“You’re making meduro,” I murmur into his ear, low and rough. I press into him to make it clear what I mean since he definitely doesn’t speak Spanish.
“Sorta the whole point, and you followed me out here.” He chuckles softly.
He’s right.
That’s all this is. Nothing I need to think about beyond tonight.
I tighten my grip at his waist, reasserting control where it belongs, and keep my mouth at his neck—because I can still keep this contained.
I always do.
My hand slides from his waist, settling low against his hip and then lower—palming him through those sinfully painted-on jeans as though I need the confirmation. Like I need tofeelhim.
I do.
Heat. Hardness. For me.
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale before I can stop it. Fuck. He arches into my touch instantly, no hesitation, as though his body has been waiting for this.
I don’t move my hand—not really. I just hold him there, firm, possessive, letting him feel how much control I still have.
His fingers reach up and grip my shoulder again, fingers moving to thread into the hairs at the base of my neck. His pulse races beneath my mouth as I lazily lick at his skin. Hesmells fucking amazing, a masculine scent that borders on sweet. He shifts again, chasing friction, and I press my palm more firmly against him.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Is your place close?” he asks.
Hookups stay outside the home. That’s the rule. Clean, simple, non-negotiable. My apartment is mine—quiet, ordered, controlled. I don’t blur that line. I haven’t had another man in my bed since?—
No.
I shut the thought down immediately. The past isn’t something you revisit. You can’t change it. You can’t control it. And thinking about it now would be a mistake.
And yet.
Luke has the same energy Xavier did. That carefree confidence. The flirting that toes the line of bratty without tipping into reckless. The way he pushes just enough to see what he can get away with.
That realization makes my grip tighten, not loosen the way it should. Wanting anyone that reminds me of Xavier is probably a bad idea.
It shouldn’t matter. This is still just sex. Still just steam and release and walking away before sunrise. The fact that I’m hesitating at all irritates me more than it should.
I should shut it down. Redirect. Suggest somewhere neutral. That’s what I usually do.
Instead, my mouth betrays me.
“Yeah,” I say evenly. “Less than a mile.”
THREE
LUKE
Silas’place is… not what I expect.
It’s quiet. Clean. Not sterile, but intentional—like everything has a reason for being where it is. Dark floors, neutral walls, minimal furniture. The kind of apartment that looks like it gets vacuumed regularly, which is already a little suspicious.
I clock all of it in about three seconds—and immediately decide to test the limits.
I don’t take my boots off.
