Chapter 2

Carlo's POV

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. He was just too damn good at this, and the thought made me wonder how many others he had gone down on like this. My blood boiled at the idea, though I had no reason to care.

But something about it, about him, gnawed at me, causing frustration to build.

With a surge of annoyance, I push him back onto the bed, my release still lingering on his tongue. I pull his head forward, making him spit it into my hand.

I’m not entirely sure why I did it—maybe I just needed some lube. If not, I might lose it before I even get started.

In one quick motion, I pull his pants down, tossing them aside. His pink, tight hole stares back at me, looking way more appealing than I ever thought it would. I blink, trying to clear my head. Since when did a man’s asshole look... pretty?

He lets out a low moan as I slide a finger inside, and I bite my lip. That sound…

Damn it! Carlo, you’re losing it. I start to move my finger slowly, feeling the soft heat clenching around me.

I notice a small tattoo on his right thigh, just above where I’m touching. A delicate flower inked into his pale skin. It stands out, looking sexy in that particular spot. Before I realize what I’m doing, I lean down and lick it. His hips jerk, and he moans louder as I continue to move my finger in and out, making sure he’s ready for more.

But something’s missing. There’s supposed to be a spot, right? A place that drives guys crazy. My mind races as I start probing deeper, exploring him like I’m searching for a lifeline.

He suddenly clenches tight around my finger. I smirk. There it is. I press on that spot again, and he practically loses it, sounds tumbling out of him in breathy gasps. He shifts his hips, trying to get more of my touch, gripping my wrist like he needs it to breathe.

It’s... mesmerizing. Watching him like this—Blaze, the unbeatable rider, reduced to a trembling mess beneath me. I feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a possessive thrill knowing I’m the one doing this to him. He looks so vulnerable, so completely undone.

The great and mighty Blaze—on his back, moaning and moving like a needy slut. I want this image burned into my mind forever, something no one else but me will ever get to see.

“Hold on, I’m close…” he whispers, voice shaky and desperate.

“Fuck! No, you can’t,” I growl, pulling my hand out and leaning over him.

I catch his lips in another fierce kiss, muffling his whine of protest as I position myself. My fingers had been in deep, four of them stretching him out—he should be ready. But as I push inside, he tightens around me.

“Hah! Shit, loosen up, you’re going to break me if you do that,” I groan, the words barely making it out as a coherent thought.

“Then go easy,” he mutters, voice low and strained. “It… it hurts.”

I nod, forcing myself to slow down, moving gently, and carefully, until I can feel his body adjust. The tightness gradually eases, and I press in deeper, angling myself to hit that spot again.

His breath hitches, and his head falls back onto the mattress as he shudders.

There it is. I found it.

I pick up the pace, thrusting faster, hitting that spot over and over until he’s gripping me in a tight hug, his moans spilling into my ear. Each sound he makes sends shivers down my spine, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Damn, you’re clenching too tight,” I pant, trying to hold myself together, but it’s getting harder.

He’s too warm, too tight, and I’m losing control faster than I want to admit.

He’s close too—I can tell by the way his nails dig into my back, by the stuttering breaths that leave his lips.

A few more hard thrusts and we both unravel. My hips jerk as I spill into him, and he’s clenching around me, his own release splattering between us. His body trembles beneath mine, his voice hoarse from all the moaning.

When it’s finally over, I collapse on top of him, completely spent. Our chests rise and fall in sync, the aftermath of our shared climax leaving us breathless and sated.

For a moment, neither of us moves.  I am completely shocked, I have no thoughts running through my mind, and after what happened I understand why. And I still feel the pounding of the heart against my body, I feel the cold, sticky skin.

What did I just do? What did I sign up for exactly?

I glance down at him. His face is red, his eyes are shut and on his lips, there is a faint, almost serene smile. I crumble as I attempt to discern which of the many feelings flaring inside of my heart are rational and which are not.

I can never let anyone know about this. Not my friends, not the team—no one. It’s too dangerous, too complicated. I should’ve walked out when he kissed me earlier, shoved him away, and left him to sober up on his own.

But I didn’t. And yet here I am, entangled with the same person I vowed to despise.

I stutter, pressing my face into the bend of his neck,

"Damn it." I should get up and leave this place immediately, but his warmth and comforting presence are too irresistible.

Just a little bit longer. I'll remain in this position for just a little more. After that, I'll decide what to do.