My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my ears, like it was trying to leap toward him.
“Not here,” he murmured, glancing toward the front of the bakery even as his fingers trailed down my spine.
I nodded, chest tight with need. “Let’s go back to my place.”
We left through the back entrance, locking up behind us. The streets were quiet, the hour late enough that Sugarpaw Springs had settled down into its nighttime hush.
But the silence between us wasn’t calm. It was charged. Every step we took toward the car, every brush of his hand against mine, sparked something electric.
By the time we reached my apartment building, I didn’t want to wait anymore.
I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the stairwell instead of the elevator, too keyed up to stand still in a small space with him.
We climbed in silence, but the tension between us hummed like a live wire, wrapping around my lungs and squeezing.
When we reached my door, I barely managed to unlock it before I was pulling him in, backing him against the inside wall with a kiss that burned all the way to my toes.
Clothes dropped in lazy, stumbling pieces. A trail across the floor, forgotten in favor of skin and heat and the gravity that pulled us into each other like we were built to fit.
His hoodie hit the floor. My shirt followed. Then came his belt, my jeans, his hands on my waist and my mouth on his throat.
By the time we hit the bed, we were a tangle of limbs and tension and breathless anticipation.
Rafael hovered over me, his body a wall of heat, his expression dark and careful as he searched my face.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice hoarse, but still so gentle.
“Don’t you dare,” I whispered, breath catching in my throat.
My hands gripped his shoulders, thumbs brushing over the curve of his collarbone. I needed him like I needed air. Maybe more.
He kissed me like he meant it. Like he needed it, too. His mouth moved over mine, then trailed down my neck with slow, deliberate care.
The scrape of his stubble made me shiver. My back arched, a gasp escaping as my leg hooked around his hip, pulling him flush against me.
“James,” he groaned, like my name alone could undo him.
We didn’t rush this time. It wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was slower. More intentional. His hands on my skin were worshipful, like he was learning every inch of me all over again.
And I gave him everything. Every shudder, every moan, every breathless plea.
He kissed my shoulder, the inside of my wrist, the center of my chest like I was something precious. And when I arched into him, he caught me. Steadied me. Held me.
The world narrowed to just us. Just the press of his body against mine, the rhythm we found together, the heat building between our skin until I was drowning in it.
Rafael grabbed a condom tucked in his wallet, slipped it on. I snatched the lube on a nearby table.
“Prep yourself,” he said and the hunger in his voice made me eagerly complied.
Once my hole was ready, Rafael straddled me, lifting my legs over his shoulders. My member was thick and full, just like his.
His mouth returned to mine, swallowing the soft sounds I couldn’t hold back, his fingers laced with mine as we moved in sync, like a dance only we knew.
When I gasped his name, he kissed me like a vow. Rafael moved in and out of me until we were both panting messes.
And when I shattered, he followed. Rafael pressed his forehead pressed to mine, his breath warm against my lips, his hands holding me like I might vanish if he let go.
We lay there after, tangled up in a mess of sheets and sweat and limbs. My head rested against his shoulder, one leg still slung over his.
