When It Became Real 

I set my phone down on the counter and went back to what I was doing. I hadn’t texted Garrett all week. That had been deliberate. Long enough for last weekend to stop feeling like an accident. Long enough for him to decide what story he was going to tell himself about it.

And I wasn’t done seeing where this might go.

Amare: Still thinking about last weekend.

I wasn’t trying to start a conversation. I just wanted to put myself back in his thoughts and see what he did with it. 

The phone buzzed.

Garrett: It was… a lot. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m trying to put it behind me.

I smirked to myself.

Game on.

I’d already been to the gym, already showered. The workout had been intense, left me full and tight through my chest and arms. I liked the way I looked after training. It was when everything I’d built showed the way it was supposed to.

Then I read his message again.

I could still remember the way Garrett’s mouth had felt. Warm. Careful at first. Then more certain, once he stopped thinking and just leaned into it.

I found myself wanting that again.

I typed back.

Amare: How long did it take you to forget the taste of me?

This time the silence stretched.

I pictured him reading it, stopping halfway through a breath. Then my mind went back to the meadow. The way his mouth had gone still for a second before he leaned in. The way his hands had hesitated at my thighs, then grabbed on hard, fingers digging in.

The reply finally came.

Garrett: That’s not fair.

I let out a quiet breath through my nose.

I leaned my hip into the counter and typed.

Amare: You didn’t look like someone making a mistake.

That one landed faster.

Garret: Everyone was drinking. There was even a full moon!

I shook my head once, already done with that line of reasoning.

Jeff flickered briefly through my mind. On the surface, he carried himself like someone used to being respected. But the moment that confidence was pressed, his pride got in the way. He’d bristled over the speakers. He’d got defensive instead of recognizing what was happening. And when I took his hand and pinned it to the table without effort, he just went still.

The arm wrestling hadn’t been about strength. It had been about hierarchy, and Jeff’s inability to read it. His ego kept him focussed on saving face instead of noticing the effect I was having on Garrett. Jeff had walked away thinking he could preserve his dignity. Less than thirty minutes later, Garrett was with me, in the meadow.

Garrett hadn’t crossed a line because something between them was broken. He’d crossed it because something in him was already restless. Jeff wasn’t a rival. He was an entanglement Garrett had outgrown and didn’t yet know how to step out of.

I could give him what he’d been reaching for. 

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Garrett: It didn’t mean anything.

I stared at the words for a moment, then shook my head.

Guys don’t end up where Garrett had been without meaning it. You don’t sink to your knees for something meaningless. You don’t open your mouth like that, careful and reverent, unless you’d already crossed the line internally.

I wasn’t interested in men who folded out of weakness. That wasn’t what had happened.

With Garrett, last weekend, it felt like hunger.

He’d hesitated, yes. I’d seen it. The flicker in his eyes, the calculation. But once he decided, he didn’t act like someone confused. He moved like someone who wanted to let go. That’s when his hands had settled on me.  

And when he’d looked up at me, it wasn’t panic. It wasn’t shame.

It was desire.

That was what stayed with me. 

Whatever came next wasn’t written yet. But nothing about that had been an accident. And pretending it had been would only make this harder for him.

I typed.

Amare: I want to see you again.

Another pause.

When he finally responded, it felt heavier.

Garrett: I’m not looking to mess up my life, 

I remembered how his breath had hitched when I’d tightened my hand in his hair. How quickly he’d relaxed once he’d realized how right it felt, his body angled toward mine, his attention had narrowed to exactly where I wanted it.

Amare: Neither am I. You need to trust me.

Sarah had mentioned earlier that her cousin Jeff, Garrett’s boyfriend, was meeting an old friend from school. She’d said it casually.

That was when it settled.

I glanced down at myself — loose shorts, tank clinging lightly to my chest. I knew what the sight of me had done to him before.

Jeff was busy this aft. And Garrett, for all the guilt sitting on him, hadn’t blocked me.

He was still answering.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

Time to stop letting him hide from the choice he’d already started making.

~~~~~

Garrett’s PoV

The doorbell rang while I was at the kitchen counter, halfway through rinsing a glass.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. Jeff was busy with a friend from school. Our friends didn’t normally drop by unannounced. I set the glass in the rack, wiped my hands on the towel, and headed for the front door.

I opened it and froze.

Amare stood there in shorts and a tank, framed by the afternoon sun, too at ease for someone who had no business standing on my front step. The fabric clung lightly to his chest, doing nothing to hide how much space he took up in the doorway. It was unfair how good he looked, like he’d just stepped out of a fitness ad to arrive at my home.

For a second, I didn’t know where to look. My eyes jumped from his face to his chest and back again. My chest felt tight. Too warm. There was a familiar, unwelcome twist low in my gut, followed quickly by guilt, like I’d already done something wrong just by standing there.

“Hey,” he said. Confident. Already comfortable taking up the space my reaction gave him.

“W-what are you doing here?” I asked.

He smiled, small and knowing, like he could already hear everything I wasn’t saying.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he said. “Thought I’d stop by.”

That should have been the end of it. That should have been where I said no.

Instead, I stepped back.

“Come in,” I heard myself say.

Amare stepped inside without hesitation. 

I turned toward the living room, aware of him behind me. Every step I took, I could feel him there. Unhurried. Close enough that when we stopped, the warmth coming off him settled into my back, into my shoulders, into places that had already betrayed me once before.

I turned to face him.

He rolled his shoulders once, then folded his arms. The movement pulled the fabric tight across his chest and arms, muscle shifting under it like it took no effort at all. He knew exactly what he looked like.

My guilt surged again. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” I said.

I meant it. Or I wanted to mean it. Saying it out loud felt like trying to slow things down before they went too far.

Amare didn’t step back. He didn’t argue either.

He just held my gaze, waiting to see whether I’d own what I’d already started.

“And yet, you invited me in,” he said, not smug so much as sure.

He shifted his weight and stepped a little closer. His thigh brushed mine. It was deliberate. There was no pretending otherwise.

I sucked in a breath.

Amare gave me a knowing grin. “That reaction,” he said quietly, “matters more than whatever you’re about to say.”

“We s-shouldn’t be doing this,” I said, the words coming out too fast. “Jeff—”

“I’m not here to talk about Jeff,” he said.

Not harsh. But dismissive, and completely unapologetic.

My chest tightened.

“At the lodge,” he went on, calm and direct, “that was  more than flirting and a hook-up.”

My face burned.

“You watched me take your boyfriend apart without saying a word,” he said. “Then you came with me to the meadow. You were on your knees. I came in your mouth. We both wanted it.”

The room felt suddenly smaller.

“That doesn’t mean… Amare, I can’t just…” I said quickly.

He nodded once. “I know.”

His agreement unsettled me more than an argument would have.

“I’ve been with Jeff for two years,” I said. “That has to count for something.”

“It does,” Amare said. “I’m not pretending it doesn’t.”

Which meant he wasn’t giving me anything to hide behind.

“But it also doesn’t undo what you chose,” he added. “You went back to Jeff with the taste of me in your mouth. Don’t tell me you just filed it away.”

I looked at him, then away.

“You can stay with Jeff,” he said calmly. “But don’t pretend that, in that meadow, you didn’t choose me. You weren’t dragged there. You wanted it. You wanted me.”

I wanted to argue with that. To make him take it back. 

Instead, my body betrayed me again when his fingers brushed my forearm, light and brief.

I sucked in a breath, trying to steady myself, hating that he could see it working.

“Does Jeff make you feel like this?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t. Not without lying.

His hand slid higher, stopping at my upper arm, just beneath the sleeve. His thumb pressed gently, just enough to make my arm tense on its own.

A slow, approving look crossed his face.

“You’re really hot,” he said, low enough that it felt intimate. “You know that?”

My skin went hypersensitive, every nerve lighting up at once. My face burned, and there was no hiding it. 

He stepped closer.

Close enough that his chest nearly touched my chin. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. His hand lifted, sliding up to my collarbone, his thumb settling there, pressing lightly, right over my chest.

He held my eyes.

“Your eyes change when you’re like this,” he said. “They give you away.”

Then he asked, softer, “Has anyone ever done this to you?”

His gaze dipped. .

Not to my face.

When he came back up, there was a flicker of satisfaction there, subtle but unmistakable. He’d seen the way my pants were tenting.

“Just by walking into the room,” he added.

The warmth in my chest spiked, guilt and lust twisting together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“Amare—”

“Look at you,” he cut in, just as quietly, his thumb dragging once along my collarbone once more. “You’re already telling me everything.”

My throat tightened. I could feel it happening, everything he was pointing at, everything I was trying to hold in place slipping just enough for him to see.

“I don’t know how to explain that,” I said.

He leaned in slightly, close enough now that I had to focus to keep my breathing steady.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I can see it.”

His finger traced my collarbone once more, slower this time, before going still.

“I want you, Garrett.”

~~~~~

Then Amare didn’t say anything.

He rolled his shoulders once, slow, then lifted his arms just enough to loosen them. The tank rode up an inch, exposing the sharp line of muscle at his waist before dropping back into place.

The tank was white. Against his chocolate skin it looked deliberate, like it was there to show off everything. His shoulders looked even wider for it. His chest looked heavier. The chain was draped over his traps and pecs, the pendant resting right where my eyes kept landing whether I meant them to or not.

I caught myself staring.

He reached back and laced his fingers behind his head, stretching this time without hurry, biceps flexing, chest expanding. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

When I finally dragged my eyes back up, my heart was pounding.

Amare was watching me, like my attention wasn’t something I’d given away, but something he’d already taken.

“Why don’t you grab us a drink,” he said easily. “Then we’ll head outside to sit by the pool.” 

I hesitated for a moment then nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

Outside, the sky was clear and the sun was warm. The yard was quiet, the water in the pool was smooth as glass, light skating across the surface. I set the drinks down on the table and leaned back against one of the loungers, trying to steady myself, to find my footing again.

“I’m not a cheater,” I said. The words came out rougher than I intended. “That’s not who I am.”

Amare took a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass.

“Being loyal doesn’t mean much,” he said calmly, “if you’ve never been tested.”

“That’s not fair,” I shot back.

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” he replied. “You’ve never wanted someone more than what you already had.” His gaze stayed on me. “Until now.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know that.”

He set his glass down and turned fully toward me, his body open, relaxed. Every shift of his weight made the muscles in his arms tense and release, veins rising clean and visible under his skin. My eyes dropped again, helpless.

“So, Sarah mentioned that you’re not living with Jeff,” he said. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I snapped. 

“It usually does,” Amare said, like he was stating a fact. “Two years in, people know by then.”

“He’s a good guy,” I said quickly, like that settled it.

“I’m sure he is,” Amare replied. “That doesn’t make him right for you.”

I laughed, short and strained. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not deciding,” he said. “I’m noticing.”

My throat tightened.

“You keep trying to make this about doing the right thing. About being safe,” he continued, his voice steady. His gaze dipped briefly, then lifted again, pinning me. “Deep down, you know you deserve more than that.” 

He stepped closer, and lifted a hand to his chest, his fingers finding the chain. I watched as he slowly traced a line, following the chain across the hard surface of his smooth pecs, the pendant shifting slightly under his touch. Something in me sagged at the realization that he knew exactly how to hold my attention, and that I was letting him.

Then his hand dropped, adjusting himself casually in his shorts, shameless, like it was nothing more than getting comfortable.

“You’re drawn to men who are sure of themselves,” he said, without hesitation. “Men who can say what they want and back it up.”

His words hit close. My breath caught before I could stop it, and I felt that hot, exposed rush of being seen in a way I hadn’t agreed to. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. To say something that would make him stop looking at me like that. 

As if to punctuate what he’d just said, Amare reached for the hem of his tank.

“You feel like swimming?” he asked casually.

Before I could answer, he pulled the tank up and over his head.

My eyes went wide. Actually wide.

I’d seen him like this before, in the meadow, in the shadows, with darkness softening things, giving me places to look away. This wasn’t like that. In full daylight, my attention had nowhere to go but straight to him. His chest was thick and chiseled, his abs sharply defined, veins standing out along his arms and across his shoulders. 

I stared.

Amare didn’t hurry me. He just let the moment stretch until my breathing went shallow and uneven.

Then he smiled faintly.

“I’ve already dressed for swimming,” he said easily, like he’d already heard the question forming in my head. 

He reached for his drink again, completely at ease, already turning toward the pool as if this were settled.

“You should grab your trunks,” he added over his shoulder. “And meet me back here.”

It wasn’t really framed as a suggestion. 

I watched him move, watched the muscles in his back shift under his skin as he stepped toward the water, sunlight catching every line. My heart was pounding hard enough that it felt like he could hear it.

Inside the house, I stood there trying to get myself back under control, already imagining the contrast — his body, thick and solid, built to take up space, against mine. Already feeling that familiar tightening low in my gut, the nerves, the awareness.

And, underneath it, the part I didn’t want to look at too closely — how much I liked it.

Then I turned and headed down the hall to change.

~~~~~

When I stepped back outside, I felt exposed.

The bare skin of my shoulders. The way the air moved across my chest. The fact that I was no longer covered, standing out in the open with nothing to hide behind. It sharpened my awareness in a way I hadn’t expected. A quiet, physical self-consciousness. 

Coming back out to Amare felt like a choice, whether I’d meant it to or not.

Then he stood up.

He was pushing himself up from the edge of the pool. Shirtless, just shorts, water running down his calves as he came to his feet. His legs caught my attention immediately — thick and powerful, veins tracing across his quads as he shifted his weight. Muscle tightened, then released. 

It was precise. And devastating.

His strength looked effortless. 

The muscles in his legs hit harder than anything else I’d noticed about him before.

Nothing about Jeff looked like that. The thought slipped in before I could stop it, unfair and immediate. 

Amare straightened fully. My gaze followed the movement up. My hand came up without thinking, fingers brushing along my forearm. A reflex. I felt the contrast immediately — the narrower span, the way my grip didn’t meet the same resistance. I dropped my hand quickly, heat rising in my chest.

He stepped closer.

The contrast between us felt suddenly real. Not just his size, but the pull of it — my body leaning in even as I felt myself giving ground. My breathing shifted. My shoulders tightened.

Amare watched it happen. The shift in my breathing. The tension creeping into my shoulders.

His hands went to the waistband of his shorts. He didn’t look away as he undid them, easing the fabric down his hips and stepping out of them, letting them drop where they landed.

Underneath, he wore a white speedo, cut low and snug, unapologetic in its effect. The fabric clung to him without mercy, outlining him cleanly. He didn’t adjust. Just stood there, looking brutally masculine.

My gaze had dropped before I could stop it. Heat crept up my neck, into my face. I was suddenly very aware of myself — of where I was standing, of how vulnerable I felt. 

Amare noticed the way my attention kept slipping. The way my eyes didn’t quite know where to settle. 

Then he grinned, clearly enjoying this. “You’ve gone quiet again.” 

“I’m just—” I started, then stopped. My thoughts felt scattered, like they couldn’t line up fast enough with what I was feeling.

He glanced down at himself briefly, then back at me, amused. “Are you going to be ok?”

Heat rushed up my neck. I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.

“T-that suit… it’s making a statement,” I said, the words coming out before I could soften them.

Amare’s smile widened, slow and satisfied. “Yeah,” he said easily. “That was kind of the point.”

My attention slipped again despite myself. 

He tipped his head, eyes flicking briefly to my face, taking in the way I was standing there. “I’d say it’s working.”

I took a step closer, then another, taking in all of him. The pool water lapped against the tiled edge below us, the sound suddenly loud in the quiet.

Amare’s mouth curved. “You gonna keep staring,” he asked, “or are you getting in?”

I opened my mouth, already reaching for something flippant, but nothing landed in time.

He hooked an arm around my waist.

“Hey—”

Too late.

He lifted me clean off the ground, like my weight barely registered. A startled laugh tore out of me as my feet left the deck, and then he tossed me into the pool in one smooth motion.

I hit the water with a splash, coming up laughing and sputtering, hair plastered to my forehead.

“Jesus—” I laughed. “That’s not fair!”

Amare didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stretched, his body tightening and releasing with practiced ease — and then he dove cleanly into the water after me.

I barely had time to register it before he surfaced a few feet away. Water streamed off his shoulders as his eyes already locked on mine. There was something different in his expression now — amused, yes, but sharpened. focussed. Like the play had shifted and he was curious to see how far I’d run with it.

Something told me to turn and swim. 

I didn’t make it far.

The water churned behind me and his hand closed around my ankle. His other arm slid around my waist, firm and unyielding, effortlessly stopping me cold.

“Not fast enough,” he said calmly.

Before I could respond, he pulled me under.

I felt immediately how his body engaged, muscles tightening and hardening as he drew me down with him. The power in him held me there just a second longer than necessary before letting me rise again. 

When we came back up, I was laughing, breathless, water streaming down my face, my heart hammering harder now for reasons that had nothing to do with swimming.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said.

He grinned at me, openly pleased with himself, and stayed right there — close enough that I could feel the current of his movement around me. 

I tried again, kicking off to the side, determination flaring.

He caught me even faster this time.

This time, he scooped me up under the thighs and lifted me straight out of the water, arms locked, holding me aloft like it was nothing. Water poured off my body as I giggled helplessly.

“Put me down,” I said, still laughing.

“Say please.”

“Please.”

He didn’t put me down.

He held me there for another few seconds instead, arms steady, letting the moment stretch while I laughed and tried to catch my breath. Long enough for me to feel how little effort it took. 

Then he lowered me slowly, unhurried, until the water closed around my hips again. His grip shifted as my feet found the pool floor, one hand sliding up my back, the other settling at my side. Before I could step away, he pulled me in.

My face ended up pressed into the solid wall of his chest, slick skin sliding against slick skin, his heat unmistakable even through the water. My laughter faded, replaced by a sharp breath as my body caught up to what he’d just done.

I could feel everything.

The breadth of his shoulders. The density of his muscles. The way his arms locked firmly around me. And lower — unmistakable now — the thick, hard press of him through his speedo, firm against my stomach.

His grip shifted, tightening just enough.

“Garrett,” he murmured.

Then he turned us slowly, deliberately, until my back was to him. I felt his cock pressed hard against my ass, no room to pretend otherwise.

I moaned, low and unguarded.

His mouth brushed my ear, breath warm against my skin.

“I want you,” he said quietly.

In the way his erection was already making clear.

My knees felt weak. My hands came up to brace against his forearms, my body arching back into him without thought.

“Amare—”

His grip tightened once, just enough to remind me of the difference between us. 

“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of the water.”

He led me toward the steps.

~~~~~

We’d barely cleared the pool steps when Amare’s arm slid back around me, his body still wet from the water. He moved slowly, confidently, holding me there while the afternoon sun and his heat warmed my skin.

I could feel him pressed close behind me — the solid mass of his chest, the weight of his hardon unmistakable even through the thin barrier of his suit, pressing into the small of my back. I shuddered, heat racing through me, breath uneven, my body buzzing from it.

His hand slid down my side, slow and deliberate, and settled at my hip.

I squirmed slightly, a sharp pang of guilt flashing through me.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said softly, like he didn’t expect to hear it.

Then, he stepped back and I heard his speedo slide down his legs.  I turned to watch.  He held my gaze as he pushed them down his hips and stepped out of them, unhurried.

My breath caught hard.

Thick and heavy, hanging full against his thigh, already half-hard and growing. My breath caught, my chest tightening as my body reacted before I could get a handle on it.

He watched my reaction closely, eyes steady, assessing. Then he stepped closer to me, his hand landing on my hips. 

“Yeah,” he said, watching me. “Are we going to have some fun now?” 

I swallowed. Nodded.

His thumbs slid under my waistband, the feel of him close as he started to undress me. Amare slipped my trunks down, guiding them off my legs, exposing me to the open air, to him. My cock was fully hard, flushed and leaking. 

He grinned and motioned to the double lounger behind him. “Lie down.” 

The fabric was warm from the sun. I stretched out on my back, heart pounding, half expecting him to climb over me, to take over.

Instead, he lay down beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. Then he shifted, one arm sliding under my neck, pulling me gently toward him until my head settled on his chest.

The intimacy of his gesture surprised me. Resting there, I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath my cheek.

Without really thinking it through, my hand came up and started tracing the ridges of his abs, the deep grooves between the bricks of muscle. His body reacted beneath my touch, tightening, then easing again, his breath shifting in response.

My gaze moved lower, my hand following, sliding down over his stomach until my fingers wrapped around him. He was hard in my hand, heavy and warm, and the slow, deliberate strokes I gave him drew a low murmur from his chest.

I didn’t hesitate after that. I leaned down and took him into my mouth, the familiar weight of him settling against my tongue as I moved lower. He surged in response, hips lifting, a sharp breath leaving him as he pressed deeper, filling my mouth, and brushing the back of my throat.

He groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through my chest as one hand threaded into my wet hair. I took him steadily into my mouth. his breathing roughening, his grip tightening in my hair. I could alread taste him on my tongue. 

After a few moments, he tugged gently at my shoulder.  “Come up here,” he said.

Amare guided me, rolling me over him until I was straddling his hips, his cock pressed hot and insistent against me. His hands slid to my thighs, firm, steady.

 “Your move,” he said simply. “You set the pace…”

He was letting me settle into the reality of what was coming next.

He lifted his hips slightly, positioning his cock between my cheeks, right on me. 

Our eyes locked.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. I held his gaze and saw exactly what he wanted me to see there. He didn’t move, just held there, steady beneath me, his hands still on my thighs, and in that stillness, everything sharpened. The hesitation… and the pull beneath it.

I wanted him.

The realization didn’t sweep me away. It steadied me.

I started to lower myself onto him, inch by inch. My breath came fast and shallow, a soft gasp slipping out of me as I felt the stretch, my eyelids fluttering despite myself. My hands braced on his chest, fingers clutching his warm muscles as my body adjusted, resisting for a beat, then easing, opening to the fullness of him. The sensation was intense, almost too much, pulling everything else out of focus. 

Amare held me there, his eyes never leaving mine as the stretch eased and the sensation spread through me, deep and consuming. I let myself settle fully into the pull I’d been leaning toward all along.

A slow smile curved his mouth, unguarded and unmistakably pleased, like he’d been waiting to feel exactly this. “So fucking tight,” he murmured, low and approving, his hands firm on my hips. “You feel so good.”

The way he said it made it clear what I was doing to him. Pride flared low in my chest, sharp and immediate, my breath breaking into a moan.

Once my body relaxed fully around him, he started fucking me. Slow at first. Deliberate. Testing what we’d found together. Each thrust lifted me, then set me back down again, powerful and deliberate, knocking the breath out of me. I gasped, small sounds slipping out before I could catch them, my body reacting faster than I could keep up with.  

That was when the real world crept back in.

The open air. The pool just behind us. The quiet houses beyond the fence. A flicker of awareness sparked at the edge of my mind.  This was too loud, too exposed, too obvious in what we were doing. Instinct kicked in. I leaned forward on my knees, lifting a few inches, easing the depth without losing him. The shift was deliberate. Just enough to take the edge off.

Amare felt it.

His eyes darkened, locked on mine, and this time the smile that curved his mouth was knowing. “Stay with me,” he said quietly.

His hand settled against my chest and he pushed me back down, slow and steady, until I took him fully again. The contact hit all at once, sharp enough to blur my vision. My hands tightened against him as a breath tore from my lungs.

“Oh, fuck… Amare,” I gasped.

He held me there, not letting me pull back, not letting me rush it either. Every small movement controlled, keeping me right where it overwhelmed.

His gaze didn’t waver. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and certain. “You feel so good.” 

His hand remained at my chest, steady, not giving me room to lift again.

He knew what he wanted. And what I needed. He wasn’t letting me pull away, not letting me slip back into a world outside of him. He held me there until my focus settled back where he wanted it — on what he was doing to me.

He grinned as he continued to guide me back, until my balance shifted and my hands reached back instinctively for something solid.

I found his legs.

My hands stayed there. The sheer mass of his quads filled my palms, hard and warm, muscle packed so densely it felt sculpted. When he shifted beneath me, even slightly, the shape changed under my fingers — lines tightening, then easing again — the skin stretching smooth over power that felt effortless.

I traced without thinking, thumbs pressing in, fingers curling, absorbing the density and heat of him. Then, almost casually, he flexed.

The muscle under my hands hardened instantly, swelling against my grip before easing again — controlled, deliberate. My erection bobbed between us. And at the same time, I could feel him throbbing inside me. My breath caught, sharp and involuntary.  

I didn’t move. Didn’t even realize I’d stopped.

My breathing slowed, my focus narrowed to what I was holding, the way his legs responded to touch with quiet, unyielding strength.

When I looked up, Amare was watching me, his gaze steady and openly amused. A smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Guess you’re a leg guy, huh?”

Heat rushed to my face, my hands suddenly very aware of where they were — and how unwilling they were to let go.

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He shifted beneath me again, slower this time, deliberately tightening his quads just long enough for me to feel it fully before letting them relax. The contrast sent a jolt straight through me.

My breath broke.

He watched my reaction with quiet interest, then flexed once more, a reminder.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “You’re loving this!”

The sound of my swallowing felt loud in the space between us. I still hadn’t moved my hands. I wasn’t letting go.

Knowing how obvious I was only made it worse — and somehow better at the same time. I could have tried to laugh it off. But the truth was right there in my grip, in the way my body kept leaning into him instead of away.

He was right. I was loving it.

His hand stayed firm at my chest, holding me exactly where I was. I was stretched out over his full length. I was slick now, throbbing and leaking on his abs, my body giving me away completely.

Then Amare’s other hand joined in, settling at my waist. He lifted me again, thrusting deeper this time, his strength driving through me, drawing a low moan from my throat.

He answered it with one of his own, quieter, rough in his throat.

Each movement knocked the air from my lungs. He kept me balanced at the edge, breath breaking, nerves lighting up as the pressure in my balls was building.

I forgot the neighbours. Forgot the risk. Forgot everything except the way he was watching me, tracking every tremor, every gasp, every loss of control, with focussed attention.

My hands clenched harder in his thighs, fingers digging in as the sensation crested. A shudder tore through me, sharp and unstoppable, lighting me up from the inside out. I couldn’t slow it down. He’d found exactly where my body answered and stayed there.

“Yeah,” he murmured again, calm and certain. He locked eyes on me. “Here we go!”

He thrust up once more, powerful and devastating.

“Oh, yes.  Amare, please!!” I gasped.

The sensation hit all at once. My breathing shattered, my body arching and then burst wide open. Light flared behind my eyes, the rush dizzying and complete as I came apart. 

Amare held me steady through it all, hands firm on my hips. His gaze never left mine as I spilled all over him, watching every second as my body gave out in his grip, muscles trembling until I was completely spent.

For a moment, there was nothing but my pulse thudding in my ears and the faint ringing that followed, like I’d been underwater and just surfaced.

I was still breathing hard, trying to steady myself, when his body shifted beneath me. A slow grin spread across Amare’s face as my hands stayed anchored on his legs, feeling the strength there as it gathered, coiled and ready.

His gaze never left mine as he gave me a moment to recover.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said quietly.

His expression tightened, chest lifting as his grip tightened on my hips. Then he thrust up, lifting me with ease, driving into me with a force that stole my breath. He did it again, then again, each motion controlled and powerful, forcing me to fight for balance. I leaned forward, my hands clutching at his chest to keep from rolling off.

I watched it happen — his steady rhythm shifting, turning more urgent, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. 

The sound he made was raw and deep, pulled straight from his chest. His body surged beneath me, powerful and raw, holding me exactly where I was as the release rolled through him. I felt it in the way his muscles locked, in the way his breath left him all at once, in the strength of his grip as he erupted inside me without breaking eye contact.

I moaned softly, feeling proud. Feeling connected.

A long breath followed, heavy and satisfied, his features easing back into that usual calm. He stayed there, solid and warm beneath me, as if nothing about the world had shifted.

After a few minutes, still inside me, he was grinning.

“That was fucking hot.”

Heat rushed to my face. I ducked my head, a breathy laugh slipping out as I nodded, the admission landing in my body before it did anywhere else.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing together, the sun warm on our skin, the world quiet again. Then I collapsed forward, resting my weight on him, my cheek against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around me without a word.

~~~~~

Amare's PoV 

We lay stretched out beside each other, skin still warm, chests rising slow and relaxed, that heavy calm settling in after. I was half turned toward him, one arm behind my head, the easy closeness between us unbroken, our bodies still pressed together.

After a few minutes, I heard a car pull into the driveway.

Garrett sat up immediately, head snapping toward the house.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s gotta be Jeff.”

He swung his legs off the lounger and reached for his shorts, hands already moving as the motor cut off. He bent forward to step into them, moving fast, not quite steady yet, and I watched without thinking — his tight waist, the way his ass tightened and shifted as he pulled the fabric up. Still exactly as distracting as it had been an hour ago.

He yanked the shorts into place, his breath shallow now. When he finally looked at me, there was something tight in his expression.

“Amare,” he said, lowering his voice. “Can you — can you pull something on? Please.”

I watched him scramble and understood it completely. What I saw wasn’t regret. It was something more complicated. I had pushed my way into his world in a way he hadn’t had time to sort out yet. Whatever he felt about what we’d just done, he hadn’t caught up to what it meant for Jeff. Or for himself.

“Yeah, okay,” I said quietly.

I wanted to respect what Garrett was asking, but I also understood the opportunity that was presenting itself. 

So I stood and reached for my speedo.

Jeff was about to step around that corner and take me in all at once. The size of me. The way the speedo sat low on my hips, leaving nothing to the imagination. I’d be right there in front of him, in broad daylight, close enough that he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. 

He’d react before he had time to make sense of it. That quick jolt in the gut. The quick attempt to steady himself, to act like nothing had changed, and the way it wouldn’t quite hold. The flicker of comparison he wouldn’t admit to. Then the gnawing curiosity about what Garrett saw when he looked at me.

When I straightened, Garrett’s eyes snagged on me.

And then Jeff appeared from the path beside the house. He slowed. His gaze moved between Garrett — flushed, half-dressed — and me, standing by the lounger, completely at ease. He took in the scene, and for a second he just stood there, not quite sure how to step into it.

“Well,” he said finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite settle. “You two look… comfortable.”

I answered with a faint smirk and a stroke of my sculpted stomach.

Garrett cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “I invited Amare over for a swim. It was too nice a day not to.”

Jeff nodded, a sharp flicker crossing his face. The reaction came and went quickly, but it was there. Then his attention shifted to me.

His eyes moved, not settling — across my chest, down to the bulge in my speedo, over my legs, taking in the fact that I wasn’t reaching for a towel or making any effort to cover up.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and when he spoke, his voice came out tighter.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” he said. “Walking around like that?”

I grinned.

“Like what, exactly?  Is there a problem?” I asked evenly.

His jaw tightened. “You’re trying too hard,” he said, his hands cutting through the air, tracing my silhouette. “Strutting around like you think everyone’s looking.”

He’d meant it to cut. But Jeff’s unsettled state left his words without bite.

I looked at Garrett first — still quiet, still watching — then back at Jeff. I let the pause sit there just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

“Garrett,” I said, with a grin, “you didn’t tell me there was something wrong with how I’m dressed.”

Garrett flushed immediately.

Jeff’s expression hardened.

I looked back at him, faint smile still there.

“So what’s the problem, then Jeff?” I added. 

Jeff shifted, the irritation setting in harder this time. He knew I was challenging him and hated that he couldn’t push back on it cleanly. 

I reached down to adjust myself, slow and deliberate, staring him down. 

Garrett’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open like he couldn’t believe how far I was pushing it.

Jeff’s jaw clenched. His eyes dropped. Just for a second — but long enough.

He snapped them back up, trying to reset like it hadn’t happened.

It didn’t quite land.

I smiled, just slightly.

“You don’t look too sure of yourself right now, Jeff.”

He glared at me, hesitating, looking for the right thing to say. 

“You think you can just come in here and—”

“And what?” I asked. 

He hesitated. There wasn’t a clean way to call me out without giving himself away.

Garrett stayed quiet beside us. I could feel the tension in him now, the way he’d gone still, watching Jeff like he was bracing for something to break.

Jeff swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t as steady.

“You really think this is funny.”

I shook my head once.

I let my hand drift down the line of my abs, tracing it toward the edge of my speedo.

“No,” I said. “I think you don’t like how this feels — with me standing here like this — and it’s killing you that you can’t do anything about it.”

I let my eyes move over him once, deliberate.

I smiled and stepped past him, unhurried. I already knew he’d follow.

I filled a glass at the sink, as Jeff came in behind me and shut the door harder than necessary.

“You’ve had your fun,” he said, voice tight. “Time to go.”

I took a sip, then glanced back at him.

“You don’t live here,” I said. “Garrett invited me.”

His jaw tightened.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he said. “You know exactly what you were doing out there.”

I leaned back against the counter, unbothered.

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “Walking around like that, showing off — what, you get off on it?”

I smirked.

“On what?”

“Garrett looking at you,” Jeff shot back. “On showing off your muscles!”

For a second, I considered it.

How easy it would be to just shatter his world. To tell him exactly what had happened out there. That less than an hour ago his boyfriend had been gasping my name as I pushed him over the edge. How little he understood what was about to come apart.

So very tempting. But that wasn’t the move.

I looked him over, and for a second, I almost felt sorry for him.

“I can’t help how I look,” I said. “And I’m not going to pretend otherwise because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“That’s what’s bothering you,” I said. “Your boyfriend invites someone over for swim, who looks like me—”

I let that hang.

“And now you’re standing there wondering how he’s comparing you to me.”

“Fuck you.”

His breathing had picked up now.

I watched his hands curl into fists.

He swung.

It wasn’t clean. All frustration, no control.

I caught his fist before it landed.

The motion was automatic. I caught his fist, stepped in, and turned it just enough to break his balance before pulling him in.

My arm slid around his neck, locking under his jaw as I straightened, lifting him with it, Jeff’s feet barely touching the floor as his hands came up immediately, grabbing at my wrist, fingers digging in, trying to pry my loose.

My arm held.

I settled the hold, tightening just enough that he had to feel it — my bicep firm against his throat, his weight hanging off me with nothing underneath him to push against.

“You really haven’t learned anything,” I murmured, close to his ear.

He struggled again, sharper this time, and it only made it worse.

“I can finish anything you start,” I went on, tightening slightly, just enough to cut off the next breath he tried to take. “Every time.”

His grip shifted, less controlled now, fingers pulling uselessly at my arm as I flexed.

He felt it.

“You don’t get to come at me like that,” I said quietly. 

His movements were getting smaller now, less coordinated, and when he twisted again, trying to force something out, it came as a rough, broken sound against my arm, nothing behind it.

“Here’s how this ends,” I added, voice low, steady. “You tap. Or it gets worse for you.”

I gave the hold a slight squeeze — not enough to do any damage, but enough to make my point.

“You don’t get out of this any other way.”

He took a few seconds. I felt his surrender before he tapped against my arm.
Once. Twice.

I released him.

He dropped in a heap at my feet, catching himself late, struggling to catch his breath. I let him sit there for a second. Then I looked up.

Garrett was standing in the doorway, watching. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t spoken. He was just watching.

As Jeff slowly stood, he saw Garrett too. And that was the real blow. Being seen like this. Small. Struggling. Outmatched. Something inside him gave way.

He straightened, adjusting his shirt, pretending for half a second that he still had footing. He didn’t look at me. He turned, heading for the front door, eyes flicking to Garrett, sharp and wounded.

“Next time,” he said tightly, “it better just be the two of us.”

Then he was gone, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the glass.

The kitchen went still again.

I turned to Garrett, the tension already gone from my body like it had never been there. “You okay?” 

He nodded. Took a breath. “Yeah.”

He hesitated, then added, “That was… intense.”

For a moment, I didn’t answer. I hadn’t planned for Garrett to see any of that. I hadn’t meant for it to go that far. But now that it had, what would he make of it?

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Very intense.”

His eyes dropped to my chest, then lifted again, slower this time.

“I think Jeff doesn’t get it,” he said. “You make him feel powerless and he doesn’t know what to do with that.”

I held his gaze and nodded once.

Garrett wasn’t confused by what had happened. He was naming it plainly — Jeff’s intimidation, my effect on him — without reservation. He saw Jeff for who he was in that moment. And he saw me for who I was too.

That mattered.

“You look like you could use a nap,” I said. “Come on.”

I reached for his hand and closed my fingers around it. He didn’t hesitate. He let me lead him back out toward the pool, the afternoon light still warm on the stone.

I took the lounger first, stretched out, and gently pulled Garrett down beside me. He settled in close. 

After a moment he shifted and draped himself partly over me, his head against my shoulder, his hand resting on my stomach. I tightened my abs once under his palm and felt him smile against me.

I stayed there and let him breathe.

There was nothing left to prove. Nothing left to say.

I was still here.

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