6. Elías #4
“Every single moment my mouth wasn’t on you.”
That admission hits harder than a kiss.
He looks down, then back up, and his pride’s there, bleeding out on my porch.
“I miss your taste,” he says, his voice rough enough to scrape skin. “And tonight was almost painful not having it, with you just right there.”
My fingers tighten on the doorframe.
He said it.
He actually said it.
I should let him in.
I should grab his shirt and pull him inside and kiss him until neither of us remembers what control feels like. But, because I’m Elías Cárdenas and apparently built wrong, I tease him instead. “That almost sounded like begging.”
“You want me to?” he asks softly.
“I mean, you came to my door after midnight—”
He breathes heavily through his nose.
“—And you called me first.”
His hands flex again, and I know he’s fighting something inside.
The streetlight hums over us, and somewhere down the block, a car passes too slowly, bass low and distant.
Fabián steps closer, but I don’t move. He’s right in front of me now, close enough that I can smell soap and heat and the night still clinging to his skin.
“Answer the question,” he says.
“Maybe I do.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Am I worth it?”
His eyes darken. “Don’t—”
“Show me what I’m worth to you.”
He swallows, nods, and then Fabián Salcedo slowly and deliberately lowers himself to his knees on my porch.
My brain empties.
Completely.
The world goes silent while his hands rest on his thighs. Gray sweats hang low on his hips. His face tilts up to mine, jaw tight, eyes burning, pride kneeling right there with him and somehow not breaking.
Holy fuck.
“Fabián,” I whisper.
“You wanted to know if you’re worth it?”
My mouth goes dry, and he looks like sin in a crop top and submission with clenched teeth.
I am going to die on this porch.
He takes a breath—one shaky breath.
Then says, “You’re worth it. So fucking worth it. Please, Lalo.”
My fingers curl hard around the doorframe.
“Please what?”
His eyes flash, but he stays there. On his knees, at my door. “Please let me in.”
I should be smug. I really really should. But under it, something cracks open because he’s not just asking to get inside the house.
We both know that.
I take one step closer, and his head tips back farther to keep his eyes on mine.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His voice is hoarse. “You.”
The word hits low and deep. “Be specific.”
He almost smiles.
Almost.
Then it fades into something hungrier.
“I want another kiss,” he says, tongue darting out to moisten his perfect bottom lip.
“I need your mouth because I wanna taste you again. So I can stop thinking about every man you flirted with tonight to try and make me feel some type of way. Because even though none of them know what you taste like, and I do, you and your perfect mouth still have me all fucked up inside.”
I forget how to breathe.
Fabián’s palms flatten on his thighs.
“Please,” he says again, quieter, and that makes it worse. “Muneco, I need another kiss.”
There it is.
Badass Crop Top Papi on his knees on my porch, begging with his whole chest.
The universe should have warned me.
Sent a text.
One of those airplanes with a banner in the sky.
A fucking flaming mango.
Something.
I step forward and touch his jaw. He turns into the touch like he hates how much he needs it. My thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.
It’s the same place he touched me. Same place this whole thing started turning into something we couldn’t laugh off.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” I whisper.
His eyes close for half a second, and when they open, he looks wrecked.
“Fuck, Lalo.”
I bend just enough that my mouth hovers over his. “Say please again.”
His breath shakes against my lips.
“Porfa, Muneco.”
I kiss him, and he makes a sound that goes straight through me.
Broken.
His hands come up, but he stops himself before touching me, like he is waiting for permission he doesn’t know how to ask for.
Fuck. Me.
I pull back just enough to say, “Touch me.”
His hands grip my thighs and drag me into his lap.
Hot.
I hold his face and kiss him again, deeper this time, letting him taste the yes in it. His tongue slides against mine, and when the silver ball brushes him, his fingers tighten hard enough to bruise.
He groans into my mouth, and I swallow every sound. Every part of me lights up.
The street.
The porch.
The dark house behind me.
All of it disappears.
There is only Fabián on his knees, me in his lap, and our mouth saying all the things we’re too stupid to say.
I pull back, breathing hard, and his eyes are dazed.
“Get up,” I whisper against his lips.
His gaze sharpens, and I smile.
“You wanted in, didn’t you?”
He stands us up slowly, his strong hand cupping my ass. The porch boards creak under us, and we both freeze for half a second before he mumbles, “I got you,” then steps over the threshold. Once inside, he turns and quietly closes the door behind him.
The lock clicks, and his eyes drop to my mouth.
Mine drop to his.
No regrets yet.
Not even close