Fellow angler shares his fresh catch from the rocks

I’d barely found my footing on those jagged rocks when this fellow angler sidled up with that classic “fisher catch” grin, and let me tell you—his fresh catch wasn’t the only thing he was eager to show off, because within minutes that easy talk about bait and tide turned into a slow, deliberate kind of hunger, the way he kept glancing at my hands while I fumbled with a line. He passed me his rod, but we both knew the real game was the heat radiating off his tanned skin, and when he leaned in to “help” me grip the reel, his chest pressed warm against my back, and I could feel his breath hitch as I turned, my hand brushing his thigh just enough to make him suck in air. The rocks were rough beneath us, the ocean crashing a distant soundtrack, but all I could think about was the salty taste of his neck when I finally pulled him closer, cups and palms exploring where waders ended and raw flesh began. We notched together like two fighters holding back, just long enough to catch our breath, but the way he whispered, “keep the catch,” told me this was only the opening round of something far messier, far more satisfying, and I was already aching for the second part.