“You don’t—” he starts, voice raw.
“Shut up,” I cut in, dragging his face back up to mine. I kiss him hard, deep, until he can’t do anything but feel. Until the words stop.
He groans into it, the sound vibrating against my chest. His hand finally leaves the mattress, sliding down my ribs, across my waist, anchoring at my hip. He presses in, slow but deliberate, and fuck—I can feel how much he wants this, wants me.
It’s fire and restraint all at once. His weight holding me down, his mouth devouring mine, but there’s a tremor of hesitation under it, like he’s terrified of what this means once the lights are back on.
I pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “It’s okay.”
His eyes open, dark and wild. For a second, he searches me, like he’s looking for permission written on my skin.
And then he dives back in, fiercer than before.
We kiss until breathing feels optional, until my chest aches, until his control frays and his hips roll harder into mine. The friction rips a sound out of me I don’t recognize. His answering groan nearly undoes me.
I grip the back of his neck and hold him to me, letting him know without words that I’m here, that I want this, wanthim.
When we finally pull apart, both of us panting, his forehead drops to mine again. Sweat dampens his hairline, his breath hot against my lips.
“This…,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I want?—”
“Yeah,” I say, cutting him off with another quick kiss. “Don’t think. Just feel. Take want you want.”
His chest shudders against mine. His grip on my hip tightens. And he finally lets go.
His mouth is on mine again, but different this time. Less desperate, more focused, like he’s found a rhythm he wants to learn. His tongue slides slowly against mine, his teeth catch on my bottom lip, and the low sound in his throat tells me he likes the way I gasp.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, his chest heaving. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Rafe,” he says, rough, shaky. “I—fuck.”
“What?” I ask, brushing a hand over the side of his face, my thumb catching the damp line of sweat at his temple.
His jaw clenches, then releases. He looks away, then back at me, like he’s wrestling himself into a decision. “I want to—” His voice cracks, but he pushes through. “I want to try something. With you.”
My pulse spikes. My mouth goes dry.
“Ollie—”
“Don’t talk me out of it.” His hand tightens on my hip, almost pleading. “I’ve been thinking about it. And I just—I need to know. I need to know what it’s like.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. Because this isn’t just about sex. This is him, the golden boy captain, the one who lives by rules and pressure and control, standing on the edge of something he’s never allowed himself to touch—and asking me to let him leap.
Heat floods through me, my cock turns to steel, but I keep my tone even, gentle. “Okay. Then we take it slow. You set the pace.”
His eyes burn into mine, fierce and terrified all at once. Then he nods.
I guide him down, easing us so I’m the one leaning back against the pillows, giving him space to move. He shifts, awkward for a beat, then more certain as his hands push under my shirt, palms skating over my stomach. His breath stutters when I arch into the touch.
The first time his mouth dips to my throat, open and hot, my whole body jolts. He’s hesitant, but when my fingers slide into his hair and I whisper, “Yeah, just like that,” something clicks. He kisses harder, tasting, mapping me in a way that makes my chest ache.
He’s not just learning me. He’s claiming this for himself.
When he finally pulls back, his lips swollen and damp, he stares at me like he’s just realized he’s capable of wanting this much. Of giving this much.
“I want more,” he whispers.
The air between us crackles. My body answers before my mouth can. “Then take it,” I tell him, voice low, rough with need.
