I trace the edge of his angel tattoo, fingers brushing over the script beneath it.
“My brother in this life and the next…” I murmur, repeating the Spanish aloud like it belongs to me too.
His throat works around a swallow. “You remember that?”
“Yes.”
And God, do I.
I kiss just below his collarbone, tasting salt and skin, dragging my lips down his chest until he’s trembling beneath me, eyes closed like he’s breaking apart and I’m the one pulling him to pieces.
His hands come up, but he doesn’t rush me. He never does. He just holds me, breathing hard, letting me take what I need.
My fingers ghost over the rose on his hand, then his knuckles—Love.Hate.My lips follow, brushing over each word like a promise.
He groans. “You’re gonna kill me, baby…”
I smile against his skin, kissing his wrist. “Not before I worship every inch of you first.”
He pulls me back to his mouth, and when we kiss, it’s all tongue and teeth and desire.
But this time… this time it’smine.
My hands. My mouth. My moment.
Because it’s him.
It’salwaysbeen him.
His hoodie and shirt are long gone now, strewn across the floor in the kind of careless abandon that comes only when urgency eclipses everything else. He’s spread beneath me, chest rising hard and fast, hair a dark, messy halo against the pillow. And those eyes—God—those eyes never leave mine. Intense. Blazing.
My fingers skate down his stomach, every muscle twitching under my touch. I press a kiss to his chest, then another lower. He gasps softly, his hand sliding into my hair. Not guiding. Not demanding. Just there.
I press kisses down the trail of inked muscle, my breath brushing his skin as I sink lower. He twitches beneath me, hips tense. Waiting. Watching.
I pull his waistband down, freeing him slowly, watching the way he bites his bottom lip as I wrap my fingers around him. My thumb slides over the tip, and he groans deep in his throat.
Eyes lock on mine. There’s no wall between us—just heat and awe and something deeper that steals the breath from my lungs.
I don’t rush.
I explore.
Every movement is slow, intentional. My mouth finds him, warm and wet, and he bucks beneath me, breathing my name like it’s a curse and a prayer all at once.
My hands anchor his hips. I work him slow, then deep. His thighs quake, abs flexing under my palm. He moans, head pressing back into the mattress, hand fisting the sheet.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, voice thick and possessive. “I want to watch you take me. Just like that—fuck—just like that.”
His voice is hoarse, broken. Beautiful.
I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, letting the rhythm build and roll. His body bows up from the bed, and I feel him unraveling beneath my hands.
“You feel too good,” he pants. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes again. “Then let me.”
I take him again, letting him fall apart in my mouth.