They are Out of My League, So How? Ch. 02

My Tuesday afternoon was a beige fog of emails, budget approvals, and backlogged coffee. I stared at my screen, clicking through spreadsheet tabs without absorbing a single number. My phone buzzed on the desk beside me.

Javi: Hey. Thought of you. Want to come over Friday? I'll cook.

I stared at it like it was in another language. He'd even added a little chef emoji. My chest tightened--not unpleasant, just complicated.

Friday.

I'd just talked to Leo last night. We hadn't picked a day, but I told him I wanted to see him again. I'd even offered to plan it this time. Take him somewhere I could afford, maybe show I could carry my own weight. And now Javi. Inviting me into his space. Offering food. Time. Intimacy. I must've made a sound because Maya appeared around the cubicle wall like a fox scenting gossip.

"What's wrong?" she asked, eyeing me suspiciously. "Did Leo cancel? I thought your first date went great."

I blinked at her. "No--nothing like that. Why would you think something's wrong?"

She gestured vaguely to my face. "Because you look like someone just spoiled your favorite show and also told you it was based on a lie."

I sighed, rubbing my jaw. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You're lying. Badly."

I glanced at my phone again. Thought about deleting the text. Thought about replying. Thought about running.

Instead, I slid my phone toward her. "Okay. Fine. I need a second opinion."

She raised her eyebrows and took it, reading Javi's message. Then she gave me a look that said, And?

"There's someone else," I said quietly. "I met him Saturday. Outside a gym. Total accident. And he's... he's gorgeous. Big, muscular, sweet. Invited me to coffee before his workout. We talked for an hour."

"And?"

"And he just asked me to come over Friday so he can cook me dinner."

"Damn," she said, blinking. "Hot gym guy's got layers."

"Yeah," I said, voice low. "But I can't say yes. I already told Leo I wanted to see him again. I'm not that guy. I'm not the guy who dates two people at once."

Maya set my phone down carefully and looked at me like I was missing something obvious. "You're not in a relationship with Leo. You went on one date. You liked him. Cool. That doesn't mean you've taken a vow of monogamy."

"I know, but--"

"No 'but.'" She leaned closer. "You like Leo. Great. He kissed you, it was sweet, lovely, expensive--got it. But now this other guy shows up, and you like him too. You think he's hot, and interesting, and you want to see where that could go. That doesn't make you a bad person. That makes you a person with options."

I stared at her. "I don't have options. That's the problem. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're doing what anyone would do. You're figuring it out. And honestly? You should go."

"To Javi's?"

She nodded. "Yes. See him again. Talk to him. Let yourself want things, Alex. You're allowed."

I sat back in my chair, heart still tangled in guilt and wonder. "What if it gets messy?"

"Then it gets messy," she said, standing. "But it's your mess. You finally get to make one. I'm completely jealous of you. I wish I had two hot guys asking me out."

She walked away like she'd just dropped a truth bomb and left the blast radius behind.

That night, I texted Leo.

Me: Dinner this weekend? My treat this time. I've got a place I think you'll like.

He replied in under a minute.

Leo: Looking forward to it. Pick the night and I'm there.

I smiled. Then opened Javi's message.

Me: Dinner sounds great. What time should I come by?

My thumb hovered before I hit send. Then I let it go.

--

An hour before the date, my phone buzzed.

Javi: Started cooking for you.

Attached: a selfie. He was shirtless in the kitchen, arm resting on the counter, apron tied low around his waist. You could just see the edge of a pot behind him, steam curling up toward the ceiling. His chest was broad, powerful, lightly dusted with dark hair that trailed down over thick abs--not the kind that looked airbrushed or dehydrated, but big and solid and real. His torso looked sculpted from warm stone, the kind of body that shouldn't exist outside movie sets or myths.

I zoomed in. Then zoomed again. My mouth went dry. He didn't look real. Like a hallucination, or a gym ad. And he was texting me. I closed the photo quickly before I could start panicking about what to wear.

Javi lived in a walk-up on a quiet street, not far from the park. The building wasn't flashy, but it was clean and comfortable, the kind of place you lived in by choice, not necessity.

He opened the door before I could knock, dressed in a pale blue dress shirt and dark fitted pants. His curls were still damp from the shower, and he smelled like lime, grilled spices, and something woodsy. I had to remind myself to blink.

"Hey," he said, grinning like this was just another night, like he wasn't the hottest man I'd ever laid eyes on.

"You really do clean up well," I said, stepping inside.

"You're one to talk," he replied, giving me a once-over that made me feel instantly flustered.

The apartment was warm, cozy, and smelled incredible--garlic, onions, something citrusy simmering on the stove. A low Latin playlist was playing from a small speaker near the TV. It wasn't a huge place--about the same size as mine--but it was lived-in and welcoming. A small dining table was set for two, candles flickering low. There were family photos on the wall: Javi with a woman I guessed was his mom, and a few chaotic group pictures that screamed siblings or cousins. On a shelf under the TV sat a stack of fitness books and magazines, along with a small dish holding a set of rosary beads.

"I made ajiaco," he said, heading toward the kitchen. "It's a kind of soup--Colombian comfort food."

"Smells incredible."

"It better. I only make this for people I want to impress."

I smiled, not sure what to do with that.

The food was amazing. Rich, creamy broth, shredded chicken, corn sliced in half, and three kinds of potato. He served it with avocado, rice, and a little bowl of capers and cream on the side. I took my first bite and nearly melted.

"This is... way better than anything I've ever made."

Javi grinned as he sat across from me. "Good. I wasn't going for 'decent.'"

We ate and talked, a little slowly at first--typical second-date nerves--but the rhythm came fast. I told him about my sister's weirdly competitive family game nights. He told me how he once dropped a barbell on his foot and tried to pretend it didn't hurt while he limped across the gym floor. He asked what kind of music I liked. I asked if his clients ever hit on him.

"Only the ones I definitely don't want to say yes to," he joked.

It was easy. Comfortable. I don't know what I expected--awkward silences, stilted conversation--but it wasn't this. It wasn't feeling like I belonged here, in this warm little apartment, with this man who looked like a dream and laughed like a boy.

Then, somewhere between the second helping and a second glass of wine, he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dipping a little.

"Okay," he said. "About that picture I sent earlier..."

I looked up at him, half a smile already forming. "You mean the one that short-circuited my brain?"

He laughed but didn't quite meet my eyes. "I felt kind of weird after. I'm a trainer--my body's part of the job. And I'm proud of it. I wanted to impress you, to make you think I was sexy. But it might have been too shallow of me."

My heart tightened. I didn't expect that--vulnerability, tucked right beneath all that confidence.

"I did," I said softly. "Like it, I mean. And I already thought you were sexy. I just... I looked at that photo and thought, 'there's no way this guy is real.'"

He glanced up, smile faint but growing. "I'm real."

"I'm still not totally convinced."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Well, you should be able to confirm it soon enough."

That hit me somewhere low and warm. I swallowed hard. He tilted his head, watching me for a beat longer than felt casual.

"What?" I asked, my voice too small.

He didn't answer right away. His eyes moved over me, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the way I sat there across from him.

"I've been trying not to touch you since the second I opened the door," he said. "And it's getting really fucking hard."

My breath hitched.

I opened my mouth to say something--anything--but all I managed was, "Then don't hold back."

That was all it took.

Javi stood, moved around the table, and reached for me like he'd been holding his breath for hours. His hand found the back of my neck, warm and sure, and then his mouth was on mine--urgent, hungry, no hesitation. He kissed me like he already knew how I tasted. Like he'd been imagining it and couldn't stand to wait another second.

I kissed him back because there was nothing else I could've done, even if I'd tried. His body pressed close, solid and hot, his hand sliding around my waist, anchoring me like he was afraid I might disappear. Our tongues danced together, deep and searching, every touch of his lips making me feel a little less grounded.

He picked me up like I weighed nothing, my arms locking around his neck, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His hands slid under my thighs, just below my ass, lifting me with shocking ease.

We kept moving, never breaking the kiss, until he laid me down gently on a soft bed.

"Shit. Fuck--sorry," he said, voice low, breath shaky. "I don't mean to rush you. But I... really want you."

The way he said it--almost like a growl--sent a shiver down my spine. I don't think anyone had ever said that to me like that. Like they couldn't wait another second.

"I want it too," I said, barely above a whisper.

His smile broke across his face like it was new, like I'd just handed him something priceless. He cupped my face in both hands and kissed me again--deeper, slower, but no less full of hunger. His weight pressing me into the mattress--solid, hot, impossible to ignore. He kissed like he touched: with intention. His hands mapped the sides of my ribs, thumbs teasing along the hem of my shirt like they were asking a question his mouth wasn't ready to ask yet.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and hungry but soft.

"Can I take this off?" he asked, fingers brushing my shirt.

I nodded, breath shaky. He pushed himself up on one arm and started undoing the buttons slowly, each one a little electric snap in my nerves. His eyes never left mine, not even when he peeled the fabric open and pushed it off my shoulders.

"Fuck," he murmured. "You're gorgeous."

The word hit something sore inside me. I didn't say anything, but the reflex was instant: No, I'm not. Not like you. Not like what I saw in that selfie. But he didn't give me time to argue. He sat up, still straddling me, and began to undo his own shirt.

"You kept staring," he said with a little grin. "Might as well show you it wasn't photoshopped."

He slid the shirt off and tossed it aside. And there it was. That chest. Those arms. That impossible torso--broad, sculpted, dusted with dark hair that led down into a thick trail below his navel. I was already hard, but seeing him like that made my cock pulse against the fabric of my jeans. My hand moved on its own, brushing across his abs, tracing the faint curve of one muscle. I didn't even realize I was touching him until he inhaled sharply and looked down.

I froze. "Shit--I didn't mean--"

But he caught my hand before I could move it away.

"It's okay," he said gently, pressing my hand back to his body. "You can touch me. I want you to."

My fingers spread wide over his chest, feeling the heat, the strength under his skin. His hand moved over mine, guiding it slowly over his pec, down to his stomach, then released it to explore on its own. At the same time, his other hand found my chest--light at first, then firmer, fingertips grazing my nipples. I gasped when he brushed one, and he grinned like he'd found a secret.

"You're sensitive here," he murmured, circling it again, then leaning down to flick his tongue over it.

I moaned--loud, needy--and he laughed softly against my skin. Then, in a fluid motion, he shifted off the bed and knelt at the foot of it, hands moving to my belt.

"Can I...?" he asked, already starting to undo it.

I nodded, barely able to speak. My whole body felt like it was floating.

He unzipped my jeans and tugged them down, along with my briefs. I instinctively moved my hand to cover myself--ashamed, not of being naked, but of how average I looked next to him. But Javi reached up, gently moved my hand away, and looked straight into my eyes.

"You're so fucking sexy, Alex," he said, voice low and reverent. "I want all of you."

Before I could even process it, he leaned in and took my cock into his mouth. I choked on my own breath. Warm. Wet. Perfect pressure. His tongue circled the head, then dragged slowly along the underside as he sucked me deeper. I groaned--loud and involuntary--hips twitching as he held me down with one strong arm and bobbed his head with a smooth, practiced rhythm.

"Oh my God--Javi--fuck--"

I couldn't believe this was happening. That he was doing this. That this god of a man had his mouth around my cock like it was his favorite thing in the world.

His lips sealed around the base, his throat relaxing as he took more of me. My hands found the sheets, clutching tight as heat built fast in my gut.

"I'm--shit, I'm gonna come if you keep--"

He pulled off with a soft pop, licking his lips and smiling. "Not yet," he said. "I want more of you first."

I sat up, dazed, and grabbed his face, kissed him hard--tasting myself on his lips, moaning into his mouth. Then I slid to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him.

"Your turn," I said, tugging at his waistband.

He stepped out of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. No underwear. No pretense.

And there it was.

His cock was as thick as I'd imagined--uncut, long enough to make my mouth water, but the girth was what made my throat tighten. Heavy, dark, slightly curved, with a glisten of precome at the tip.

"Holy shit," I whispered, eyes wide. So that's what guys mean when they say beer can thick. And it was even longer than mine, at least seven inches, maybe more.

He grinned. "Too much?"

"No. Just... perfect."

I leaned in, kissing the head first, tasting salt and heat. He hissed as I took him into my mouth--slowly, carefully, trying to adjust to his size. I couldn't get all of him in, not even close, but I used my hand to stroke what my lips couldn't reach. He let out a low groan, one hand resting lightly on the back of my head.

"You feel so good," he whispered, hips rocking gently forward.

I kept going, finding a rhythm, tongue swirling around his crown, lips sealing tight as I sucked him deep as I could. His breath got heavier. His cock twitched. And then he pulled back.

"Stop," he said, tugging me up. "I need to taste your mouth again."

We kissed--wet and messy, breath mingling, cocks brushing between us. Then he pulled back just enough to speak.

"What do you want to do next?" he asked. "You want to bottom?"

A beat. Then a playful grin. "Or top?"

As he said it, he turned around and leaned forward slightly, showing me his ass--round, muscular, dusted with hair, perfect. I stared, speechless.

"You could fuck me," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "I'd love that."

I hesitated. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But the thought of topping someone like him--it felt like too much. Like I didn't deserve it. Like I wasn't enough.

"I could... rim you," I said, voice small.

Javi's smile widened, and without a word, he climbed onto the bed and got on all fours, ass high, back arched.

"Then come get it," he said.

I swallowed hard and moved behind him, spreading him open gently. His hole was tight, pink, perfectly nestled between those thick cheeks. I leaned in, breath hot, tongue flicking out to taste him. He gasped, hand clutching the sheets.

I licked again--slower this time--then circled the rim, teasing it open. He moaned louder, rocking back toward me, pushing into the touch.

"Fuck, Alex," he groaned. "Don't stop."

I didn't. I kept going, licking deeper, fucking him with my tongue, my hands gripping his ass. He was hot and wet and responsive--moaning into the mattress, hips grinding. I felt him loosen under me, his hole opening with each pass of my tongue.

Then I pulled back, breath ragged.

"I want you to fuck me," I said.

He turned to look at me, eyes blazing.

"Yeah?" he said, voice hoarse.

"Yeah. Please."

He leaned over me and kissed me hard, then reached into the bedside table, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. He set them on the sheets, then kissed his way down my back as he lubed his fingers.

His tongue returned first--slow, deep, getting me slick--then his fingers followed. One at first, pressing in gently.

"Tell me if anything hurts," he said, voice low and careful.

"It's okay," I breathed.

He worked me open slowly, adding a second finger, scissoring gently. My body ached to be filled--by him. When I was ready, he rolled on the condom, slicked himself, and positioned himself between my legs.

"You sure?" he asked one last time, cock nudging against me.

"Yeah. I want this."

He pushed in, slow and steady. The stretch burned, but it was good--so good. His girth made me feel split open, owned. I gasped, muscles clenching around him as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, you're tight," he growled, holding still inside me. "You feel so fucking good."

He kissed my neck, letting me breathe.

Then he started to move. Long, powerful strokes--slow at first, letting me adjust, then building into something harder, deeper. He moaned against my skin, hands gripping my hips.

"God, Alex. You're perfect."

He fucked me like he meant it. Like he'd been waiting. Like his body knew mine. Our moans filled the room--animal, messy, real. He flipped me onto my back and pushed in again, lifting my legs onto his shoulders, driving deep with every thrust. My cock bounced untouched between us, hard and leaking.

He kissed me through it, hips pounding, sweat dripping from his chest. I felt it building--tight in my belly, hot and unstoppable.

"I'm--fuck--I'm gonna--"

"Me too," he panted. "Come with me."

And then we did. I cried out, body shaking, come spilling untouched across my stomach. He thrust once more, groaned loud and deep, then collapsed onto me, cock still pulsing inside. We lay there like that, tangled, gasping, hearts racing.

After a while, he pulled out gently, tossed the condom, and grabbed a towel to clean us both up. Then he climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over us.

"You're staying the night," he said simply, arm wrapping around me.

I didn't argue. I curled against his chest, body still humming, and closed my eyes. This man--this perfect, ridiculous, beautiful man--had just given me the best fuck of my life. And now he was holding me like he didn't want to let go.

--

The sunlight slanted through my bedroom blinds like it was trying to find me guilty. I lay back on my bed, fully dressed now, staring at the ceiling with my phone resting on my chest. It buzzed once, and I didn't look. Not yet.

The morning was still replaying in my head.

Javi's arm had been draped over my stomach when I woke, warm and heavy and completely unfair. His face was inches from mine, breath soft against my skin, curls falling over his forehead like he belonged in a painting. For a second, I thought I was still dreaming. Then he'd kissed my shoulder, murmured something I couldn't quite understand, and pulled me closer.

The shower had been warm and domestic--he'd let me use his body wash, helped me find a clean towel. We didn't kiss much in there, just stood under the water and smiled like idiots, soaping each other up. It felt too easy. Like I'd done it a hundred times with him already.

Afterward, he asked if I wanted to stay.

"I've got a few things I need to do," I lied. I couldn't tell him about my date with Leo later tonight, and my heart ached.

He didn't press. Just smiled and leaned in to kiss me again--this time slower, like he was storing it.

"I'll see you again," he said. And he didn't say it like a question.

Now, back home, I finally picked up my phone. Opened Leo's thread. I'd promised I'd plan our next date, and I had. I just hadn't told him yet.

The place wasn't fancy. It had no wine wall, no host in a black suit, no menu that looked like a Sotheby's auction catalog. Just red booths, cracked laminate, and grilled sandwiches that made me believe in God.

I loved it. I just wasn't sure Leo would. I typed, then deleted. Then typed again.

Me: Got us a table for tonight. It's not fancy, but it's my favorite place in the city. Hope you're good with diner food and casual dress code.

I stared at it for a second. Hit send.

A few seconds later, the reply came.

Leo: Sounds perfect. Can't wait.

I smiled, relief and nerves tangling in my stomach like twin wires.

There was a soft ache in my thighs, a soreness in my chest I couldn't name. I thought about Javi's hands, his weight, the way he whispered my name while he moved inside me. And then I thought about Leo. About his smile, his eyes, the way he'd kissed me slow on that first date and said he wanted to take his time.

Two men. Two nights. Two different kinds of magic. And I was right in the middle, still trying to understand how I'd ended up with any of it. I got up, moved to the mirror, checked my reflection. I didn't look different. But I felt... more. Like something was waking up inside me--quietly, steadily, like a low ember finding air.

Tonight, it would be Leo's turn. And I had no idea how I was going to survive it.

--

The restaurant looked exactly the way I remembered it--flickering neon sign, windows a little fogged from the inside, mismatched chairs, and the low hum of weekend conversation slipping through the glass. It wasn't fancy. Not even close. But it was mine. And for once, that felt like enough.

I stood just outside the door, shifting on my feet, trying not to fuss with my hair.

Then I saw him--Leo--stepping out of his car like someone had dropped him into this world from a better one. He wore dark, fitted pants and a pale blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, collar open just enough to hint at smooth skin beneath. Casual, maybe, by his standards. But still the kind of look that made passersby turn their heads.

I was about to say something when he reached me--and kissed me. No hesitation, no small talk. Just his mouth on mine, warm and sure, and his hand curling around the back of my neck like he'd been waiting for this all week.

Which, apparently, he had.

"Sorry," he murmured as he pulled back, his breath still brushing my lips. "I've been wanting to do that since Monday."

My heart did something slow and ridiculous in my chest.

"It's more than okay," I said, and meant it.

Whatever anxiety had been coiled tight in my gut--that I'd picked the wrong place, that I looked too casual, that I'd somehow disappoint him--unwound all at once. I didn't think about Javi. Didn't think about the ache still lingering in my thighs or the warmth he'd left behind. I just thought about now. Leo. Me. This.

I opened the door, held it for him, and we stepped inside.

He glanced around as we entered, taking in the scuffed floors, laminated menus, the smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup hanging in the air.

"So this is your spot," he said, smiling.

"Yeah. I know it's not much, but..." I shrugged. "It's simple. Comfortable. I come here when I want real food, no fuss. Just a booth and some melted cheese and quiet."

Leo looked at me, his smile softening.

"I get that. There's something honest about it." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "So you're a regular here, then? Friends with the staff?"

I was about to answer when the waiter appeared--young, ponytailed, friendly.

"Welcome, gentlemen," he said brightly. "I've got a good eye for new faces, and I don't think I've seen you here before. First-timers get free appetizers. House policy. I'll be back with them shortly."

He walked away before Leo could respond.

Leo glanced over at me. "Oh, he must be new."

But I shook my head. "Nah. He's served me before."

"Wait," Leo said, frowning. "He's served you before? You're sure?"

"Yeah. Probably five or six times."

Leo looked genuinely confused. "Then why didn't he recognize you?"

I gave a small shrug, tried to play it off like I always did. "I'm forgettable."

Leo's brow creased, like he didn't quite understand the sentence.

"I don't think I could forget you even if I tried."

He said it so plainly, so seriously, I had to look away.

We talked--about books again, movies we hated, embarrassing childhood photos we'd never show anyone. I told him about the time I set the microwave on fire trying to reheat a Pop-Tart. He told me how his dad once got kicked out of a PTA meeting for arguing about gluten-free cupcakes.

He asked good questions. Listened. Laughed in the kind of way that made me feel funny, not like I'd told a joke, but like I was the joke--and that was a compliment.

When the food came, I practically gave a reverent bow to my grilled cheese. Leo raised a skeptical brow, took one bite, and made a sound that was probably illegal in five states.

"Okay," he said, mouth full. "I'm converted."

"Right?"

Dinner was easy. Easy in the kind of way I hadn't had in a long time. Javi made me feel wanted. Leo made me feel real.

When the bill came, I reached for it immediately.

"No way," Leo said, reaching too. "We should at least split the bill."

"Hands off," I said, smirking. "You paid for our first date, now it's my treat."

He watched me pay, a small smile curling his lips. Not mockery--something closer to affection.

We stepped out into the night, the air crisp and cool, headlights flashing by in lazy streaks.

"Well," Leo said, turning to face me. "That was..."

"Amazing," I finished.

He laughed softly, then kissed me again--slower this time, like he wanted to memorize it.

When he pulled back, I could feel something hanging in the air between us--like a sentence left unfinished.

"What?" I asked.

He hesitated. Looked at me. Then said, carefully, "I don't want to rush things. But I also can't stop myself."

A pause.

"Do you want to come back to my place?"

The words hit like a soft spark.

I nodded. "Yeah. I do."

We kissed once more, quick and warm, then he headed to his car. I followed behind in mine, heart pounding louder than the engine, heading toward a part of town where the buildings got taller, the sidewalks cleaner, and the streets quieter.

Toward Leo.

The elevator was silent and smooth, gliding toward the upper floors of Leo's building. I glanced sideways at him, my heart still racing from the kiss he'd given me outside the restaurant. He looked calm--like he always did--but his eyes had that gleam again. Like he was already undressing me in his head.

When the elevator doors opened, I followed him down a softly lit hallway. His keycard beeped against the lock, and then the door swung open.

The air inside was cool, faintly scented with cedar and something crisp. The loft was huge--open and bright, all polished concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows. A sleek kitchen lined one wall, with black marble counters and warm underlighting. A low sectional faced a massive TV and a city view that looked like it had been painted by hand.

I stepped in slowly, my boots soft against the hardwood.

"Want something to drink?" Leo asked, already heading toward the kitchen island. "Wine, water, tea... champagne?"

"Water's good," I said, barely above a whisper, eyes sweeping across the impossibly clean surfaces.

He handed me a glass. I barely tasted it.

We stood near the island, barely two sips in before he set his glass down. I did the same. He stepped closer, and our lips met again--slower this time, coaxing, warm.

His hands moved to my waist. Mine found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one at a time without breaking the kiss. My fingers brushed against smooth, tight skin. Hard muscle.

I pulled back slightly, needing to see.

Leo let the shirt slide off his shoulders.

Holy shit.

His torso was a masterclass in control. Ripped but not bulky. Sculpted abs, deep V-lines leading downward, sharply defined pecs. Every inch of him looked like it had been sketched by someone obsessed with precision. Smooth and completely hairless, like he lived under perfect lighting.

"Jesus," I breathed.

He smiled, a little sheepish. "Not to your liking?"

"No. Just... damn." I reached out and touched him, hand resting on the ridges of his stomach. "You look like you belong in an underwear ad."

"I'm glad you like it," he said.

He was perfect. Thoughtful. I dropped to my knees before I could talk myself out of it.

Leo blinked. "You don't have to kneel on the floor--my bed's big enough."

"I can't wait," I said simply, reaching for his belt.

His pants came off slowly, and beneath his black briefs, his cock was already thickening--long, firm, the outline unmistakable. I palmed him through the fabric, feeling him swell under my touch. He let out a quiet breath.

When I finally peeled his underwear down, his cock sprang free--long and flushed, a perfect slope from head to shaft. Not as thick as Javi, but taller. Straighter. More... elegant, somehow. Like the rest of him.

"Fuck," I whispered. "How big is it?"

Leo smiled, modest. "Eight, I think."

I stared, not believing it. "It looks more like nine."

He laughed under his breath. "Maybe."

"I don't think I could take all of that in my ass," I muttered, not really meaning to say it out loud.

Leo looked down, smile turning soft. "You don't have to. I'd never push you. And I'd be more than happy to be the one getting fucked."

His tone was easy. Open. No pressure.

Still on my knees, I leaned forward and took the tip into my mouth. He inhaled sharply, one hand resting lightly on the back of my head.

I worked slowly, getting used to his shape. His skin was soft, the weight of him heavy on my tongue. I sucked him deeper, using my hand for the rest, twisting gently at the base. His moans were quiet, controlled, like everything he did.

"You're really good at that," he murmured, voice thick with pleasure.

I kept going until I felt him twitch, and then he pulled me up, gently but firmly.

"Come here."

He kissed me again, tasting himself on my lips, then took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. The space was dim, warm--soft lighting, deep navy sheets on a king-sized bed.

He pushed me down onto the mattress and started undressing me--slowly, like he was savoring it. Shirt, jeans, briefs. Kisses in between. Soft on my chest. Lingering on my stomach. He slid down between my thighs and took me into his mouth with the kind of control that made my hips lift off the bed.

He didn't rush. Just enjoyed me.

I moaned, fingers in his hair, my body already close--but before I could come, he stopped.

He moved back up and kissed me again, breath warm, cock still hard between us.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asked.

I hesitated.

I wanted to. God, did I want to. But I didn't feel like I was enough. My cock felt small compared to his. I didn't know if I could give him what he gave me. But he looked at me like I could.

So I nodded.

Leo smiled and turned around, getting on his knees on the bed.

His ass was perfect--round, peachy, completely hairless. My breath caught.

I leaned in and spread him open, licking slowly at first, tasting clean skin, the faintest trace of his body wash. He moaned immediately, pushing back toward me.

"Fuck, you taste good," I said.

"You can do that for hours if you want," he said, laughing breathlessly.

I did it longer than I planned to--circling him, tonguing him, gripping his hips like I needed to stay grounded.

Then he reached behind and handed me a condom.

I rolled it on, positioned myself, and slid inside.

He was warm. Tight. Moaning under me with every inch I gave him. I thrust slowly, gripping his waist, trying to breathe, trying not to come too fast.

But something wasn't right.

No matter how good it felt, no matter how much he moaned, something in my chest tightened. It didn't feel like I deserved this. Like he wanted this.

He was probably faking. He had to be. It was too much. I was too little.

I pulled out.

He turned, confused. "You okay?"

"I want you to fuck me," I said, voice cracking.

Leo paused, reading me. Then he nodded once.

"With pleasure."

He kissed me, slower now, gently pushing me onto my back. He reached for another condom, opened the lube, and kissed his way down.

His tongue found me first--licking, teasing, opening me with the kind of patience that made my thighs tremble. His fingers followed. One, then two. I opened easily for him. Needed him.

"You taste amazing," he said, murmuring it like praise.

When I was ready, he rolled the condom on and knelt between my legs. He lifted them gently, one on each shoulder, and positioned himself.

"I'll go slow."

And he did.

The stretch was sharp but not painful. His cock slid in inch by inch, and he kissed me through it, whispered soft nothings--"you're perfect," "just like that," "so tight for me."

Even when he was all the way in, he didn't speed up. Just long, slow thrusts. Deep. Rhythmic. He moved like he was trying to memorize how I felt from the inside.

It drove me crazy.

My cock bobbed between us, untouched, but I was already teetering. His hips kept rolling, smooth and steady, grinding in slow circles that hit something deep and hot every time.

When I got close, he slowed down, kissing me until the edge passed. Then he started again.

We switched to side-laying--his arms wrapped around me, his chest against my back, one hand stroking my thigh while he kept thrusting.

By the time we finally let go, it felt like we'd been moving forever.

My orgasm tore through me--hot, unstoppable, making me cry out as my cock pulsed between us. Leo followed a second later, burying himself deep and groaning into my neck.

We stayed like that for a long moment. Breathing. Shaking. Silent.

Eventually, he pulled out, disposed of the condom, and climbed back into bed. He pulled me close, our bodies flushed and damp, tangled in sheets that smelled like cedar and sweat.

We kissed. Slowly. Tenderly.

No words. We didn't need them.

We'd both felt it.

Whatever it was.