Page 15 of Midnight Pleasure

A slow, deliberate smile curved Apollo’s lips as he leaned in just enough for their lips to brush, teasing, testing. “Tell me, Ares,” he whispered, low, a seductive murmur, “how much do you want this?”

The words hung between them, challenge and invitation in one, and Apollo waited—waited for Ares to give in, to close that final distance and shatter the last of the tension between them.

But before their lips could touch, before that kiss, so close yet ungiven, might break the spell, a hard rapping sounded through the kitchen, shattering the moment as it pulled them both back to reality.

That rap on the door made Ares jerk back, his eyes flashing with frustration and reluctant relief. Apollo’s jaw tightened, the tension of the moment washing away like sand between his fingers. The intrusion slapped him back to where he was and disrupted the delicate balance between them. The air, so full of crackling energy, the kiss that had fluttered so near, now dangled, unfinished and suspended, like a question unanswered.

Ares stepped back, flicking his gaze toward his door, then back to Apollo, a vulnerability from one of his break-ins creeping into his expression. “Who the fuck is that?”

Apollo’s grip on Ares’s wrist loosened, the moment slipping through his fingers, leaving only a lingering trace of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice steady despite the hunger thrumming beneath the surface. “But we’re about to find out.”

He let go of Ares’s hand, the sudden loss of contact a pang of disappointment; it was a connection severed way too soon. Still, Ares’s fingers hesitated, holding for just a second longer as if he wasn’t ready to let go. That small, instinctive gesture, like a silent plea for reassurance, made something tighten in Apollo’s chest. The knock came again, then, more forcefully this time, cutting through the lingering heat between them. It was that momentary need, that vulnerability, which made Apollo want Ares more and stoked the embers of his desire into a low, steady burn.

As Apollo turned toward the door, their magic broke, yet not forgotten; it was like a flame to be rekindled. At that moment, he knew that the next time they were alone, he wouldn’t just take what Ares offered—he would give him exactly what he needed.

Chapter 7: The First Kiss

Ares felt the warmth of Apollo’s breath against his cheek. The air in the kitchen was heavy with tension, suffocating almost. It wrapped around them like a thick fog, making it difficult to distinguish where one person ended and the other began. Only the sound of their shallow breaths broke the visible silence. The honey-coated moment they’d shared hung in the air, reaching out like some sweet, sticky trap, and Ares wanted to dive headfirst into that dangerous, intoxicating pull between them. His brain was a whirl of opposites: want and fear, desire and caution.

However, the charm broke when a loud rap on the door suddenly interrupted them.

The interruption seemed cruel—as if something about it yanked him right back to reality when he wanted to lose himself in Apollo’s warmth. He could see the tension in Apollo’s jaw, the way he darkened his eyes with irritation and restraint. Ares had known that they both had been teetering on the edge of something that might change everything, but it was slipping away from him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

The door opened, and in walked a self-assured, authoritative man who was several years older than Apollo. Ruggedly handsome, with years of sun behind him, his dark skin seemed to shimmer in the kitchen’s light. There was an ease of power that filled him, exuded in the slightest of his movements. It was commanding in its own right. The appellation of this man, as Apollo introduced him, was Rafael Santos.

Rafael’s eyes flickered between Ares and Apollo, a knowing smile dancing on his lips, as if he felt the charged atmosphere he walked into. “Apollo,” Rafael greeted, his voice deep, like a river cutting through the wilderness. “It’s been a while.”

Apollo blinked, meeting Rafael’s gaze with a very careful one of his own. “Rafael. To what do I owe this pleasure?

Rafael’s gaze locked onto Ares, his eyes gleaming with a hint of intrigue. A flicker of recognition danced within them, accompanied by a mischievous grin that stretched across his face. “Just passin’ through. Thought I’d check in on an old friend.” The sight of his widening grin revealed teeth that seemed sharper, almost feral.

His gaze fixated on Rafael, his eyes narrowing as he observed the ease with which he interacted with Apollo. Every touch, every shared laugh, only served to fuel the flames of insecurity within Ares. It was as if Rafael had a map to Apollo’s heart, effortlessly navigating the depths of their connection, while Ares stumbled blindly in the darkness.

Ares could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm matching the intensity of his jealousy. His jaw clenched tightly, his muscles tensing with every passing moment. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, as if weighted down by the unsaid tension that hung between the three of them.

As the tension in the room grew thicker, Ares felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. “Is this a bad time?” Rafael asked, though his tone suggested he knew exactly what he was interrupting.

Apollo shook his head, and his voice was calm, but with an edge that Ares recognized as utterly forced. “Naw, it’s fine. But as you can see now, I am doing just fine. “

“I think Apollo already mentioned he’s doing fine,” Ares said, his voice cool and edged with the unmistakable authority of a man who was used to being obeyed. He didn’t blink, didn’t waver, as he held Rafael’s gaze with a sharp intensity that left little room for misinterpretation. The air between them thickened, a silent command woven into his words.

“I imagine you have more wilderness to patrol,” Ares continued, his tone smooth but with an undercurrent that was impossible to ignore—like velvet wrapped around steel. There was a subtle shift in his stance, the kind that spoke of old money and power, a confidence bred into his very bones.

The message was clear: Rafael’s presence was no longer required. Ares wasn’t just suggesting; he was dismissing, with the quiet, unyielding assurance of someone who knew exactly how to make others fall in line, lessons learned from his father.

Apollo coughed, a subtle shift bringing him closer to Ares, as if positioning himself between Ares and Rafael’s piercing gaze. “I think you should leave, Rafael,” Apollo said, his voice smooth as silk, yet laced with a firmness that hinted at something far more final. But Ares could see the tension in the way Apollo held himself, the way his words were a carefully constructed wall against Rafael’s presence.

Rafael nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with a calculating look that made Ares’s skin prickle. It was the kind of look that suggested Rafael was piecing together something he didn’t like.

“Right. Baking. Who’s your friend, Apollo?” Rafael’s tone was deceptively casual, but the underlying edge was clear—he wasn’t just asking; he was probing, testing the waters.

Ares could feel the dynamic between them, the way Rafael’s presence still held a lingering dominance over Apollo, and it made his blood simmer with a quiet, simmering anger. He didn’t miss the way Apollo tensed, caught in the crossfire of Rafael’s scrutiny.

“I’m Ares,” he interjected smoothly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you might want to focus on your patrols, officer. I’m sure someone hit a deer by now… needing your immediate presence.” The words were light, almost playful, but the underlying message was clear—Rafael’s time here was up, and Ares had no intention of letting him linger.

Rafael’s gaze flicked to Ares, sharp and assessing, as if trying to gauge the depth of the relationship between him and Apollo. Ares maintained his unwavering stare to let Rafael see that he wasn’t intimidated by whatever history he and Apollo shared. If anything, the challenge in Rafael’s eyes only made Ares more resolute.

“I see,” Rafael said slowly, his tone carrying a hint of something darker, a warning perhaps. But Ares wasn’t about to let that slide. He could sense the toxic dynamic between Rafael and Apollo, the subtle way Rafael’s presence had shifted the energy in the room. It was the kind of control that spoke of past control, a grip that had been hard to shake.

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