“Please,” he grits out, the word sounding like it costs him.
I step between his knees. He reaches for me immediately—fingers tracing the lace edges with something close to reverence, then turning possessive. He hooks one finger under a strap, tugs gently, testing.
“These are new.”
“Special occasion,” I say, smirking down at him. “Figured you’d like them since you loved the last pair I wore.”
“I fucking love them.” His voice cracks on the last word. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Only a little.”
He yanks me down into his lap with a growl, mouth crashing to mine. The kiss is feral—teeth and tongue and raw desperation. His hands roam the lace, palming my ass,thumbs slipping under the straps to grip bare skin. He groans into my mouth when he feels how hard I am, how the lace is soaked at the front.
“Gonna ruin these,” he mutters against my lips, already rocking up into me.
“Promise?”
He flips our positions—fast but careful—until I’m sprawled on my back across the couch, legs spread around his hips. The coffee table gets shoved aside with one careless push; takeout containers clatter but neither of us cares.
His mouth moves down my throat, my chest, lower—kissing, biting, licking a hot path until he reaches the lace. He noses along the waistband, inhales deep like he’s trying to memorize me.
“Smell so good,” he rasps. “You look so fucking pretty in red,mi amor.”
Then he hooks his fingers in the straps and drags them down—slow, torturing—until I’m bare under him. The lace catches on my cock for a second before snapping free; he groans as if the sight physically hurts him.
And then he really loses it.
Mouth on me—hot, wet, greedy—taking me deep with a moan that vibrates through my entire body. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, holding me open while he worships. Spanish starts spilling out between sucks and licks—hermoso… tan perfecto… mío… te amo tanto…—mixed with broken English praise.
“So good for me… taking Daddy’s mouth so well… my pretty boy in red… fuck, you taste like heaven…”
I’m already trembling, hips bucking, hands fisted in his hair. “Daddy—please—need youinside?—”
He pulls off with a wet pop, eyes wild. “Here. Right here.”
He shoves his own jeans down just enough, slicks himself with spit and pre-cum—desperate, impatient—then lines up. One slow, deep thrust, and he’s inside me, stretching me perfectly, filling me until I can’t breathe.
We both freeze for a second—foreheads pressed together, panting.
“Boyfriends,” he rasps, starting to move—slow, deep rolls of his hips. “Partners. Forever. Deal?”
I wrap my legs around him, nails digging into his shoulders. “Deal.”
The rhythm builds—harder, faster, couch creaking under us. His hand wraps around me, stroking in time with his thrusts, whispering filthy praise the whole time.
“Come for me,hermoso…let Daddy feel you… so beautiful when you fall apart…mío… mío…”
I shatter with a choked cry—clenching around him, spilling over his fist and my stomach. He follows right after—burying deep, groaning my name like a prayer, pulsing inside me.
We collapse in a sweaty, wrecked heap—legs tangled, hearts slamming, takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table like casualties of war. The room smells like sex and cumin and melted sugar. My head is pillowed on Silas’s chest, his heartbeat thundering under my ear while we both try to remember how lungs work.
After a long minute, he exhales a shaky laugh. “Jesus, Luke.”
“Yeah,” I manage, voice wrecked. “Jesus.”
He shifts slightly, arm tightening around my waist likehe’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. His fingers trace idle, possessive circles over the small of my back while we catch our breath.
Eventually, he cranes his neck toward the table. “Shit. The ice cream.”
