Page 52 of Spilled Coffee

But then the shock gave way to instinct.

With a guttural grunt, he shoved back, palms slamming into Devon’s chest with all the force he could muster. The impact reverberated up his arms as he tore himself free from the kiss, staggering back a step.

Air rushed into his lungs in ragged gasps as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scrubbing away the lingering taste of Devon.

“This isn’t happening,” he snapped, his voice cracking under the strain of his frayed nerves. He glared at Devon, eyes wide and wild, like a cornered animal desperate for escape.

But Devon—damn him—he didn’t flinch. Hell, he didn’t even seem fazed by the outburst or the shove that had sent him stumbling half a step back. Instead, he smiled. A slow, creepingsmirk that curled at one corner of his mouth like smoke rising from a smoldering fire. It was insidious, a predator’s grin.

“Oh, but it will,” he said, his tone completely confident as though they were discussing a foregone conclusion rather than a possibility. He straightened his shirt where Ethan’s shove had rumpled it and closed the space he’d fought to create. “Maybe not today…” he continued, “but you’ll be back—you’re curious.”

Ethan opened his mouth to deny it outright, but the words caught in his throat, and when Devon tilted his head to one side, it was as if he could see right through every flimsy denial he might attempt.

“You want this,” Devon pressed, leaning in just enough that Ethan could feel the heat radiating off him. “You know it. I know it.” He then stepped back, giving Ethan enough space to breathe again. Mercy only made him more dangerous. “I can wait ’til you’re ready,” he finished.

He leaned in and brushed a kiss on Ethan’s cheek. It was soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the one before. But any illusion of gentleness shattered when Devon’s hand darted down to Ethan’s ass and gave a squeeze that felt less like flirtation and more like claiming territory.

“I’ll see you around, little bear.” He turned on his heel and strolled through the door without glancing back.

The door clicked shut, and for a long moment, Ethan just stood there, stunned into silence.

His arms hung limp at his sides while his mind struggled to process everything that just happened.

The heat of Devon’s touch still ghosted his skin like an unwelcome branding.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he leaned against the door for support. Tilting his head back, it thunked against the wood while his heart hammered in his chest.

His breathing came in shallow gasps punctuated by shaky inhales, and no matter how hard he tried to steady it, it refused to calm down.

“What the actual fuck…?” he whispered, confusion swirling like storm clouds gathering on the horizon—dark and turbulent and impossible to ignore.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut—the memory of Devon’s smirk seared into his mind, too bright to forget; the sound of his voice echoing in his ears with maddening clarity.

“You need this… You want it.”

He shook his head. The thing that scared him more than Devon’s aggression, or even those damn words… was the heat curling low in his gut and the way his body was betraying him, his cock twitching traitorously.

With a frustrated growl that sounded more animal than human, Ethan slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, back pressed against the wood as though it could somehow shield him from everything.

The towel slipped from his waist, and he buried his face in trembling hands. His head was spinning, not just from last night’s hangover but from something far worse: desire tangled with fear so tightly that he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.Fuck.

CHAPTER 27

Logan stoodunder the scalding spray, head bowed, arms braced against the wall as the water pummeled his shoulders.

Steam coiled around him, thick and suffocating, fogging up the small bathroom until it felt claustrophobic.

He shut his eyes, letting the water trace the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, rivulets carving paths through his skin as though they could wash away the night itself. But no matter how hot the water or how rough his hands as he lathered the generic pine-scented soap across his body, it wasn’t enough.

It couldn’t erase what had happened. And it couldn’t erasehim.

Ethan. His name reverberated in Logan’s mind like the vibration of a struck bell.

He paused and fought to steady his breathing. The scent of Ethan’s aftershave lingered in his nostrils. It was citrusy and clean, and like sunlight on freshly cut grass, it clung stubbornly to him despite his efforts to wash it off. It was overpowering, teasing him with memories he didn’t want to face.

He could still see Ethan sprawled on the bed when he’d slipped out at dawn. His sandy curls against the pillow, sheetstangled around his lean frame. Peaceful. Vulnerable. And Logan had left anyway.

“Fuck.” The curse escaped in a broken whisper, carried away by the water. He reached up and turned off the faucet, then for a long moment, he just stood there, dripping and motionless as the room rapidly cooled around him.

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