Page 18 of Axes and Ohs

“He really is,” Carlos says gently. “Both of them are.”

I nod and let go of the last vestiges of guilt for what I did with the Rise campaign. “The poster is something Griff’s working on at his new job. And I hung it there because it makes me think of…” I swallow. At this point, is there any sense in holding back? “It makes me think of you.”

He turns to me, and his expression is so hopeful it makes my heart squeeze. “You think about me?”

I snort. “Dumbass. I text you all day. I talk to you most nights. I… yes, Carlos. I think about you all the time.”

His face lights up. “I know that’s true. I know I’m being crazy. But I just… fuck. I think about you all the time too.”

I take a shaky breath because this is new territory for me. “Then why,” I demand, “are you standing all the way over there?”

Carlos is a smart man and doesn’t need to be asked twice. He crosses the space between us, and his hands come to rest on my hips.

“Fuck, holding you feels even better than I remembered,” he whispers.

And then we’re kissing, and it’s like every day of waiting, this whole day of unanswered messages, and even our stupid misunderstanding all fades to nothing. His mouth is warm and sure, his hands pulling me closer until I’m pressed against him from neck to knee. I thread my fingers through his hair, and he makes a soft sound that goes straight to my balls.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“Oh,” I murmur. I can’t even help it. And the dazzling grin Carlos gives me makes it impossible to feel self-conscious about it, either.

“Fuck,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for months.”

“Yeah? Just that?” I tease.

His grin turns wicked… and promising. “Not just that.”

I glance toward the Murphy bed, then back at him. “Well, we’ve got all weekend for you to tell me everything you’ve been thinking about.”

Carlos squeezes me tighter. “Actually… I was thinking we could start now.”

“N-now works,” I manage, and then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time and more urgent. His hands slide under my shirt, fingers tracing the line of my spine, and I arch into them.

“Bed,” I gasp against his mouth.

“Bed,” he agrees.

We stumble the few feet to the bed, hands roaming, pulling at clothes. Carlos’s shirt hits the floor first, and I take a moment to appreciate the view—those broad, tanned shoulders, his defined chest, the line of dark hair that disappears into his jeans.

“You’re staring,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he minds.

“Can you blame me? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He laughs and reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. His hands skim along the planes of my chest, my ribs, my stomach, until I’m shivering.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my collarbone.

We fall onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and kisses and increasingly desperate touches. Carlos slots his body between my spread legs, and his mouth trails down my neck, my chest, my stomach. When he reaches the waistband of my jeans, he looks up at me.

“Okay?” he asks. He looks eager but… almost vulnerable.

“Very. But have you ever…?”

He shakes his head. “You know I haven’t. But I want to. With you.”

Once again, his sincerity kills me. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to⁠—”

“I’ve been dreaming about what you taste like, what sounds you make.” His cheeks flush slightly. “Is that weird?”