscle of his back and the heavy shape of his ass in those trunks dried my mouth out.

- Outdoor shower still runs if you want the lake off you.
- You coming in?
- If you want me there.

He hooked two fingers in my belt and walked me down the path.

The stall was open cedar and dark trees, hot water slamming from a wide head. We stripped on the mat. His cock hung thick between powerful thighs, then rose as he looked at me, the head flushed and wet at the slit. Mine thickened fast. He hauled me under the spray by the hip. Chest hit chest. The hard shelf of his pecs dragged across mine, and his cock pressed hot along my stomach.

I got a fist around both of us. He was thicker through the shaft, veins standing under my palm, the broad head bumping mine on every pull. I worked us slow, my cock sliding in the channel against his. His mouth found my neck, beard rough, teeth careful. One big hand spread over my ass and dragged me tighter so every stroke mashed us from root to tip. Under the soap he smelled like sweat and woodsmoke no water was going to kill.

He turned me to the wall. His chest sealed to my back, cock riding the cleft of my ass, heavy and hot, not pushing in yet. He stroked me with a slick fist, thumb rolling the head, while his other hand locked my hip. The blunt head of him nudged my hole each time he shifted, a pressure that dropped my stomach. I pushed back. He held me there and let me feel how much of him I was asking for.

He soaped his fingers and pressed one into me, then two, slow, opening me while water ran down my crack. The stretch burned, then went sweet. He curled them and found the spot that made my cock jump in his fist. I braced wider, hole gripping him every time he drew back. A third finger made me drop my head and tip my ass up, feet spread on the wet boards, wanting the real thing.

He lined the head up and pressed. It paused at the tight ring, then sank in an inch. The burn flared and settled into a deep ache. He held still, one arm barred across my chest, the other stroking me through it. I bore down and pushed back, taking him in steady, the thick shaft spreading me until my ass met his hips. He stayed buried and ground in small circles, letting me feel every inch throb with his pulse.

Then he moved. Short strokes first, the head tugging my rim and sliding home. Then longer, the wet slap of his hips mixing with the shower, his balls tapping mine. Every thrust dragged over that deep spot and shoved a raw sound out of me. My cock leaked over his fingers. He fucked me steady and strong, not frantic, gripping my shoulder for leverage until the angle changed and he hit deeper. I met him on the backstroke, taking him to the root, ass clapping into his groin.

I came first. It tore out of me low and hard, spilling over his fist, striping the cedar, my hole clamping down on him in spasms I could not stop. He drove through it, breath harsh on my neck, and buried himself deep. I felt him swell. Heat flooded me in thick spurts, his teeth set in my shoulder, both of us shaking under the spray while he emptied himself inside me.

He stayed in until the shaking eased, then eased out slow, one hand spread on my lower back. Come and water ran warm down my thigh. He turned me and kissed me, mouth open, beard scraping, tongue sliding against mine while his hands held my face. My cock twitched against his hip. His nudged my stomach, heavy and wet, already filling again. He shut the water off. We stood dripping in the cedar dark, foreheads touching, both of us hard and nowhere near done with the weekend.