Page 36 of The Puck Contract

"Educational purposes only. Stop if uncomfortable. No kiss and tell." I tick them off on my fingers. "Anything else, Professor Rossi, or can we begin the practical portion of today's lesson?"

That blush again. It starts at his neck and creeps upward, staining his golden skin with splotches of pink. Not that I'm cataloging his reactions or anything.

"Okay," he says, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."

He walks over and sits beside me on the couch, a careful foot of space between us. We turn to face each other, and suddenly the humor of the situation evaporates. His hazel eyes are serious, a little apprehensive, and fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

"So," I say, voice noticeably lower. "How do you want to start?"

"Maybe just... the same as last time? To establish a baseline."

A baseline. Christ, he really is treating this like a scientific experiment.

"Okay," I agree. "Basic closed-mouth kiss, like outside the restaurant."

He nods, leaning slightly forward. I meet him halfway, and our lips press together in a repeat of that first kiss—brief, dry, and weirdly formal. We pull back after a moment, and Mateo's expression is analytical, like he's mentally taking notes.

"That was... fine," he says. "But doesn't look natural. Too stiff."

"Agreed," I say, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Right. So maybe we try again, but less... formal?"

I nod. "Less formal."

This time when he leans in, I reach up to cup his jaw, guiding him into a better angle. His skin is warm under my palm, the slight rasp of evening stubble an interesting texture against my fingers. Our lips meet again, and I apply a little more pressure, moving slightly to fit our mouths together more naturally.

When we separate, Mateo looks less analytical and more... curious.

"That was better," he says. "The hand thing helps."

"It's not that different from kissing women," I offer. "Just stronger pressure, usually. And the stubble, obviously."

He nods, processing this information. "Show me? I mean, what would look natural for a real gay couple?"

I hesitate for a moment. This whole arrangement was supposed to be hands-off, strictly business. But if we're going to sell this relationship to the world—and specifically to Jason Miles and his suspicious sources—we need to look authentic.

That's what I tell myself, anyway, as I shift closer to him on the couch.

"A real couple would be more familiar with each other," I explain, reaching for him again. "More comfortable."

This time, I let my hand slide around to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape. He inhales sharply but doesn't pull away. I guide him toward me, our faces inches apart.

"Relax," I murmur. "You're too tense."

His shoulders drop slightly, and he lets out a breath that fans across my lips. "Better?"

"Better."

I close the remaining distance, capturing his mouth with mine. This kiss is different from the start—more deliberate, more controlled. I keep it gentle but firm, showing him without words how to respond. After a moment of hesitation, he begins to mirror my movements, his lips softening and moving against mine.

I pull back slightly, our faces still close. "Good. Now try with a little more...intention."

"Intention?"

"Like you want to be kissing me. Not just going through the motions."

His eyes darken slightly, and before I can say anything else, he's leaning in again. This time, there's nothing mechanical about it. He presses his lips to mine with new confidence, one hand coming up to rest on my shoulder for balance. I respond in kind, tilting my head for a better angle, my fingers still tangled in his hair.

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