It was why he didn’t do situationships.
He’d known from a young age that he wouldn’t be the kind of man his dad had been. The kind of person who claimed they hurt you because they loved you. The kind of person who thought flowers and apologies patched over black eyes, broken bones and years of betrayal.
Lake had decided he would be the kind of boyfriend people envied. The kind who brought soup when you were sick, remembered your favorite candy, kissed your forehead just because. The kind who fell in love with every fiber of his being and simp’d for his partner to an embarrassing degree. He’d beensure he’d find that person by now, but he hadn’t. In twenty-six years, he hadn’t met someone who stirred him.
So he kept things casual.
Simple.
Human.
A one-night stand to take the edge off. A mutual release. A warm goodbye. No names unless they wanted to give them. No expectations. No hurt feelings.
But this—this was different.
The boy—whoever he was—beneath him was trying so hard to act like he didn’t care, like he was unbothered by whatever was happening between them. But Lake wasn’t blind. He wasn’t new to this. He knew what desire looked like. He knew what fear looked like. He knew what hunger disguised as defiance looked like.
And that was what ‘Miles’ radiated. He was an abused puppy trying to bite before he got kicked. He was trembling, twitchy, pushing Lake away with snark and snapping words, then dragging him back in with his mouth or his fingers in Lake’s suit. It was like his body physically resisted soft touches even while craving them. As if gentleness was something foreign. Dangerous. Untrustworthy. Lake recognized that kind of flinch. It tugged at something deep in him.
Maybe hewasa sucker. Maybe this boy played vulnerable to get what he wanted. Maybe the prickliness was an act. But Lake’s gut instinct rarely failed him. And his gut told him the boy wasn’t acting. Not even a little.
There was something about him—this contradiction of sharp tongue and trembling breath—that was absurdly sexy. The way he pretended softness repelled him while his restless hips kept grinding up against Lake’s every time Lake grazed his teeth across the sensitive hinge of his jaw… Jesus.
The kid was killing him.
He had somehow managed to get him out of his hoodie and basketball shorts, and he’d done it carefully. Slowly. Pausing whenever Miles stiffened, waiting for an objection that never came. The spandex suit beneath was actually two pieces—thank god—because it made it easier for Lake to slip his hands beneath the hem and feel skin.
Warm. Bare. Unexpectedly delicate.
Miles was small but wiry, lean muscles earned from actual movement, not hours spent trying to sculpt biceps in a gym mirror. Every inch of him was compact strength. But his skin…his skin was soft everywhere Lake touched. His waist. His ribs. His hips. Even his hands—when they weren’t fisting Lake’s suit—were soft. Too soft for someone who acted like he was made entirely of barbed wire and sarcasm.
And his cheeks—Lake caught a glimpse when the mask rode up a little—were warm, flushed, almost rosy. His mouth was kiss-bitten already, pink and slick, and the idea thathehad done that sent a low, aching satisfaction through Lake’s chest.
Jericho said he cared too much. He felt too much. Responded too much. Wanted too much. But every want came wrapped in fear. He recognized that fear in Miles. Except where Lake ran towards it, Miles tried to run.
Lake could feel it in the way he reacted to every stroke, like softness burned. Like kindness was worse than any bruise he’d received. Like he didn’t know what to do with someone who wanted to make him feel good without taking anything from him. Who was he? How had they never crossed paths? Or had they? It seemed impossible that Lake may have been in the same room as him without the two ever finding each other.
But it didn’t matter. They were there now. Even if it was just a one night stand. Lake pressed a kiss just below his jaw, slow and steady. Miles sucked in a sharp breath, fingers twitching like he was once more contemplating pushing him away.
“You’re shaking,” Lake murmured against his skin.
“I am not,” Miles snapped instantly. Defensive. Automatic.
Lake smiled softly against his neck. “Okay.”
He didn’t call him out. Didn’t challenge him. Didn’t demand anything. He’d stop if he asked, but Lake couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than to stop touching this boy. He skimmed his palms along the boy’s sides, feeling each shaky inhale as it shuddered through him.
Miles arched up a little, a betraying motion, then immediately stilled like he was furious with himself for giving away even that much. Lake lifted his head, careful. Measured.
The boy stared back at him, mouth parted like a soft invitation he’d never admit was intentional. And Lake felt something shift inside him. Something slow. Something deceptively dangerous.
Fuck.
Helikedthis boy.
Not just liked the way he looked or the way he sounded when Lake kissed him. He liked the way he fought tooth and nail. He liked the way he kept trying to shove Lake into a role he didn’t want to fill. He liked the way every bit of bravado cracked the second Lake touched him gently.
He liked the idea of being the first person to show him that gentle and good could still feel filthy hot.
