The Beginning of Something Hot
I tried to focus on work.
I really did. But my screen glowed in front of me, emails barely registered, and nothing not a single thing sunk in. Words blurred, the cursor blinked mockingly. I was supposed to be checking through a set of site access permissions for a new client, but all I could think about was Brett.
The way he smiled when he bit into toast this morning. That hilarious tuft of hair that stuck up after the shower. The sound he made when I kissed the side of his neck and whispered nothing in particular.
I told myself I wasn’t checking my phone again.
But of course I did.
There was nothing for a moment. Just the reflection of my own idiot face in the black screen. I tossed the phone face-down again, the same way I had done twelve times in the last hour. And then it vibrated. It wasn’t an email buzz, or a banking notification. It was that buzz you feel in your chest.
On my way if you still want me.
My heart did something it hadn’t since Jenny… but I didn’t want to think about her now. It tried to race and drop at the same time.
I read it once, then again, like it might change if I blinked. Naturally, I didn’t answer immediately. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I wanted him to know I’d been waiting. I wanted the pause to imply that maybe I had other options. As if I wasn’t already semi-hard from just reading his name on my lock screen.
Then I typed:
Door’s unlocked. Get ready.
The moment I hit send, I realized I should’ve cleaned more. Or less because now my place looked like I was trying too hard, like I’d staged it for a Pinterest photo shoot instead of just a single guy living alone. I’d even lit a candle on my bedside table, which felt absurd now that I pictured him noticing it. I could already hear his voice teasing me.
“What is this, a date?”
Maybe it was. Maybe that was what scared me most. I’d had plenty of sex in my life. Fast, rough, casual, but honestly? Most of it was detached. But this boy? This Brett? He wasn’t a fling. He was a kink in the timeline. A beautiful mistake I wanted to repeat again and again until I forgot how to live without it.
I opened the fridge and closed it again without taking anything out.
I checked my teeth in the mirror. Sprayed deodorant even though I hadn’t broken a sweat. Debated changing my shirt, then decided I looked casual enough. I didn’t want to look too prepared. He needed to believe this was spontaneous and that I wasn’t sitting in my house vibrating like a wind-up toy just waiting for the moment his knock hit the door.
Except it didn’t.
There was no knock. No doorbell.
The front door creaked open, and I heard his voice float down the hall as if it belonged here.
“Smells good in here.”
I turned just in time to see him walk in. Still in those skinny jeans that did sinful things to his legs, a hoodie slung over his shoulder like he’d just casually thrown himself together for a grocery run, not a return visit to the guy who’d spent the previous night buried balls-deep inside him.
He dropped the hoodie on the couch and walked right up to me.
“Hey,” he said, and his eyes did that thing again. That thing where they didn’t just look at me, but bore into me.
Something flipped inside me, similar to that moment before a storm. Where the pressure in your chest builds when you know the sky’s about to open up.
This wasn’t just hot.
This was the beginning of something hot.
I went right in for the kiss, not overthinking this for the first time. The way he walked in, so confident, like he belonged.
Brett threw his arms around me and the kiss wasn’t just a peck, it was immediately passionate and familiar.
He essentially walked in, wasted no time in any preamble or pretense at civility and continued where we’d left off.
In seconds, we were gyrating, standing fully clothed in my living area, our bulges dancing with each other while our chests and arms made sure there would be no gaps between us.
He pulled my polo top off, so I returned the favor. But before I could do anything else, he dropped to a squat and unzipped my shorts and pulled my dick out through the zipper while looking up at me.
Brett licked it, seductively and slowly, before putting the head in his mouth.
“Mmmmhhh,” he said with his mouth full, eyes never leaving mine, as if he was taking mental notes on my every twitch, breath and every sound.
The heat of his mouth wasn’t just in the way it felt, it was in the way he used it. Slow, steady, like he was tasting me properly for the first time. He wasn’t showing off, or trying to impress. Just... learning. Like he wanted to learn me with his mouth. As though he wanted to understand it with his tongue. I reached down and tangled my fingers in his hair, not to guide him, but because I wanted to touch him, feel something real while his lips moved farther down my shaft, making me lose every fucking thought I had.
His tongue flicked over the underside, then pressed and curled as he took me farther, his lips gliding down in one smooth motion that left me dizzy. I watched his cheeks hollow slightly with suction, felt the twitch in my thighs that warned me how close I already was, and had to close my eyes for a second to get back some control.
When he pulled back, he did it slowly and gently, letting me slip from his mouth until only the head remained on his lips. He kissed it, like a tease, and then stood up again in one long, fluid motion, his body moved against mine from knees to chest as he rose. I kissed him without a word, tasting myself on his tongue, and felt something carnal snap inside me.
I didn’t care if we made it to the bedroom or not. I didn’t care about work, emails, or whatever deadlines were blinking away on my laptop screen. I just wanted to feel him again. Not just inside, but everywhere. That pressure of skin on skin, that stupid way his smile made my stomach tighten, that softness in his eyes that was more dangerous than anything else he’d done to me.
He pulled me backward with him, collapsing onto the couch without ever letting his mouth leave mine. We didn’t even bother stripping all the way at first, too tangled up in the momentum. His jeans came off fast, then mine followed. Skin against skin, nothing between us now but heat and desire. We were both naked, our cocks brushing with every breath, our thighs pressing together, our bodies shifting and sliding as the kiss continued in its intensity.
He climbed onto my lap, arms wrapping around my shoulders, and began to grind against me in slow, measured movements that felt far too intimate for something so raw. I could feel the heat of him, the pulse in his cock that matched mine, the slick tension growing between us. And then, just as I thought we were fully lost in it, he opened his mouth and started talking.
“I had a quiz this morning,” he said, adjusting his position so our cocks lined up again, then rubbing harder.
It took me a second to register the words. “What?”
He kept grinding, kept kissing my neck between sentences. “AI systems. Professor’s a dick. Made half the questions trick ones just to feel powerful.”
I blinked at him, still stroking his sides, unsure whether to laugh or just groan louder. “You’re seriously talking about school right now?”
He nodded, pushing his cock against mine with just enough pressure to make me shiver. “It’s College. And I’m multitasking.”
I shook my head, kissed his jaw, and muttered, “You’re a menace.”
“Just trying to keep things interesting,” he said, nipping at my ear while his hips rolled with perfect, infuriating precision. His cock was wet and hard, gyrating easily along mine, the friction perfectly unbearable, every movement a stroke against that edge we were both dancing on.
Our legs tangled further. His toes curled under mine, warm and twitching. His chest pressed against me, our stomachs slick with sweat and precum, our mouths finding each other again with a hunger that didn’t feel as though it would ever be satisfied. Every time I tried to lose myself in the rhythm, he said something else, like he was determined to keep me grounded. Little creepy, but cute.
“Do you always kiss like this?” he asked, breathless now, between strokes of his tongue across my bottom lip.
“Like what?” I managed, fingers digging into the curve of his ass.
“Like you mean it,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my mouth before he kissed me again. This time it was slower, deeper, a kiss that settled into the space between us as if it had been waiting to happen.
We ground together for what felt like hours, cocks pressed between our stomachs, hands roaming, hearts thudding in unison. It was too good and perfectly slow. I wanted to stay inside that moment and never come out. His skin was soft and flushed, his breathing uneven, and his eyes kept flicking to mine like he was memorising me.
“You left a candle burning,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice teasing and low.
I turned my head slightly, confused. “What?”
“In the bedroom. On the bedside table. You lit a candle, you sentimental fuck.”
I groaned. “Shit. I forgot.”
He grinned and kissed the corner of my mouth. “You’re cute. Little creepy. But cute.”
Then he shifted his weight, reached down between us, and lined me up. My cock pressed against his hole and slid in slowly, the kind of slow that felt like a dare. Inch by inch, he took me, and we both moaned—quiet, instinctive, like our bodies had already agreed to this. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was just inside him, and that was enough. He clenched around me and I felt it rise, fast and sharp, the kind of orgasm that doesn't ask permission. He looked down at me, wild-eyed, and said, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come.”
I barely got the words out. “Fuck. Me too.”
And then we did. I came inside him while he shot across my chest, his cum hitting my neck, my shoulder, my cheek. I watched some of it fly past me and land somewhere behind the couch. That would be a problem for later.
He collapsed on top of me, still catching his breath, his lips brushing my neck while I wrapped my arms around him and let everything else fade.
We didn’t move for a while. Just lay there, our limbs wrapped around each other, our cocks slowly softening between kisses and little whispered nothings. His foot slid up my leg again and stroked my calf like we’d done this a thousand times.
I kissed his temple and closed my eyes, wondering when exactly I’d let someone get this close.
Because it didn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt like the beginning of something hot.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Substack.
