10. James
James
I hadn’t been this nervous since my first day at Wolf and Whisk, when I accidentally dropped a tray of lemon bars in front of the mayor’s wife.
But this was worse, because this wasn’t just a shift. It wasn’t just any other guy. This was Rafael.
I stared at the mess in my room: two shirts, three jackets, and a growing pile of maybe-too-desperate cologne choices. My heart raced. I wasn’t even sure if this counted as a “real” date, but it felt like one.
I wanted it to be one. I wanted him to see that I was serious. That he wasn’t just a passing crush, or some warm body to lean on.
“You gonna wear that one?” Cyrus asked, leaning against my doorframe and eyeing the navy button-down I’d finally settled on.
“It’s clean and doesn’t have frosting on it,” I muttered.
“That’s a low bar, even for you,” Rowan quipped from the couch.
Callum was on his phone nearby, but he raised an eyebrow. “Is this the first time I’ve seen you put effort into a date?”
I flipped him off with a grin. “You just haven’t paid attention. I’ve had dates before.”
“Yeah? Like the guy from the cider festival who ghosted you the minute he realized you had a thing for cupcakes?” Cyrus offered helpfully.
“That was one time,” I grumbled. “And technically he ghosted me after I made him cupcakes, thank you very much.”
Callum chuckled. “Well, you look good. Nervous, but good.”
That settled a little warmth in my chest. The tension between us had been easing since I came clean about Joel’s debts. Callum didn’t say much about it after our talk, but I could feel the shift.
There was still disappointment there, sure, but not the kind that pushed me away. It felt more like... concern. Like he cared. And maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.
“Where are you taking him?” Rowan asked, tossing me a travel mug. “Please don’t say the Waffle Shack again.”
“Nope,” I said, a little proud of myself. “I’ve got something better planned.”
Which was saying something, considering I’d nearly twisted my ankle hauling a blanket and a basket of picnic food up to the roof of the bakery earlier. But it was worth it.
Because Rafael deserved something thoughtful. He’d shown up for me when I needed him, when I hadn’t even asked. Now it was my turn. I bid the other wolves goodbye and they wished me luck.
I showed up outside Bear and Bun just after closing, just as the lights dimmed inside.
Rafael stepped out a moment later, jacket slung over his shoulder, and my breath caught.
He looked tired. He always looked a little tired. But tonight, there was something softer in his face when he saw me. That little crease between his brows eased just a bit.
“You’re late,” he grumbled, but his tone was warm.
“Fashionably,” I said, holding up a thermos of cocoa. “Come with me.”
He eyed the thermos like it might explode, but he followed me anyway.
“Where are we going?” he finally asked, trailing beside me as I finally led him down the alley behind Wolf and Whisk and toward the back stairs.
“You’ll see,” I said.
He grunted, but I could tell he was curious.
The moment we reached the roof, I gestured with a flourish. “Ta-da.”
He blinked. Then he stared.
I’d laid out a thick quilt, propped up a few extra cushions from the break room, and set out a little picnic.
There were a flask of hot chocolate, a container of my halfway-decent cookies, and some leftover savory pastries I’d begged from Sean earlier.
There were fairy lights too. They were cheap ones and strung up awkwardly, but they cast a warm, flickering glow that made the whole space feel a little magical.
“James,” he said quietly. “You did all this?”
“Don’t act surprised. I’m a baker. I do romantic shit.”
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Is that what this is?”
“Only if you want it to be.”
I saw it then, just a flicker in his expression. A wall lowering. His shoulders relaxing. He stepped forward, sat beside me on the quilt, and accepted the thermos without a word.
We sat in silence for a while, sipping cocoa, watching the stars blink to life above us. The night air was crisp, cool enough that I could feel the warmth of him beside me even without touching.
“Didn’t think you’d be into this kind of thing,” he said eventually.
“What, stargazing?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well, I’m full of surprises,” I said.
He made a soft sound, almost a laugh. “Yeah. You are.”
We sat a little closer after that. Close enough for our knees to brush. Close enough to feel the tension humming in the air.
“You’ve been quiet,” I said softly.
“I’m not used to this,” he admitted.
“To what?” I asked.
“Being... seen. Liked. By someone good.”
That undid me a little.
“I’m not perfect,” I said.
“You are to me.”
And maybe it was reckless, but I leaned in. He met me halfway.
The kiss was softer than the last time. Less rushed. More sure. His hand cupped my jaw, steady and warm. Mine gripped his shirt, pulling him close like I never wanted to let go.
We kissed until the stars blurred. Until my breath hitched and I whispered his name against his lips.
“Come home with me,” he said.
I hesitated.
“I just want to be with you,” he added. “No pressure.”
There wasn’t any. Not with him. I nodded.
We slipped down the stairs hand in hand, the picnic forgotten. His apartment was quiet, dimly lit, and smelled like coffee beans and cinnamon.
I barely got the door closed before he was kissing me again. This time, it wasn’t soft. It was heat and hunger. Weeks of tension pulled tight, finally snapping loose.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me slightly, pressing me back against the door like he needed me close. Closer than our bodies could allow.
I moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into the soft hair at the back of his neck, pulling him in like gravity itself had changed just for him.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, half-drunk on the taste of each other. My shirt hit the floor, followed quickly by his jacket.
His hands were warm and rough and sure, trailing along my skin like he was memorizing me.
I kissed the corner of his mouth, down the sharp line of his jaw, and felt the low, primal growl that rumbled from his chest when my teeth grazed his collarbone.
“James,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked, his forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me if I should stop.”
His hand hovered just above my bare hip, like he couldn’t bear to let go but needed permission to stay.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, voice barely more than breath. “Please.”
The door swung closed behind us, the world narrowing down to the press of our mouths, the burn of our skin, the sound of our breathing.
His fingers ghosted over my sides, slow and reverent, and I arched into his touch like I’d been starving for it. Like I didn’t know how to survive without it now that I’d had a taste.
Rafael kissed me like he meant it. Like he was afraid to forget. Like he needed something to anchor him, and for some reason, that something was me.
I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe for things to feel rushed.
Maybe for my nerves to get the best of me. But the moment his lips brushed over the hollow of my throat and his hand slid down the curve of my back to pull me against him fully, all that melted away.
We weren’t just kissing anymore. We were devouring each other.
I tugged at his shirt, desperate to get it off. He grunted when I got impatient and pulled it over his head, his muscles flexing under my touch. And gosh, he was beautiful. Scarred and strong and real.
I kissed each line of tension along his neck, down his chest, until he was breathing in sharp, ragged pulls. He took over then, gently guiding me backward until I hit the bed.
We fell together, tangled limbs and tangled hearts, laughing breathlessly between kisses that turned deeper, hotter. Every brush of his hand across my skin left me burning.
His fingers traced my ribs, the dip of my waist, the tip of my member like I was something worth exploring.
“Rafael,” I murmured, tugging him down until he hovered above me.
His eyes met mine, dark, wide and searching.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, voice barely more than a rasp.
I nodded. “I want this. I want you.”
And that was all he needed.
What followed wasn’t rushed or careless. It was slow and consuming. His hands were everywhere, grounding me and undoing me at once.
His mouth explored every inch of me like he’d been waiting a lifetime. We moved in rhythm, in sync, each kiss stealing the breath from my lungs and replacing it with something new. Something full.
I didn’t think. I felt.Every moan, every sigh, every time he whispered my name like it meant something. Like I meant something.
It was everything I’d been afraid to want, and everything I never thought I’d have.
Rafael put me on my hands and knees. Then he got off the bed to grab a condom and lube from the back pocket of his jeans. I moaned, impatient to feel him inside me.
He didn’t make me wait long. Soon enough, I felt his fingers in my pasSean, prepping me for access. I pushed against his hand, making him laugh.
Finally, he deemed me ready and replaced his digits with his member. Rafael gripped my hips and entered me, slow and steady, as if he was making sure he wouldn’t hurt me.
I groaned, aware of every wonderful inch of him. Once he was balls deep inside me, he began to ride me. He started with a slow rhythm at first before picking up speed.
Rafael soon reduced us both to pants and animal noises.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered.
I complied, sliding my fingers up and down my shaft as he pumped in and out of me. Rafael switched the angle of his thrusts, hitting my prostate. I gasped, arching my back, stroking myself even faster.
My balls tightened. It didn’t take long before the pressure building inside me broke open. I came, screaming out his name. Several thrusts later, Rafael followed.
When it was over, we lay tangled in the sheets, skin flushed, hearts still racing in sync. Rafael made a quick trip to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and cleaned us both up.
Then we were together in bed. Rafael’s arm was heavy across my chest, possessive and protective, and I didn’t want to move. Ever.
He kissed my temple, his nose brushing the side of my face as he murmured, “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” I said, voice still raw.
He let out a low hum, nuzzling against my hair. I turned my head just enough to brush our noses together. He looked soft in the dark, unguarded in a way I didn’t think I’d ever seen before.
“You’re staying, right?” Rafael asked me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I replied.
I sank back into him, into the warmth of his chest, the strength of his arms. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my side. Not in a way that demanded anything.
Just a quiet, anchoring touch. Like he wanted to stay connected.
The silence stretched comfortably between us, filled only by the sound of our breathing and the gentle creak of the bed when one of us shifted. Outside, the world was still.
A few distant cars. A hoot of an owl. Somewhere far off, laughter. But none of it mattered. Not tonight. Because I was here. With my mate.
And for the first time in too long, I wasn’t thinking about debt collectors or secrets or fear. I wasn’t worrying about what tomorrow would bring or if the past would catch up to me. I wasn’t pretending.
I turned toward him, curling up tighter against his chest. His beard scraped lightly against my forehead as he tucked me in closer, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” I murmured.
“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “Didn’t want to mess it up.”
“You didn’t.”
He kissed my hair again, and I closed my eyes.
Wrapped in Rafael’s arms, our legs tangled under the sheets, my heart finally slowed. The weight on my chest lifted just a little.
Maybe it wouldn’t go away completely. Not yet. Not until I faced the things still looming in my life. But in that moment, I was warm. Safe. Held. And that was enough.
I drifted off like that. His heartbeat under my ear, his breath soft against my hair, his fingers still tracing idle lines against my back.