Stranger on the Bus – Part 7

Everyone in this story is 18+

The sun was just starting to dip behind the treeline when Max stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shorts, and ran bare-assed down the worn path toward the lake—laughing like he owned the whole damn summer.

“Last one in has to cook dinner!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You can’t cook,” I called back.

He just grinned wider. “Exactly!”

By the time I caught up, he was already waist-deep in the water, pale skin glowing gold in the fading light, his hair wet and messy. He waded out further, arms stretched, back arched, on display in every possible way.

I dropped my shirt. Kicked off my own clothes.

The water was cold, shocking against my legs, but Max’s smile was warmer than the sun.

He swam up close, sliding his arms around my shoulders, legs wrapping around my waist underwater, and just held me there. His bare cock pressed against my stomach, soft but eager. His skin was slick, smooth, flushed.

“Bet you’ve brought a lot of boys out here,” he whispered against my jaw.

I snorted. “You’re the only one dumb enough to strip before asking for leeches.”

His hand found my cock below the surface.

“Guess I’m special then.”

And that was the last thing he said before kissing me—slow, wet, deep—while his hips started rolling gently against mine. The water swayed around us, cool and calm, hiding everything but the heat between our bodies.

His legs locked tighter around me, pulling me in, his cock sliding alongside mine, trapped between our stomachs. We started grinding, lazy at first, just skin and current and heavy breath.

But then he shifted his hips, reached down between us, and guided me lower.

“I want you inside me,” he whispered.

“In the lake?”

“In me.” He looked me dead in the eye. “Now.”

And fuck me—I gave him what he wanted.

I lifted him slightly, one hand slipping under his thigh, the other guiding my cock to his hole beneath the water. I felt the resistance, the tight, perfect grip of him as I pushed in slowly, the lake doing nothing to muffle the moan he let out against my neck.

His body clung to me—slick, shivering, greedy.

I started to move. Just short thrusts at first, deep and slow, while the water rippled around us. He gasped into my mouth, hands clawing at my back, mouth open like he was drowning in the way I filled him.

“Harder,” he whispered.

And I did.

I fucked him in the lake, hips slapping just beneath the surface, each thrust sending little waves to lap against the shore. The risk, the openness, the audacity of it all—every second made it hotter.

His moans were stifled against my shoulder, teeth scraping skin. The trees swayed. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed.

We froze.

His eyes met mine, wide. I could hear voices now—distant, maybe fifty yards through the woods. Some couple laughing, a dog barking. Someone taking a shortcut to the far side of the lake.

Max just grinned. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

If anything—I fucked him harder.

Water sloshed around our bodies, our breath coming fast and heavy. He bit down on my collarbone to stay quiet, and I slammed up into him, driving deep, over and over until he was shaking in my arms.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Jones—”

“Come with me,” I cried out.

Right there in the middle of the lake, hips locked, breath stolen, my cock pulsing deep inside him as his cum spilled warm between us, white dots mixing with the water, our bodies floating in the afterglow.

We didn’t move for a long time.

Just floated there. Together. Messy and ruined and grinning like criminals.

Then Max whispered in my ear, smug as hell:

“Hope they brought binoculars.”

◆◆◆

We made the walk back to the cabin barefoot and soaking wet—both of us dripping lakewater, leaves sticking to our legs, skin flushed from the afterglow and the risk of nearly getting caught mid-fuck.

I threw my shirt over my shoulder.

Max didn’t bother.

He was completely naked, sauntering ahead of me like the woods were his personal catwalk. His ass swayed with every smug little step, bits of bark stuck to his calves, chest still streaked with drying water and his own cum.

“You could put something on,” I muttered, not even trying to hide the grin in my voice.

He glanced back, grinning like a brat. “You didn’t seem too concerned about modesty when you were balls-deep in me five minutes ago.”

“True.”

We hit the porch, the old boards creaking under our weight. I watched as Max reached for the screen door, still totally bare, before turning back to me with that familiar glint in his eye.

“Hope Helga and Olga don’t mind the view.”

“They’ve seen worse,” I muttered, following him inside.

The place was warm, dim. The fire from earlier had gone out, but the air still held a lazy heat. I toweled off in the kitchen, while Max wandered around dripping on everything, deliberately ignoring the stack of folded clothes I’d left for him on the table.

He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and started eating it with his fingers, still naked.

Like I wasn’t standing there trying not to get hard again.

But this time, something felt different.

I leaned against the counter and just watched him—hair damp and wild, that infuriating smirk, those long legs, that ridiculous confidence. He was loud and chaotic and impossible to ignore. He talked too much, made everything into a joke, couldn’t cook, and barely knew how to hold an axe.

And yet…

It was too quiet when he wasn’t around.

Too still.

Too empty.

I felt it in my chest, low and slow. Something creeping in that I hadn’t invited. Something warm and dangerous and stupid.

Fuck. I’m catching feelings for him.

I looked away, jaw clenched, trying to push it down. No use. The week was nearly over. Max was starting college in two days. New life. New people. New distractions.

He wasn’t meant to stay.

And I sure as hell wasn’t meant to want him to.

He caught me staring. Of course he did.

“What?” he said, licking peanut butter off his thumb. “You look like you’re about to give me a lecture or propose marriage.”

I smirked, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Neither. I was just thinking…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

“Maybe we should… tone things down. For the next day or two.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Just,” I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, “I don’t know. You're leaving. We’ve kind of been living in a little bubble, and when that pops, it might sting more than it needs to.”

His face shifted—subtle, but there. The smirk wavered.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Right. Because it’s just been fun.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know what to say. Because it was fun. But it was also… more. And that scared the shit out of me.

Max turned away and reached for the clothes on the table. Didn’t say anything else.

I watched his back as he pulled on the flannel—my flannel—and something in my chest ached.

You’re an idiot, I thought.