That was not the case with Mateo. I knew it wouldn’t be.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome, Florian.”
Mateo’s gaze turns to the towel.
I glance down.
It is big.
“I apologize,” I say. “I, uh?—”
His gaze softens. “You have a healthy body, Florian. That’s a good thing.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s beautiful.”
My eyes flicker to him, and hisskin reddens.
“I could take care of it,” he says.
My eyes widen.
Mateo didn’t suggestthat.
He couldn’t have— No. I am wrong. Of course I am wrong.
The beautiful man before me does not want to touch my cock. No.
His cheeks become rosy. “I’m sorry. You’re just...”
“What?”
Virginal? Silly? Overly serious?
I’m not sure how I manage to be both silly and overly serious, but I am certain I have succeeded at that.
I excel at both athletic feats and massive embarrassments. Whoever bestowed traits on me when I was born gave me both.
I squirm.
“I like you,” he says softly.
“I like you too. You are an excellent man, Mateo.”
And then my skin heats because of course I remember all the times I told Mateo just that. I remember how I outed myself, even though I promised myself years ago that I never would, not without a real reason.
Mateo knows I like him.
God. I told Mateo Ilovedhim.
But then he told me he loved me back.
My cock is still hard, like it is trying to hide in a rock museum.
“Would you like me to?” Mateo asks.
