He kisses me.
And it’s nothing like I expected.
It’s not demanding.It’s not rushed.It’sslow, deep, warm—like he wants to taste all the silence I’ve been holding inside.His tongue traces mine, lazy and wet, and my hands slide up his thighs, trembling as they reach his hips.
I feel his cock press against my stomach, full and flushed.He groans into my mouth when our bodies touch, the sound shooting straight down my spine.My own need is unbearable now, straining against my pants, leaking into the fabric.
“Take this off,” he murmurs, tugging at my shirt, his voice ragged.“Let me see you.”
I hesitate for half a breath before pulling it over my head.My skin hits the steam and shivers.
He drags his hands up my chest, fingers exploring, learning.Like I’m not just something to be used—but something to beopened.
Savored.
And then he pulls me down onto the bench, straddling his lap, our bodies pressed fully together.
Heat.Flesh.Breath.
No more watching.
Now I’min it.
My body burns like it’s the source of the heat.
His mouth moves to my neck, warm and open, kissing, tasting.His hands grip my waist, grounding me as I straddle him, skin to skin now, our cocks pressed between us, hard and slick and pulsing.
I gasp, startled at the sheerintensityof it.The pressure, the heat, the way it feels to bewantedlike this.Not a glance across a hallway.Not a stolen moment behind a door.But full, physicalcontact.
He rocks up into me, slow and sure, and my hips answer on instinct.Our cocks slide together between our stomachs, sticky with precum, the friction messy and electric.I grind into him, panting now, unable to stop myself.My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer.Needing more.
“Luca,” he says against my jaw, my name a breath, aclaim.
No one’s said it like that before.As if I’m more than just the guy who hands out towels.
I shudder.
He reaches between us, fingers closing around both of us, stroking with a firm, steady grip.I nearly lose it then, my whole body jerking forward as the pleasure arcs sharp and sudden through me.
“Fuck—” I gasp, my voice thick, cracked open.
He chuckles, low and warm, and tilts his head up to kiss me again, harder.Dirtier.Our mouths crash together, teeth knocking, tongues sliding, and I feel myselfunraveling.
I brace a hand against the wall behind him, my other clamped on his thigh, hips rolling into his fist now, matching the rhythm he sets.Slick skin, aching need, every nerve on fire.The bench creaks under us, but I barely hear it.
All I hear is his breath.
All I feel ishim.
“Come for me,” he whispers.“Let go.”
And I do.
My orgasm tears through me, raw and staggering, hips bucking, my cry muffled against his mouth as I spill across our stomachs, hot and thick, pulsing through his grip.
He doesn’t stop, just keeps stroking me steadily, until he’s gasping too, body tightening beneath me, head falling back as he follows me over the edge with a ragged, broken sound.
We stay like that.
