Page 102 of The Puck Contract

"Everything," I admit, the word barely audible. "When you touch me. When you laugh at my stupid jokes. When you listen to me ramble about anthropology like it's actually interesting. When you look at me like... like you're looking at me right now."

He takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "And how am I looking at you?"

"Like you want me," I whisper. "Not for the cameras. Not for the contract. Just... me."

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. "I do want you. Have since that first night, if I'm being honest."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "So this isn't just... physical for you?"

"Is that what you think this is?" His voice is low, intense. "Some kind of experiment?"

"I don't know what to think," I admit. "I've never felt like this before. About anyone. And I'm terrified because the contract ends, and I don't want... I don't want whatever this is to end with it."

The words hang between us, raw and honest in a way I've never allowed myself to be. Groover's eyes search mine, something vulnerable and fierce in his expression.

"Mateo," he says, my name like a prayer on his lips. "Nothing ends unless you want it to."

Relief floods through me, so powerful it makes my knees weak. "I don't want it to end."

His other hand comes up, framing my face between his palms. "Good. Because I'm not ready to let you go."

And then he's kissing me, deep and thorough, like he's trying to convey everything he can't say with words. I melt into him, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss tastes of tequila and truth and something desperately, wonderfully real.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against his. "I want you," I whisper. "All of you. Tonight."

He pulls back slightly, eyes searching mine. "Are you sure? We don't have to rush—"

"I'm sure," I interrupt. "I've never been more sure of anything."

The look that crosses his face—hunger mixed with something deeper, more tender—makes my breath catch. "Not here," he says. "Let me take you home."

***

THE DRIVE TO his apartment passes in a blur of anticipation and stolen kisses at red lights. My body's a live wire, every nerve ending crackling with electricity. The tequila buzz has settled into something warmer, more dangerous—liquid courage pooling in my veins, drowning out the rational voice that usually keeps me second-guessing everything.

Groover's hand rests on my thigh, a casual touch that feels anything but. His fingers trace absent patterns that inch higher with each stoplight, and I'm so hard it's actually painful against my zipper.

"If you keep that up," I warn, voice breathless, "we're not going to make it to your apartment."

He glances over, the streetlights painting his face in flashes of gold and shadow. "That a promise or a threat?"

"Both." I shift in my seat, desperate for relief. "I've been thinking about this all night."

"This?" His hand slides higher, knuckles brushing against the bulge in my jeans.

"Fuck," I hiss, head falling back against the headrest. "You know exactly what I mean."

His laugh is low and dangerous, sending another jolt of arousal straight to my aching cock. "I want to hear you say it."

I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. We've crossed plenty of lines already, discovered pleasures I never knew existed—but we haven't donethat. The final frontier. The big leap.

"I want you inside me," I finally manage, the words barely audible over the hum of the engine.

His sharp intake of breath is audible in the confined space of the car. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

The remaining blocks to his apartment pass in tense silence. When he finally pulls into his designated parking spot, neither of us moves immediately, the moment suspended like we're both aware of its significance.

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