Tom’s audience had followed them out to the beach and was still watching. Were they hoping Jack would get a cramp and drown so they could have a shot at his lover? He bared his teeth at them, took Tom’s hand, and stalked down to the water’s edge and into the water with him.
It was high tide, and rowdy waves broke against their legs, pushing Tom into Jack’s arms. Jack took that opportunity to kiss him, subtly stating his claim.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t so subtle, but then the feel of Tom’s lips under his as he cooperated wholeheartedly—the soft friction, the wet heat of his mouth—drove any ulterior motives for the kiss out of Jack’s head.
It was the whistles and applause from the shore that reminded him that they still had an audience. Jack really was a private kind of guy, and he blushed and dropped his arms. He would have stepped back, but those waves pushed him into Tom.
“C’mon, buddy.” Tom patted his ass. “I’ll race you out to that buoy.”