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I don’t even have the time to say anything, because his mouth is on mine. It starts downstairs, his mouth, my back hitting mirrored walls I can’t even see properly, and then he can’t stop. He kisses me through the hallway. He kisses me while he unlocks the door. He kisses me into the apartment like stopping would kill him.

The place is dark. He leads me blindly toward the bedroom, never taking his mouth off mine for more than a second. I trip once, but he steadies me by the waist and laughs into the kiss, then I bite him for it.

His bedroom door opens as my back hits a wall.

He pins me there, one thigh between mine, both hands on my face like he needs to hold me still to ask it. “Let me fuck you.” He rasps, “Please.”

I swallow.

Kento doesn’t beg. Kento takes. Relentlessly. Unapologetically. Which makes the desperation in that single word feel almost obscene coming from him. I could say no. I know that. More importantly, I know he would stop if I did. But I don’t want to say no. I want him. I want him with a voracity that renders every previous desire counterfeit.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, but they don’t lift it. They just rest there while his mouth drops to my neck, kissing under my jaw.

“O… okay.”

He pulls back at once. I don’t think he can see much. It’s pitch black. Still, I feel him watching my face like he could read it by heat alone. He reaches sideways, for the light.

I catch his wrist. “But can… you keep the lights off.”

His arms wrap around me instead. “Yes, my prince.”

I exhale, and I think it sounds like a sob.

Then he’s kissing me again. He walks me off the wall, and the backs of my knees find the bed. I sit. He follows me down, mouth never leaving mine for long, hands careful of my bad wrist and greedy everywhere else.

He pops the button and drags the zipper, then he wraps his hand around me and strokes once.

“Fuck—”

His mouth finds my ear. “You get so sweet when you moan like that.”

“Don’t talk.”

“No. I want to hear you.” He squeezes, thumb smearing over the head. “Say it again.”

“Say what.”

“That I can fuck you.”

My face burns in the dark. “I already said okay.”

“Say it properly.”

“You’re such a—” The rest breaks when he strokes me again. “Okay. You can. Just—don’t turn the lights on.”

“I won’t.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He calls me that again, and my hips jerk into his hand against my will.

The first-time panic hits while he’s still touching me. Not the sex-panic exactly. The other one. The one that says this isn’t a girl in my bed, this is Kento, this is a man, this is his mouth and his hands, and in a minute it’s going to be him inside me. I’ve fucked people, all girls, and I always blindfold them so they won’t see me. I haven’t done this.

His fingers hook under the hem again, and this time they lift.

I grab his wrists. “Don’t.”

“Ilya.”