We slipped down the stairs hand in hand, the picnic forgotten. His apartment was quiet, dimly lit, and smelled like coffee beans and cinnamon.
I barely got the door closed before he was kissing me again. This time, it wasn’t soft. It was heat and hunger. Weeks of tension pulled tight, finally snapping loose.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me slightly, pressing me back against the door like he needed me close. Closer than our bodies could allow.
I moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into the soft hair at the back of his neck, pulling him in like gravity itself had changed just for him.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, half-drunk on the taste of each other. My shirt hit the floor, followed quickly by his jacket.
His hands were warm and rough and sure, trailing along my skin like he was memorizing me.
I kissed the corner of his mouth, down the sharp line of his jaw, and felt the low, primal growl that rumbled from his chest when my teeth grazed his collarbone.
“James,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked, his forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me if I should stop.”
His hand hovered just above my bare hip, like he couldn’t bear to let go but needed permission to stay.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, voice barely more than breath. “Please.”
The door swung closed behind us, the world narrowing down to the press of our mouths, the burn of our skin, the sound of our breathing.
His fingers ghosted over my sides, slow and reverent, and I arched into his touch like I’d been starving for it. Like I didn’t know how to survive without it now that I’d had a taste.
Rafael kissed me like he meant it. Like he was afraid to forget. Like he needed something to anchor him, and for some reason, that something was me.
I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for things to feel rushed.
Maybe for my nerves to get the best of me. But the moment his lips brushed over the hollow of my throat and his hand slid down the curve of my back to pull me against him fully, all that melted away.
We weren’t just kissing anymore. We were devouring each other.
I tugged at his shirt, desperate to get it off. He grunted when I got impatient and pulled it over his head, his muscles flexing under my touch. And gosh, he was beautiful. Scarred and strong and real.
I kissed each line of tension along his neck, down his chest, until he was breathing in sharp, ragged pulls. He took over then, gently guiding me backward until I hit the bed.
We fell together, tangled limbs and tangled hearts, laughing breathlessly between kisses that turned deeper, hotter. Every brush of his hand across my skin left me burning.
His fingers traced my ribs, the dip of my waist, the tip of my member like I was something worth exploring.
“Rafael,” I murmured, tugging him down until he hovered above me.
His eyes met mine, dark, wide and searching.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, voice barely more than a rasp.
I nodded. “I want this. I want you.”
And that was all he needed.
What followed wasn’t rushed or careless. It was slow and consuming. His hands were everywhere, grounding me and undoing me at once.
His mouth explored every inch of me like he’d been waiting a lifetime. We moved in rhythm, in sync, each kiss stealing the breath from my lungs and replacing it with something new. Something full.
I didn’t think. I felt.Every moan, every sigh, every time he whispered my name like it meant something. Like I meant something.
It was everything I’d been afraid to want, and everything I never thought I’d have.
Rafael put me on my hands and knees. Then he got off the bed to grab a condom and lube from the back pocket of his jeans. I moaned, impatient to feel him inside me.
