Then he straightens again, composure locked back intoplace, as though he didn’t just undo me piece by piece with a handful of words and the promise of more.
His hands return to my hips. “Ahora,” he says quietly.
I don’t ask what it means. I already know. It means, now.
He steps back just enough to give himself room, fingers hooking into my waistband with calm efficiency. The fabric slides lower, inch by controlled inch, guided by his hands as if this is exactly where they’re meant to be. No fumbling of a quick hookup. No rush of the normal college guys I sleep with.
He sinks to his knees in front of me, and I follow his movements with my eyes. His gaze drops to my cock as it springs free, bobbing in front of his face and already leaking pre-cum. He licks his lips, and a groan almost parts my lips, but I bite it back. I’m rewarded when he leans slightly forward, his breath ghosting over my crown before he licks my slit.
I’m officially boneless, the wall at my back the only thing holding me upright.
I can’t help arching toward him as he sucks my tip between his lips, but he holds me steady as he pops off of me with an audible sound.
“Quieto,” he commands, and I still immediately.
He pushes my jeans down the rest of the way. They pool at my boots in a way that feels far too exposing for how much clothing he still has on. But he doesn’t look away as he lifts one foot and then the other, tugging my boots off.
“If this was more than a one-night thing, I’d tell you to take your boots off before coming into my house. But it’s not—” he says as he tosses them to the side and then removes my jeans the rest of the way.
The butterflies prove they aren’t fully dead andmentally plucking their wings off did nothing to stop them from growing new ones, because they erupt at even the possibility that I could have more than one night of this type of attention.We only want one night you brain dead idiots,I chastise them silently since killing them off didn’t work.
I flex my still sock-covered toes into his carpet, feeling like an inexperienced teenager hooking up with someone much older, and the corner of his mouth kicks up. “Feeling exposed,hermoso?”
“Hermoso?” I echo, breath still unsteady.
His mouth curves. He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his thumb brushes along my jaw as he stands, tilting my face up just enough that I have no choice but to meet his eyes. The touch is light, but the intent behind it isn’t.
“Does it matter?” he asks quietly.
My lips part, then close again. I shake my head once.
“No,” I admit.
“Good,” he says, approval threading his tone. “Then you don’t need to know.”
He lets his hand fall away, stepping back just enough to remind me how exposed I am, how aware of myself I’ve become under his attention. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward or empty.
“Here, let me make things even,” he adds after a beat.
His fingers go to his jeans, and he quickly removes them, kicking them away, before he takes off his socks. He’s fully naked, and I can not take my eyes off of his dick. It’s long and thick, as dark as the rest of him, with a slightly blushing crown. And I want to taste him.
“It’s still not even,” I manage. His gaze dips to my socks, and he smiles.
“So take them off.”
The instruction is calm. Casual. Like he’s asking me to hand him my phone instead of stripping the last thing keeping me grounded.
I swallow and bend, fingers fumbling just a little as I hook my thumbs into the tops of my socks. The carpet is soft beneath my feet when I straighten again—bare now, just like he wanted.
He watches the whole thing without comment, expression unreadable but intent. When I’m done, he nods once.
“There,” he says quietly. “Better.”
FOUR
SILAS
