“It is,” I tell him.
“Then—” His words falter. He swallows, jaw tight. “Then stay.”
“I wasn’t planning to leave.”
He smiles, small, almost shy. “Good.”
When he kisses me again, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no map. Just need, layered with disbelief, wrapped in something deeper.
Clothes start to blur—buttons, fabric, warmth—more suggestion than detail. Every motion feels both slow and desperate, like time is bending around us.
He whispers my name once, and it lands like a vow.
I don’t know who pulls whom toward the bed, only the soft thud of the headboard against the wall and the way his hands tremble when they find my face.
I’ve wanted him for months, but wanting is nothing like this. This is gravity. This is every lyric I’ve written catching fire.
We pause only once more, his breath ragged against my ear.
“Rafe,” he says, voice breaking a little. “I want to remember this as mine.”
“You will.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he can have anything he wants, anything at all. But words feel too small for what’s inside me. The room hums with quiet electricity as he settles back against the sheets.
“Let me take care of you,” I say. “I love you. I want to make you feel so good, baby.”
Something shifts in his eyes—a flicker, a soft unraveling.
Under the gentle spill of light, Ollie is a vision of strength and surrender, stillness and heat. I can’t look away. The sight of him steals the breath from my chest and fills it with something fierce and reverent.
When I move, the world narrows to our heartbeats and choppy breaths. My gaze travels over him, slow and deliberate, remembering every hard-worked muscle, every freckle, every place I’ve already learned by heart. We’ve been here before, but this feels different—deeper. Not a search for pleasure, but a way to prove we’re real, that this is a night we’ll never forget.
My dick pulses, but my focus is on him. I reach down and slide my finger over the drop of precum gathered on the head of his cock. “I can use a condom.”
He swallows hard, the sound loud in this room of fast pulses and heavy breathing. “No. I’ve swallowed your cum, and fuck if I don’t want that buried deep inside me.”
Fuck. An honest-to-God whimper escapes me, and I wrap my hand around my cock, determined not to blow at the thought of shooting my load inside him. Hell, maybe I can watch it seep out of him. Taste it as it spills out.
Ollie’s pupils dilate, and he drops his attention to my desperate cock.
Like he can hear the direction of my dirty thoughts, he licks his bottom lip before saying, “Do you want that? To fill me up?”
My control vanishes with a needy, desperate groan. I press my lips to his, plunging my tongue into his mouth. He tastes of beer and sin and mine.
He kisses me with a kind of certainty that leaves no room for doubt. It’s not tentative or questioning. Fuck no, it’s a claim written in breath and heartbeat and a promise.
Every nerve in my body wakes up at once. The world tilts. All I can taste is him, all I can feel is the press of his mouth, the way his fingers anchor me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
It’s dizzying—how easily he unravels me, how I meet him without hesitation. Each touch feels like a spark catching, feeding on everything we’ve been holding back.
Ollie knows how to find the part of me that hides behind noise and bravado. With him, there’s nowhere to hide. He doesn’t just touch me—heundoesme, until all that’s left is this bright, breathless need.
When our mouths break apart, it’s only for air. He exhales against my lips, a sound that trembles somewhere between a laugh and a plea. I catch it, hold it there, and let it become the only sound that matters.
“Fuck me, Rafe. Please.” He points toward his bag. “Get the lube.”
“Okay, baby,” I say, voice low.
