Page 180 of Raspados & Regret

His eyes hold mine. “Don’t rush that part.”

My breathing shakes; he’s right.

I kiss him, a little softer and a lot less crazed. “Sorry, nene. I know.”

His expression softens too, then he opens his legs wider around my waist and says, “But don’t take all night either.”

I laugh against his mouth.

“Fucking brat.”

I work him open against the door, one hand under his thigh, the other between us, his breath hot against my cheek. It is not as slow as the bed would be. Not as controlled. But he talks me through it like he always does, even when his voice breaks.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“More.” He pants as his head hits the door. “Right there.”

“Fuck, Fabián, I need you.”

And when I get myself lined up, he is shaking.

So am I.

He grabs my face with both hands. “Look at me.”

Elías’s eyes are dark and wet and mine. “Give me all of you, cariño,” he whispers.

I press in, and the first inch steals the room. His body opens around me, hot and tight, and my grip on his thigh almost slips because every time still feels like the first time and all the times after it. The barbell drags, catches, and pulls a sensation through me so sharp I have to bury a groan against his mouth.

Elías’s head drops back against the door. “Fuck.”

“You okay?”

“Yes.” His nails dig into my neck. “More. Papi, more.”

I give him more, and it’s slow enough not to hurt him. Fast enough to feel like losing. When I finally sink all the way in, both of us go still. The door presses against his back. His legs are locked around my waist. My pants are shoved halfway down my thighs. His shorts and briefs are still around one ankle, bright yellow and ridiculous.

I have him suspended against our front door, and I am so hard, so full of him, so in love I can barely breathe.

He touches my face. “Fabián.”

“I love you,” I say.

His lips part.

I don’t mean to keep going.

I really don’t, but something about being inside him here, at our door, with the whole night still on our skin and that conversation at the booth still burning in my chest, cracks me open.

“I love you,” I say again, rougher. “Fuck, I love you.”

His face softens.

Then I move deeper, and his softness shatters. The first thrust knocks a sound out of him that makes my knees almost buckle. I pin him harder to the door and fuck him there, short and deep and desperate, because I can’t wait. I can’t make it to the bed. I can’t pretend I haven’t spent an entire year learning that every time I get him alone, I still want him like I’ve never had him before.

He clings to me and takes me. Whispers my name against my mouth like a prayer. All while the door rattles. My belt buckle hits my thigh with each thrust of my hips.

The keys are somewhere on the floor, and leftovers are definitely getting cold.