Page 15 of Playing with Fire

He nodded against my chest. "More than enough." His voice dropped, vulnerable again. "Just don't shut me out while you're figuring it out, okay? Talk to me. Tell me what works and what doesn't."

"I will," I promised, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "This is new territory for me too, Leo. I'm not used to... feeling like this."

"Like what?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Uncertain," I admitted. "I've always known exactly who I am. What I want. What I'm capable of. But with you, it's like the rules keep changing." I tightened my arms around him. "And the strangest part is, I'm okay with that. I want to figure it out. With you."

He made a soft sound of contentment and settled against me. Just before he drifted off, I heard him murmur, "Thanks, X."

I held him while his breathing evened out, my mind spinning with new questions. Were we still just friends? Best friends who got each other off didn't seem like a category most people had. But 'boyfriends' felt wrong, too. Too simple, too conventional for what we were building. Still, we were friends, and boys... So did that count?

People always acted like there was this clear line between friendship and romance, like one day you woke up and suddenly everything was different. But I'd loved Leo for two years already as my best friend, as my favorite person to game with, as the one who understood my code and my fire. Did making him come change that? Make it more? Less?

Maybe romance was just friendship with orgasms? But that felt too simple. I wanted to possess him, protect him, please him. Wanted him to wear my clothes and use my soap and sleep in my bed. Wanted to learn every way to make him fall apart. Was that romance? Or just an extension of him being mine?

What I did know was that whatever we were, whatever label eventually fit, Leo was mine now. Mine to protect, mine to care for, and now mine to satisfy. And I never half-assed anything when it came to taking care of what belonged to me.

I pressed my lips to his hair, breathing in my scent on his skin. Whatever this was, friendship or romance or something else entirely, I knew one thing: I wanted to keep exploring it with Leo.

Iwokeuptosunlight streaming around Xavier's blackout curtains, which meant it had to be at least noon. The events of last night crashed over me in waves: the fire, the escape, the motorcycle ride, and then... Oh god. Then.

My face burned as I remembered rutting against Xavier's thigh like some desperate teenager, his voice calm and controlled while I fell apart. Something fractured inside my chest at the memory, splintering between shame and a hunger so fierce it felt like drowning. The ghost of his hands still lingered on my hips, a phantom pressure guiding me into a rhythm that my body remembered even as my mind struggled to process what had happened.

The bed beside me was empty, but the sheets still held his warmth, his scent. When had he slipped away? I remembered falling asleep pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. Now there was just an empty space where he should have been. I pressed my face into his pillow, breathing in deeply. The lingering scent of his skin sent a fresh jolt of want through me.

My abuela would have crossed herself if she could see inside my head right now. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Xavier had watched me come with those calculating eyes. The way he'd held me steady, making me chase my own pleasure like it was a test I needed to pass. The surprising gentleness in his voice when he'd finally given me permission.

I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, delaying the inevitable moment when I'd have to go downstairs and face everyone. The door opened, and my breath caught in my throat.

Xavier stood in the doorway, a towel slung dangerously low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to the tattoos that covered his chest and arms. The health bar over his heart seemed to glow against his skin, its green pixels stark against pale flesh. His usually bleached and colored hair was darker when wet, plastered to his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable than he’d seemed in the dark.

"Morning, Sunshine," he said. "Did I wake you?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't look away. I'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but this was different. This was after. After his hands on my body, after his mouth on mine, after everything between us had shifted into something new and terrifying and exhilarating.

"You okay?" He moved to his dresser, pulling out clothes with his usual economic movements. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine," I managed, my voice embarrassingly hoarse. "Just... processing."

The smirk that curved his lips shifted into something softer, more uncertain. "Yeah. I'm processing too, if that helps."

The admission caught me off guard. Xavier Laskin didn't admit to uncertainty. Ever. He navigated the world with absolute conviction. This glimpse behind his carefully maintained facade felt like a rare gift.

"You're... processing?" I couldn't help the question, couldn't stop myself from wanting to understand this new territory we were exploring together.

He turned away, dropping the towel without warning. I couldn't look away fast enough—didn't want to look away—as my eyes locked on the lean muscle of his ass, the surprising curve of it, the dimples at the base of his spine. My brain short-circuited as I processed what I was seeing combined with last night's revelation.

All this time I'd fantasized about Xavier dominating me, holding me down, taking me. I'd never even considered that he might want me inside him instead. The image hit me with unexpected force: Xavier beneath me, his pale skin flushed, those calculating eyes watching my every move as I pushed into him. My mouth went dry at the thought, a new kind of want surging through me that I hadn't allowed myself to imagine before.

He glanced over his shoulder as he reached for his boxers, catching me staring. Instead of the cold calculation I expected, something almost playful flickered across his face. "See something you like?"

My face burned hotter, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Maybe."

His eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised by my boldness. For a moment, he seemed caught off-guard, the mask of control slipping to reveal something almost... pleased? Then it was gone, replaced by his usual calculated intensity as he pulled on his jeans.

"Hand me that shirt from the dresser, would you?" he asked, gesturing to a black band tee.

I grabbed the shirt he wanted and crossed the short distance between us. Instead of tossing it to him, I held it out, forcing him to step closer to take it. Our fingers brushed during the exchange, sending electricity up my arm.

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