The Flare Good to Go
Garrett’s PoV
I changed shirts twice before settling on the one I was wearing now. It was dark, fitted enough to show the shape of me without looking like I’d planned it. I adjusted the collar, smoothing it flat beneath my fingers, then let my hands drift down the front of the shirt. I left two buttons undone, exposing more than I usually would.
Only then did I step back from the mirror. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. I wanted to look like myself. Or at least the version of myself that didn’t look uncertain.
It was just after five-thirty when I left.
Traffic moved steadily, the edge of rush hour already fading. Six days had passed since he’d shown up at my place. Since the pool. Since everything that followed. It should have faded by now. It hadn’t. If anything, it had settled into me, heavier, harder to ignore.
I didn’t replay it start to finish. What stayed with me were fragments. Physical things. The density of him under my hands. The way his chest and arms tightened when he moved. The control in his grip. The pace he set, steady and unforced, like he never needed to push to get what he wanted. And the stretch of taking him, adjusting to him, my body learning his.
His presence had been undeniable. Not overwhelming. Something else. It had pulled something out of me, something I hadn’t been paying attention to before. That was the part that stuck all week. Not just that I’d wanted him, but that the wanting felt sharper now. Hungrier. Harder to put away.
Sunday morning had been calm. He’d kissed me, mentioned a flight for work, said he’d be gone most of the week. He told me we should keep in touch while he was away, and when he got back, I should come over to his place.
After he left, I’d walked through my home and felt a change. Not guilt. Not panic. Just a sense that something felt very different.
Jeff called later that afternoon, still angry about the day before, about Amare, about the way he had manhandled him. Jeff spoke like I’d betrayed him by standing there and letting it happen. I listened. I didn’t defend Amare. I didn’t apologize either.
By Monday, I knew it was over between Jeff and I. Jeff wanted explanations, wanted to know if there was someone else, if Amare had gotten into my head. I told him no, because that wasn’t what had happened. Amare hadn’t planted doubt. He’d exposed something I’d been circling around but couldn’t explain. Once I’d felt that intensity, that clarity, it was impossible to pretend I hadn’t.
Later in the week, when I texted Amare to say I’d done, his reply came quickly.
I figured. You and him didn’t really make sense.
I read that message more than once. Not because it pissed me off. And not because it felt like he was taking a shot. It was how easy it was for him to say. Like it had never been a question. Like he’d clocked it the first time he looked at us and then acted on it.
Traffic slowed as I turned onto his street. I checked the clock. 5:52.
I turned off the main road and into the parking lot at the base of a tall, modern apartment building. A directory sign stood near the entrance, listing amenities and residential wings. Near the bottom, smaller text pointed toward a separate road: Bungalows.
I continued as it curved away from the tower. The traffic noise dropped off quickly, replaced by something calmer, more contained. Between the buildings, I caught a glimpse of the river beyond — water moving steadily, reflecting the late afternoon sun.
Everything looked intentional — wide walkways, well-kept landscaping.
It wasn’t intimidating, exactly. But it was more than I’d expected — comfortable in a way that felt slightly out of sync with being twenty-one. The kind of space you expect from someone older, or further along in life.
I slowed, scanning the unit numbers, then pulled into an open space near the end of the drive.
I checked the time. 5:59.
I didn’t know what tonight was supposed to be. A conversation about what last weekend meant. A continuation. Or something looser and harder to define.
What I did know was that this was the first time I was stepping fully into his space.
I stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly behind me, then started toward Amare’s unit.
After I rang the bell, the door opened almost immediately.
~~~~~
Garrett’s PoV
There he was.
Amare filled the doorway. Fitted shirt. Athletic shorts. Nothing flashy, nothing arranged. And still, the shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, tight enough to show how solid he was. The sleeves hugged his arms, biceps thick and defined even at rest. His legs were solid beneath the hem of the shorts. Barefoot, relaxed, and somehow bigger than I remembered.
I didn’t mean to stare. I just… didn’t look away right away.
His gaze met mine and warmed, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. He seemed amused by the way I looked at him.
“Hey,” he said, warmly. “Come in.”
I stepped forward, and he closed the distance without hesitation, one arm wrapping around me. The hug was firm, his hand settling high on my back, just beneath my shoulder. His arm locked in across my shoulders, dense and steady, like there was no give in it.
He smelled fresh.
And just like that, the memory of last weekend sharpened.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, low, close to my ear.
My stomach tightened. “Yeah,” I said, steadying my voice. “Me too.”
It was true.
Inside, the space opened up wide and bright. High ceilings. Big windows. Light hardwood floors that looked expensive without trying. The furniture was substantial, a leather sofa, thick area rug, solid wood dining table that didn’t look like it had come in a box. Everything felt carefully chosen.
It suited him.
I followed as Amare crossed to the open-plan kitchen and leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest.
He pulled me in again.
I was reminded of the way his chest broadened as he settled there. The way the fabric pulled over his muscles as he shifted his weight. Veins traced the length of his arms. He wasn’t even flexing.
I’d replayed him all week. The feel of him.
Seeing him like this, relaxed, at home, the warmth of the way he’d pulled me in still lingering. Something about it felt easy, unforced. Like this was just… him.
Before I could think about it, being here, with him, hit all at once. My chest tightened. Then lower, a sharp jolt between my legs, pressure building fast enough that I shifted my stance without thinking.
He caught me looking. “Well,” his eyes moving over me slowly. “You look good.”
I knew I was blushing, but I didn’t look away.
“Thanks,” I said. Then, because he was still looking at me like that, I added, “I stood in front of my closet longer than I want to admit.”
He grinned. “I’m not surprised,” he said. Then, “Looks good on you.”
I didn’t have a response for that right away.
He reached past me for the glasses, close enough that his arm brushed mine, then turned to the counter without ceremony. Ice cracked against the glass.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
“Quiet,” I said. “Long enough to think.”
“About?”
I watched him prepare our drinks. “I wasn’t sure what this evening was meant to be.”
He didn’t look surprised. He just nodded once.
“I didn’t want you showing up feeling like you had to decide anything,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I just wanted to see you.”
That surprised me. I felt myself smile.
Amare handed me the glass, his fingers brushing mine, then not quite letting go. Just long enough that I felt it register, sharper than it should have.
“Relax,” he said lightly. “The evening is still young.”
I took a longer sip than I meant to. The gin hit clean and botanical, the warmth spreading through me and easing the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
He tipped his head toward the windows, where a pair of canoes moved slowly across the river.
“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you the view.”
I followed him out of the kitchen.
It felt easy to be here, easier than I’d let myself expect.
~~~~~
Amare’s PoV
Garrett stood at the windows longer than he needed to. He looked like he was trying to figure something out.
I’d seen this in him last time. The way he took a second, taking things in before settling. I watched his reflection in the glass as his eyes moved across the river, then flicked back to me before he caught himself.
He wasn’t pretending not to look.
I liked that.
“This place suits you,” he said after a moment, glancing around again.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yeah. It feels… like you.”
I nodded once. “Thanks. It’s home now.”
He seemed to take that in, too.
I took a sip of my drink and studied him more openly. The line of his shoulders had dropped since he walked in. His weight wasn’t perched forward anymore. He looked steadier than last weekend.
I moved toward him, slowly, in close and let my hand rest briefly against his back before sliding into place.
He adjusted immediately. A small widening of his stance. His weight shifting back into me without hesitation.
My arms came around him easily, forearms resting across his front. He fit there easily, the top of his shoulders below mine. It felt right.
His breath changed first. A slow inhale. Then a longer exhale as he let himself lean back into me.
After a second, his hand lifted and came to rest against my forearm, fingers sliding along it in an absent-minded stroke, just reacquainting himself.
Then his cheek followed, resting lightly against my bicep, the side of his face warm against my skin.
He just settled there, his breathing slower.
I lowered my head slightly. “You feel less tense than last time.”
He went still for a beat, then smiled faintly against my arm. “Last time we were like this,” he said, “I still had a boyfriend.”
I huffed a quiet breath against him, the sound vibrating low in my chest. “Ah, yes,” I said. “The dark days.”
Garrett chuckled softly as he leaned back more fully, trusting his weight to me.
I felt the way he settled into me without hesitation. The weight of him, warm and solid against my chest.
I let my hand rest where it was, steady on his arm, and took a second with it.
Yeah… I was into him. More than I’d expected.
It had been six days. And now, the way he fit here against me, I felt my arousal building.
I didn’t move, letting myself harden against him. The fabric of my shorts did little to conceal the effect he was having on me, not pressed up against him like this. I stayed where I was, knowing he’d feel it.
He sounded surprised — halfway between a laugh and a breath — as his fingers tightened briefly on my arm. “You’re—” he started, then stopped, clearly amused. “You’re not being subtle.”
I smiled, unbothered. “You’re right. Not really my style.”
Outside, the light over the river had started to fade. The glass in front of us turned reflective, revealing our reflections in the window, layered over the water and the homes on the other side.
I stood there, pressing into the small of his back. I’d never felt this certain this quickly before.
I tipped my chin toward the glass. “Look.”
In the reflection, the difference between us was obvious. My shoulders filling the space behind him, broad enough that they framed him completely. My chest just behind his back, my arms close at his sides. He looked smaller there, no way around it, tighter through the frame, everything about him more compact.
But he didn’t shrink from it.
He stood there, taking it in, his eyes moving over our reflection. Like he was seeing it clearly. The contrast. The size of me behind him. The way he fit into it.
I watched his face as it settled. The way he stayed with it instead of pulling away.
I liked that. I knew what it pointed to.
“What do you see?” I asked quietly, my eyes still on our reflection.
His eyes moved over us in the glass, then lifted to meet mine. He didn’t answer right away. Just a breath. I felt the weight of it. The part of him that always wanted to understand where something was headed before letting himself fall into it.
I didn’t make him spell it out.
“You’re wondering if this is real,” I said, steady. “Or if it just looks that way from the outside.”
His breath caught — small, but there.
I turned him then, slow and deliberate, my hands firm at his sides as I brought him around to face me. No more reflection. Now it was just us.
Up close, he had to tilt his head slightly to meet my eyes.
“I’m not confused about what I want,” I said. “Once I know, I’m all in.”
I felt it land.
His hand rose slowly and pressed against my chest, palm open, fingers splayed like he needed something solid to ground him. I didn’t move. I let him feel it — the heat under the fabric, the strength beneath it, the steadiness of me standing there.
His touch lingered.
I glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. The corner of my mouth curved, not teasing — inviting.
“You can unbutton it,” I said. “If you want.”
I held his gaze and let a small grin pull at my mouth. I knew he wanted to.
~~~~~
Garrett PoV
I answered without words.
My fingers hovering for half a second at the top button of Amare’s shirt. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him, close enough that my knuckles brushed his chest when I finally committed.
The first button slid free easily, sending a pulse through me. I glanced up. He was watching me, head tipped slightly down, expression steady and intent, like this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
The second button took longer. I let myself take the time to feel the shape of him under the fabric as it parted — warmth, firmness, the solid plane of his chest revealed a little more with each movement.
By the time the shirt was fully open, my hands had flattened there, my palms spread over muscle that felt even more real than I remembered. Dense. Warm. Alive under my touch.
I swallowed.
My thumb traced the inner curve of his pec, slow and almost reverent, following the line where muscle met muscle. He drew in a breath and held it for a briefly.
I felt the difference in scale between us. His chest at my eye level, his presence close enough that I could feel his breath on my hair when he lowered his head slightly.
“I—” The word caught in my throat. I tried again, quieter this time. “I need you.”
The honesty of it surprised me. The urgency that followed didn’t.
“Now,” I added, barely more than a breath.
That was all it took.
His hands came to my waist, and before I understood what was happening, my feet lifted me cleanly off the floor.
I gasped. My arms came up around his shoulders, my body pulled tight against his. My legs wrapped around his hips as he adjusted his grip.
He held me there easily, my weight nothing in his hands, my heart pounding hard enough that I felt it everywhere — in my throat, in my chest, in the press of my body against his.
His skin was hot under my palms, smooth and solid, and my fingers pressed hungrily into the thick muscle of his shoulders. Not to steady myself. To feel him. To make sure this was real.
“We’re going this way,” he said, low and unmistakable.
The hallway blurred past — walls, light, the sound of my own breathing louder than anything else.
By the time we reached Amare’s bedroom, my breathing had gone shallow.
He lowered me carefully until my feet found the floor, but he didn’t let me go. His hands stayed firm at my waist, holding me close enough that our chests still brushed when I moved.
For a second, neither of us stepped back.
The solid heat of his arousal forward through the fabric of his shorts.
It sent a sharp pulse through me, low and urgent.
My hands moved before I could think about it.
I tugged, impatient, fingers catching at the waistband, fumbling with the button fly. Finally, I pushed his shorts down, revealing briefs stretched tight by his arousal.
He let me look. Not at all shy about what I was doing to him.
With a grin, he stepped out of his shorts, then guided me back a step until the backs of my legs hit the mattress. He followed through, pressing forward until I had no choice but to sit.
He stood there in front of me, briefs tented, quads thick and solid where they flared into his hips.
I reached up to his chest, pressing in before dragging my hands down, shuddering as my palms moved over his hard muscles.
I took a breath and moved my hands wider, to his hips, then down the length of his legs. At his knees, my fingers traced the muscle there before sliding higher, along the inside of his thigh, until both hands closed around his hardon.
He moaned softly, the sound rougher than before, and I felt him jump under my hands — a hard, involuntary response that made my breath catch.
The fabric strained, darkening where he pressed against it.
I stroked him once, slow despite the urgency in me, like I needed to feel the full weight of him there, solid and ready under my palm.
I leaned forward, pressing my face against him through the briefs, inhaling the heat of him.
A low sound left him, deeper than before.
“That’s dangerous,” he murmured, one hand closing around my wrist, steady and certain.
I looked up at him, flushed and grinning despite myself.
“Come on,” he said, already pulling me off the bed to my feet.
After that, we moved quickly. Clothes came off and were left behind. As the last of them hit the floor, Amare was already steering me toward the bathroom.
“Shower,” he said again, already moving.
I followed, heart racing, my hands still buzzing with the feel of him, the promise of more pulsing in every step.
~~~~~
Garrett’s PoV
The water had barely begun to warm the shower cubicle when my hands landed on him.
I stared at his arms, slow and horny, my fingers sliding over the solid curve of muscle that felt impossibly full and alive. I traced the line of his shoulders, down over his chest.
He was here, with me.
Before I could take more of him in, Amare’s hand closed around my wrist. In one smooth motion, he drew me in, sudden enough that I let slip a soft gasp. His arms came around me fully, powerful and sure, my cheek pressed against his chest.
That was when it hit me, how intense it felt up close, the way he pulled me in and held me there, my body reacting before I could slow it down.
I looked up at him. The expression on his face made my pulse jump.
He shifted his stance, lowered his head, and kissed me, slow and sure, his mouth opening against mine. I met him instantly. His erection pressed against my stomach, pulling a low sound from me before I could stop it. I rolled my hips hungrily, grinding against him, wanting more of him everywhere at once.
When we broke apart, I was breathing hard.
“Jesus,” I murmured.
He watched me closely, taking in every reaction — the flush in my face, the way my chest rose fast, the way I was already leaning back into him.
Then he took my hands and set them firmly at his hips.
I pulled myself flush against him, my body fitting along his with a kind of urgency I didn’t recognize in myself. It wasn’t just arousal. It was need — sharp and immediate — a craving that felt deeper than anything I’d let myself feel before.
His gaze lingered where his hand moved, fingers dragging slowly over my shoulder and down my arm, unhurried.
“You’re so hot,” he murmured.
His other hand slid down my back, fingers splaying over my spine, my waist, the line of my hips. He took his time, running his hands over me, slow and deliberate. When his thumb brushed my butt, I gasped loudly as I rutted against him.
His mouth curved. “Who do you think wants this more?”
He rolled his hips forward, pressing against me, and a rough sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.
“I don’t care,” I low and urgent. “I just— I want you.”
He liked that. I saw it in the slow nod, felt it in the way he pressed in again, deliberate, making sure I understood what I was doing to him.
He turned me smoothly, guiding me until my palms met the tile. The water streamed down over my shoulders and back, while Amare moved in close behind me.
I felt him there, the full length of him, pressing in just enough that I felt all of it. My head dipped forward, breath breaking as my palms flattened against the wall.
He leaned in close, his mouth near my ear.
“I’ve been wanting you like this all week.”
I nodded quickly, words beyond me.
His hands tightened at my hips, holding me there as the moment stretched, the tension building, right up to the point where everything tipped.
He turned me to face him, hands firm at my waist, eyes dark and intent.
Before I could fully register it, he lifted me, my back pressing against the slick tile, his body closing the space between us. I wrapped my legs around him, my hands gripping his shoulders.
He held me there like it was nothing, his forehead resting briefly against mine as the water streamed over us, steam swirling around us.
His cock pressed up, lining up with me effortlessly. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Right there.”
He held my gaze as he guided me down slowly. The connection was immediate and overwhelming, my breath catching as gravity did its job. The sensation flared hot and bright as he stretched me open in a way that felt powerful and exact.
I held on to him, hands gripping his shoulders, my legs tightening around him as we settled together. Every part of him made itself known, fully there, until my breathing fractured into uneven, hungry sounds.
A rough exhale left him as he pressed in deeper, his eyes closing briefly as he found his rhythm against mine. I felt it in the way his body answered mine, solid, responsive, alive, and that sent another shudder through me.
The only thing that mattered was the way our bodies moved together. The pull back, his thrust forward, the brief space between before we were pressed together again. My breath broke apart, then found its way back to his, my body responding faster than I could think, every movement building on the last.
I tightened around him, the intensity climbing fast.
The warm water streamed over us, the intensity building as we moved together, my body tightening around him with every thrust, then easing just enough to take him again. His hips rolled into mine, just perfectly aligned, the two of us chasing the same edge.
My hands anchored at his shoulders, my breath breaking apart as my focus narrowed to the feel of him — the way he stayed close, the way he adjusted when I did, the way everything between us felt connected.
My cock dragged along his abs, pulling a deep, hungry moan from me.
Amare slowed, then stopped, looking into my eyes. He was grinning, like he knew I wouldn’t last much longer. His hips stilled completely. I felt too full, too alive. “I’m close too,” he said.
He pulled back and thrust into me again, taking me all the way.
The tension built all at once, tight and relentless, until it snapped.
I shuddered against him, a raw moan tearing out of me as my orgasm crashed through my body, my head falling back. He was already there with me. His grip tightened, his breath breaking as the rhythm between us pushed him over the edge. His whole body tightened against mine and shuddered hard as he came with me, our breathing collapsing into the same broken rhythm.
His body pressed against mine as his chest heaved and he finished, his arms tight around me. I felt it in the way he held me there, the way he stayed close, steady and present as we both came down.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
His forehead rested against my shoulder, his breathing heavy, gradually evening out as his body settled. One hand slid up my back, holding us together as the last of the tremors faded. The water kept running, steam swirling around us, the silence stretching out.
I leaned into him without thinking, my body loose and open, settled in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
~~~~~
Garrett’s PoV
By the time I stepped out of the shower, the heat hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled deeper. It wasn’t just that the sex had been good. It was the way he’d been with me, how sure he’d been, how locked in. None of it had felt casual.
As I dried off, I caught myself replaying it. Not just what we’d done, but what it meant.
When I finally looked up, the mirror had cleared just enough. My face was flushed, my shoulders looser, and my eyes steadier, but not settled. There was still too much moving under the surface for that.
Amare had already pulled on some underwear and was moving easily around the bathroom. He leaned in once, brushed his lips over my temple, and said he was going to order food.
He glanced back at me with a grin. “I’m starving. That was a solid workout.”
I let out a quiet breath, half a laugh, watching him as he moved toward his phone.
That was the thing.
A few minutes ago, he’d had me pinned to the wall, fucking me senseless. And now he was talking about food like it had all just been… part of his day.
Not dismissing it. Not pretending it hadn’t mattered. Just… moving on from it without effort.
I stayed where I was for a second, towel in my hands, trying to catch up.
I wasn’t there yet.
I could still feel it in my body, the way he’d held me, the way he’d looked at me. And the more I replayed it, the harder it was to tell myself it had only been physical.
He made it look simple.
For me, it wasn’t.
When the food arrived, we settled at the small table facing the river on his rooftop deck. He pulled out a chair for me, then dropped into the seat across from mine, stretching his legs out under the table. A warm evening breeze moved through the space, soft against my skin, carrying the faint scent of the river.
I found myself watching him again. The way his shoulders rolled as he leaned back. The way he reached for his drink without looking. The way he took a bite and kept talking like it was nothing special.
He talked while we ate, about his sister’s new job, a friend who’d just moved back into town. Ordinary things.
I listened more than I spoke, answering when he asked me something, smiling when he said something amusing. Every now and then his knee bumped mine under the table.
Mostly, I let myself fall into it. Let him set the pace.
But under it all, something kept tugging at me. It wasn’t just attraction. This was the first time I’d seen him like this, relaxed, unguarded, openly talking about his life.
And I didn’t know what to do with it yet.
We finished eating slowly, neither of us in a hurry. A pair of geese skimmed low across the river before settling onto the water. He leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the horizon.
“Sun’s about to drop,” he said.
He stood, collecting the dishes without ceremony, and set them aside near the door before crossing to the large lounger at the far end of the deck.
“Come here,” he added, nodding toward it. “Let’s watch.”
He stretched out first, long and easy, one arm folding behind his head, the other resting loose across his stomach. He glanced over at me. A silent invitation.
I moved beside him and lay down close enough that our shoulders brushed.
It was only then that I realized I was shirtless too, wearing nothing but my boxers, stretched out beside him.
It felt good.
I let myself stay there — without chasing the question that had been circling in my head about where this was going. I didn’t need an answer right then. I just needed the warmth of his hard shoulder brushing mine and the quiet stretch of sky above us.
My eyes drifted to him and stalled there.
I still wasn’t used to how built he was. Not just big. Built. The thickness of his chest. The way his arms looked dense and solid, biceps rounding full and high even when he was doing nothing more than shifting his drink from one hand to the other. The clean cuts through his shoulders. The deep lines of his abs, sharp and visible without any effort at all. His thighs filled the lounger, dense and powerful, veins running along the surface, drawing my eyes across the muscle underneath.
Everything about him projected strength and confidence.
I rolled onto my side, propped on one elbow, closing the small space between us. I found myself reaching for his arm. Just a light touch at first. Then slower. Intentional.
His bicep was firm, full and warm under my palm. The muscle shifted subtly as he adjusted against the lounger, and I felt the weight of him, the density there. A vein traced clean along the peak, raised and steady beneath my fingertips. I followed it, slow and curious, mapping him.
He didn’t move.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding myself back until that moment — until my hand was resting on him.
Amare’s gaze settled on my face.
“Being here with me,” he said quietly. “Like this. Not overthinking things.”
He held my eyes.
“It looks good on you.”
I felt it in my chest first. Then in my face. Heat. A kind of quiet pride I hadn’t expected. I took a sip of my drink, letting the warmth settle into the calm that had started to take hold.
“I keep replaying things,” I said finally. “Not just the sex. The speed at which we’ve moved.”
He shifted toward me, the solid weight of his forearm settling across my shoulders, solid and warm. I leaned into it without thinking.
“Tell me more.”
“Two weeks tomorrow,” I said. The words surprised me. I shook my head, smiling. “That’s how long it’s been. Since we first met.”
He studied me. “And?”
I hesitated. “You’re so sure of yourself,” I said. “And you move fast, like you already know where we’re headed.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I don't remember you objecting to anything,” he said easily. “You could’ve slowed it down.” His eyes held mine. “Don’t rewrite this, Garrett.”
I exhaled.
“Okay. That’s fair,” I said. Then softer, “It just feels like you’ve been a few steps ahead of me the whole time.”
“That’s true,” he grinned.
He tensed his arm playfully, muscles drawing tight under the light before settling again. My eyes tracked it automatically. I didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. When I looked back at him, his eyes were on me .
“I watch for your tells,” he said.
“You make me sound like an open book,” I said, a little too quickly.
He didn’t laugh this time. “Garrett,” he said evenly, “you’re not an open book.”
He held my gaze.
“You’re a billboard.”
I shook my head.
“You are,” he said calmly. “Just not to everyone.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “To the right person, you’re impossible to miss.”
Amare shifted then, unhurried. One leg extended slowly in front of him, lengthening along the lounger. The movement drew his thigh taut, muscle tightening in a long, deliberate line from hip to knee.
Then, almost lazily, he flexed.
His quad lifted under the skin, thick and sculpted, the separation along the outer sweep deepening as the muscle tightened and held. The lines sharpened. The surface shifted. Veins rose more prominently along the length of him.
I watched the change happen and my hand moved before I could stop myself.
I leaned in, fingers sliding along the hard curve of his thigh, tracing the deep cuts down the centre, the texture of his striated muscle registering in my fingertips. His muscles felt warm and hard under my touch. I flattened my hand, stroking slowly, reverently.
I didn’t realize how quiet I’d gone.
He rolled the muscle under my hand.
The quad tightened again, fuller this time, pushing against my palm. The movement drew a soft gasp out of me.
He didn’t look down.
He watched me.
There was nothing rushed about him. Just that small, warmed grin.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
That snapped something back into place.
I pulled my hand away, too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“You’re not playing fair.”
He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until I felt it.
Then he lifted one eyebrow. “So now there are rules to how I flirt with you?”
“You’re showing off,” I shot back. “Taking advantage.”
He grinned. “I am.” Then, lower, “You love it.”
Heat climbed my neck.
“Should I stop?” he asked, calm. Almost daring.
I didn’t answer.
My eyes dropped first — to his leg still stretched out between us, the muscle relaxed now but still thick and defined under the low light. Even at rest it held shape. Even doing nothing, it commanded attention.
Then back to him.
“You already know the answer,” I muttered.
He simply nodded.
The air shifted — not heavier, just more focussed.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking,” he said. “You’ve been staring at me like that all evening.”
“I’m not—”
He leaned a fraction closer, just enough to make me aware of the space between us.
“Not what?” he asked lightly.
He was making this look too easy. He just held my gaze, steady and patient, like he already knew how this ended.
I didn’t know what to say.
His hand shifted slightly on my shoulder, thumb brushing once. The touch of a man who was sure.
“You get this look when you’re trying not to react,” he continued. “Like right now.”
His gaze dropped briefly, not to my eyes but lower — tracking the way my chest rose, the way I was holding myself.
“You’ve been studying me,” he added softly. “Like you’re trying to figure out what comes next.”
I looked up at him.
He wasn’t guessing. He was reading me. I could feel it.
I hesitated.
My eyes dropped again — his thigh, his chest — then back to him.
“It’s just…” I exhaled. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?”
The words left me before I could temper them. Heat flooded my face almost immediately.
He grinned slowly. “You look like you’ve been holding that in for a while.”
I swallowed, and despite myself, my hand slid back to his thigh.
“Up close like this…” I said, quieter now. “The size of you. The way your muscles flow one into the other. The shape of your shoulders. Your chest. The way your thighs just—”
I broke off, shaking my head, fingers tightening slightly against him.
“Even lying there, relaxed, it’s all still there,” I went on. “The definition. The striations. The veins. It’s like your muscles just…”
He didn’t interrupt.
I dragged my palm slowly over the outer sweep of his quad, feeling the density under my hand.
“Even the lightest shift, and your muscles tighten and swell. It looks effortless.” My thumb traced one of the raised veins along his thigh.
He watched me closely now.
“It’s not just that you’re big,” I added, voice lower. “It’s your proportions. The shape of your body. The way your shoulders taper into your waist. The way your quads flare out and then stop just above the knee.”
I paused, looking up at him.
“And it’s not just your body,” I went on, quieter. “The way your jaw sets when you’re focussed. The way your mouth curves when you’re about to say something you know will get to me. That twinkle in your eye.”
I shook my head once. “Even when you’re not trying, you look unreal.”
I swallowed.
“It looks so natural,” I finished softly. “Like it’s the only way you know to be. Powerful and agile at the same time.”
Our eyes met. Something in his expression changed.
His hand came to my arm, slow, thumb brushing once along my forearm where my skin was still warm from touching him.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted my hand and pressed it flat against his chest.
His chest filled my palm, broader and warmer, the firm spread of muscle under my hand, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked quietly.
My fingers flexed against him.
“Yes.”
His thumb slid lightly over my knuckles, deliberate, unhurried.
“And you like how I feel under your hand.”
I didn’t look away.
“I do.”
I felt the shift in him under my palm. My pulse answered it.
“You’re still thinking,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
I swallowed once. “About how much I want you.”
I paused, then pushed through it. “And if you feel the same about me.”
The honesty hung there.
Then I saw it — the movement in his shorts, the outline of him getting hard, more defined with each second.
That was his answer.
I couldn’t look away.
I felt the steady rhythm of his beating heart. The heat. I let my fingers drift lower, slow, following the line of muscle down his chest, down over his abdomen. The movement felt inevitable.
I shifted closer to his waist, my own breath heavier now, my tongue sliding once over my lower lip without thinking.
“Go on,” he said quietly. “I like where your head’s at.”
My hand slipped lower, where his thigh met his torso before settling just above his briefs. I let my thumb trace the waistband slowly.
His hand came to the back of my neck.
I held his eyes one more second.
Then I lowered myself slowly, my mouth following the path my hand had taken, pressing a lingering kiss just above Amare’s briefs.
He inhaled. And his stomach tightened under my lips.
My thumb lingered at the waistband.
I didn’t undress him right away.
I pressed lightly through the fabric first, feeling the hard length of him straining there, unmistakable now. He was throbbing.
His stomach tightened under my palm, the deep cuts of his abs sharpening as his hips lifted slightly. Even that small movement made the lines of his eight-pack stand out — carved and tense beneath my hand.
My eyes lifted to his.
He held my gaze.
Slowly, I hooked my fingers into the waistband and drew it down an inch.
As pulled the briefs down over his lower abs, my focus dropping with it. Another inch, and more of him came into view. Thick. Heavy. Aroused.
He inhaled, chest expanding.
I lowered his underwear gradually, savouring the reveal. The terrace lights traced along his body, catching the definition through his chest and down his stomach.
His hips lifted just enough for me to pull the briefs free, never breaking eye contact, not saying a word.
I didn’t reach for him right away. I couldn’t. I just stood there, taking him in—admiring the tight definition of his abs, the sharp cut of his hips drawing my eye lower. He was fully hard now.
I swallowed, clearing the sudden flood of saliva, aware of how much I wanted this. His chest rose slowly.
I reached out at last, my fingers closing around him carefully, fully registering the weight of him in my hand.
He exhaled through his teeth.
I held him there, letting my thumb trace slowly along the underside, feeling the pulse of his desire.
My other hand slid up over his lower abs again, following the carved lines upward before drifting back down.
He watched me the entire time.
I leaned forward slowly, not breaking eye contact yet, letting my mouth press first against his lower abdomen. A slow kiss. Then another.
My tongue followed the carved line of his abs downward, tracing the tight ridges, lingering in the shallow dip just above his hips.
His stomach tightened under the touch.
I shifted lower.
Instead of taking him into my mouth, I turned slightly, letting my lips drag along the inside of his thigh first — slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of his skin there.
The muscle flexed from the touch of my lips.
My tongue found the thick vein running up his inner quad, lapping along it lazily, working my way higher inch by inch.
He exhaled sharply.
I stayed there a moment longer, then dragging my tongue higher until my nose pressed up beneath him, his balls resting on my cheek.
I adjusted my position, giving me better access. Slowly, I started lapping at his balls, pulling them into my mouth, teasing, tasting.
His fingers tightened in my hair. “Garrett,” he gasped quietly.
I didn’t move.
I glanced up at him, my tongue gliding over him, stretching out the moment.
He moaned softly, his manhood pressed against my face, dripping on my forehead.
Finally, I released his nuts from my mouth, readjusted and leaned in.
My lips parted and closed around him. I took in just enough of him to taste his excitement without rushing deeper.
He exhaled sharply.
I held him in my mouth, letting my tongue move slowly along his length. My fingers tightened around him, working in a careful rhythm that didn’t quite match my mouth.
He exhaled again, longer this time.
I eased back only a bit, then took him in again, a little deeper, my tongue flattening and sliding along him as I moved. My nose brushed against his lower stomach now, close enough that I could feel the tight flex of his abs every time I shifted.
His thighs tensed beneath my palms.
I kept going, taking my time.
Drawing him in, easing off, drawing him in again — letting the anticipation build instead of chasing it.
Amare groaned, one hand tightening on the lounger.
My eyes flicked up briefly, catching the way his jaw had tightened, the way his chest was rising faster now. I could taste his arousal.
His grip in my hair changed, becoming firmer.
The next time I moved, he didn’t follow my rhythm.
There was a steady downward pressure — deliberate — guiding me a little deeper than I had taken him before.
His hips lifted just enough to meet me instead of waiting. He was driving now.
I braced my palms against his thighs, feeling the dense muscle there tighten under my grip as I adjusted. My throat worked to accommodate him, easing lower in slow increments, breathing carefully through my nose, refusing to break contact.
His fingers threaded deeper into my hair. “Just like that. You feel so good on me… ” he murmured, his voice close to breaking.
I settled into the pace he was setting, my mouth adjusting, my throat working to take him the way he wanted — steady, open, willing.
I saw his abs lock tight, the tension pulling sharp across his body. His breathing tightened, shorter now, each inhale catching just slightly before it released.
His grip in my hair got stronger, just holding me there as he neared the edge.
I felt it in his legs first — the hard muscle tightening under my hands, holding — then higher, every line of his abs drawn taut.
“Garrett…” It wasn’t loud. It was strained.
I was taking all of him, even as he pushed in more. My hands tightened against his legs, bracing myself as his hips thrust up again, stronger this time.
He was close.
I could feel it in the way his muscles coiled.
The way his breath caught halfway in.
His fingers threaded fully into my hair now, gripping at the base of my skull.
“Stay with me,” he said again — lower this time.
I relaxed into it.
My nose pressed flush against him now, my hands braced hard against his thighs as the tension built to its peak. I swallowed a couple of times, my throat working, gripping his length.
His muscles locked under my grip — thighs, stomach, chest — everything tightening at once.
His head tipped back.
The grip in my hair tightened once more.
And then he came.
He held me there through it, spilling his seed into my mouth and throat. I felt him shudder over and over, until his hips thrust once more. And then he was done.
Amare’s chest was still rising hard beneath me, his abs tight as he caught his breath. I stayed there a moment longer, until his fingers gradually loosened in my hair.
Then I lifted my head.
The terrace air felt cooler against my face. I sat back slowly between his legs, watching him come down from it — the sharp edge easing, but not disappearing.
He ran a hand down his face once, then looked at me.
“Fuck me!” He muttered under his breath.
I couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at my mouth.
He reached for me then, fingers sliding along my arm, down to my wrist, like he didn’t want too much space between us.
“That was…” He exhaled again, shaking his head slightly. “That mouth!”
The quiet stretched for a beat.
His eyes moved over me slowly — my lips still swollen, my body still leaning toward him.
Something shifted again.
Different this time.
He sat up.
His hand slid to my hip, firm.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly.
A promise.
He stood, pulling me with him.
“Inside.”
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