“You were in a bar fight?”
“I was adjacent to a bar fight. That distinction mattered less to the broken glass.”
I kissed it. His breath caught.
Turning him slightly, I kissed his back and the ladder of his upper spine. He turned back around and pushed me down onto the bed. I pushed myself back until my head lay on his pillow.
He planted kisses down my chest while he began unbuckling my belt. When I reached for his head, he grabbed my wrist and kissed the inside. My stomach fluttered, and I must have made a sound because he kissed it again.
“File it,” I said.
“Already have.”
He continued to work his way down my body, and my thoughts fractured. When I rose on my elbows, Luca pushed me back down, asserting his authority over the moment.
He pulled my cock free of my boxers and wrapped his fingers around it. I exhaled sharply through my teeth. He stroked once, slowly, measuring something. I watched him. He ran his thumb across the head and I—the thought I was forming dissolved before it finished.
Then his mouth was on me. Wet heat, the flat of his tongue moving from base to tip. “Lu—“ I couldn’t complete his name, holding my hands over my face as his mouth moved in a slow rhythm.
His hand wrapped around the base and moved in time with his mouth. I stared at the ceiling with my jaw set, knowing that if I watched him, I would come embarrassingly fast.
He did something with pressure and suction simultaneously that made my hips lift completely off the mattress.
“Luca—“ The following words disappeared in my throat.
He made a low sound of acknowledgment and did it again.
He pulled off for two seconds, long enough to whisper “Santiago” and grin.
I curled my fingers into fists, gripping the bedspread. “Fff—“
Grasping at a moment of clarity, I pulled him up toward me and kissed him. He moved willingly, his body covering mine. Hewas hard against my hip and quickly shed his pants. I reached into his boxer briefs, finding the silky skin of his cock.
Mentally taking notes, I stroked.
His head dropped to my shoulder, breathing short and shallow. He tried my name again but couldn’t make it past “Sant—“ Instead, he bit down lightly on the curve of my neck.
He gripped my hand and whispered, “I have something to finish.”
He curled at my side and took me in his mouth again. This time he didn’t hold back. He worked his hand and his mouth together, and my stomach tightened immediately, pulling inward. I raked my fingers into his hair and held on .
He pressed his free hand flat against my stomach. Not restraining. Present.
I exhaled a long, unsteady breath. His mouth moved faster, and I hissed, tried his name, and nothing came out. White light flashed at the corners of my vision as I came, arching my hips high with involuntary spasms gripping my entire body.
He stayed with me through it, his hand slowing until he stretched out again, kissing me gently.
He settled at my side, head against my shoulder, breath deepening.
I lay in the low light, panting slightly.
The overnight security checks surfaced as I regained coherent thought. Doors, gates, and courtyard walls. I ran through them without fighting because the threat against Dominic had not resolved, and I was not confused about where I was or what I was doing here.
My priorities were clear, too—so far.
I lay in Luca Moreau’s bed on St. Charles Avenue in August with four days to the concert. When I raised up on my elbows, whispering “It’s your turn,” Luca pressed a hand against my chest.
“Save it for the morning, when you’ve recovered.”
