commands the kiss, pinning Avery’s hands to the counter by his wrists. He can feel his struggle, and it makes him want more—need more. Avery parts his legs and curls them around the small of Alejandro’s back and tugs until his midsection is pressing against where he’s hard and throbbing.
“God, please,” Avery begs. “I want…” He trails off in a sharp groan, his eyes squeezed shut and his thighs clenching hard as they press to either side of Alejandro’s ribs.
The need in his voice is everything Alejandro imagined it would be—the desperation in it, the control, the strength, the power. It’s not in his nature to submit, but he knows that Avery could ask him anything in this moment and he’d give it. And it says something—it shocks him to his core—when he realizes he knows Avery won’t ask him for anything that would cross his boundaries. His entire soul feels like it’s rearranging when the thought hits him: I trust this man.
“I know you’ve got a bed in this place. You probably have like six,” Avery murmurs, through a biting kiss against Alejandro’s lips.
“Four,” he corrects absently. He also has two offices, a reading room, and a gym.
He feels more than hears Avery laugh, then he lets Avery have his hands back, and they curl around the back of his neck. “Fine, four, dickhead. So take me to one of them. Preferably a room where you’ve got lube and condoms because I’m not leaving until my ass is wrecked.”
The words literally steal the breath from his lungs, and Avery kisses it all back into him so he doesn’t pass out as he lifts him from the counter and bodily carries him into the guest room. He’d choose his own—Avery deserves the master bedroom with the better bed and the soft sheets, but he doesn’t have lube or condoms. The guest room does. His brother’s used it a couple of times and he’s overheard his housekeeper complaining.
He carefully lowers Avery to the pristine bed before leaning over and pulling the nightstand open. It’s nearly bare—a bottle of ibuprofen, a half-drunk bottle of water that’s been there for god only knows how long, a tube of KY that’s got finger marks in the center, and a box of condom’s that’s open with a single foil package sticking out.
He breathes a sigh of relief, though he knows by this point he’d still get Avery off even if they had to use another method. But he can feel it in the way Avery’s clawing at him with desperate fingers that he more than just wants it. It’s a need at this point. It’s twelve long months of being wanted and denied, and at the very least, he’s going to push into Avery and fill every space he’s left neglected for all this time.
“Alejandro,” Avery murmurs.
He doesn’t actually hear his name a lot from Avery’s mouth, which is a shame. He loves it when he talks. He’s got these full lips that curve around words like they’re all poetry even when he’s reciting the most mundane story he can think of. Alejandro can’t stop himself from crawling up his body, feeling the heat of him through his trousers. His hand pushes at Avery’s t-shirt and exposes his stomach—hairless above his navel, though he’s not sure if it’s on purpose or not.
Every ab is defined because he’s clenching his muscles, and he licks his lips as he watches his squared, blunt nails trace the patterns between them. His skin is soft, and it’s warm. It’s pliant in all the right places, and hard in others. His body moves like water—a grace to him that most people don’t have.
He should look a mess in those sweats, and yet Alejandro thinks he could take a runway as is and break barriers in the fashion world.
“Not that I don’t want you to touch me,” Avery says after a beat, and the words are almost startling because it’s been quiet for so long, “but are we actually going to do this?”
“Do this?” he asks. He rarely hears his own accent unless he’s with Avery, and it’s strange that he likes the way they sound together.
Avery laughs. “Seriously? Do you want me to elaborate?”
“I wouldn’t hate it,” he murmurs, and this time Avery mouths a litany of curses before he pushes up on to his elbows and his eyes—nearly all pupil—lock onto his.
“Are you going to suck on my nipples?” he begins, and Alejandro feels like he’s been punched in