#pope garcia

Frankie knew exactly what he was getting into when he came to stay with his best friend and his new wife after his lady finally kicked him out. The lies and the coke and the abandonment for misguided jungle romps were finally too much for her.

When Santi offered the spare bedroom in the house they’d just bought, Frankie gladly accepted. How could he say no to a roof over his head, his best friend down the hall, and you?

It was so innocent at first that he felt like it was his fault. You’d left the door open when you showered. He didn’t mean to see you, naked and wet, patting your hair with a towel when he walked down the hall. He reluctantly looked away.

When the three of you lounged by the pool, he dove into the water when Santi untied your top and reapplied your sunscreen, then left you shiny, slick, and bare under the warm July sun. Frankie didn’t bother pretending not to look. You smiled at him and raised one knee, planting your foot on the lounge chair and letting it drop just enough to give Frankie something to think about later in his room alone, heavy cock in his fist.

Frankie couldn’t deny his attraction to you. Anyone who looked at you would fall for you. You were beautiful in an effortless way, warm and always interested in what others had to say, making everyone feel special and important. Your hair, your face, your body, your voice, Frankie knew exactly what had attracted his lovesick friend to you.

Once he understood what you wanted, he even let himself flirt with you a bit. He winked at you when your eyes met. He went commando under his gray sweatpants, settling them low on his waist, jutting his hips out just so while he stood at the foot of the couch while you read. He let his touch linger on your waist when he scooted between you and the counter in the kitchen, fingertip grazing the soft skin under your shirt, light enough that you might believe it was an accident.

•••••••••••••••••

Weeks went by, glances became stares, and brushes of bare skin became teasing touches. Frankie was in a constant state of sexual frustration. His mouth watered, his cock was half hard, he spilled his seed over his stomach every night as he thought of you. You bent over the couch, you on your knees, you sitting on his face and coming on his tongue. He imagined what you might sound like when you begged him to fuck you harder. It drove him mad.

•••••••••••••••

Your own patience was wearing thin. You weren’t sure how much longer you could restrain yourself, to play innocent, keep your hands to yourself. How many more ways could you temp him? You’d done your best to goad him into coming on to you, but he had never crossed the line from longful looks and lingering touches. Every day you wanted to push Frankie against a wall and drop to your knees taking his cock as far down your throat as you could. He just didn’t seem to be getting the message. Santi laughed at your failed seduction, he had tried to help, but couldn’t be mad at the restraint Frankie had shown with another man’s wife.

When you couldn’t wait any longer, Santiago had taken Frankie out for a drink and clapped him on the shoulder as he explained that he needed Frankie to stop being so respectful. It took several more drinks before Frankie was convinced it wasn’t a joke or a trick and that you actually wanted to fuck him and that Santi was not just ok with it, that you’d be fucking them both. His head spun, not just from the Stella.

••••••••••

Two nights later, it was time for your date as you’d taken to calling it. You had told Santi exactly what was to happen. “He’s going to be good, isn’t he Santi?” You asked him, nuzzling into his chest while you sat waiting with your husband for his best friend to get out of the shower. Santi never got tired of telling you how much he and his friend were going to enjoy sharing you. He hummed into your hair, thick arms around your waist. You let your mind drift to images of Frankie in the steamy stall, soaping his body, suds rolling down his broad chest to his soft belly. Images of his big hands sliding over his arms and to his cock. You knew it must be something special. You’d seen him in those sweatpants, knees spread wide on the couch. His bulge may as well have had a neon arrow pointing at it.

When Frankie emerged, warm and slightly damp, smelling like citrus and mint, hair damp and curling wildly, you pressed a drink into his hand and guided him to the couch next to Santiago while you took your seat in a chair across from them. Santi raises his own glass in silent, subtle greeting as you spoke, soft and sweet. There was no sense in wasting time.

“Touch him.”

Your command was gentle.

“Touch him?” Frankie asked, eyes wide and voice wavering.

You nod and smile patiently, your eyes never breaking his gaze as you sip from your glass before continuing. “Why don’t you help him out of his shirt?”

Frankie shifted up onto his knees and scooted closer to his friend, he had heard what you said too, and made room for Frankie between his legs. There was no hesitancy about him at all, just a buzz of desire and the smell of sweet cologne.

“Gotta do what she wants, Fish. Happy wife, happy life, right?” Santi’s gaze was steady and sure, leaving no room for second thoughts.

Kneeling between Santiago’s knees on the couch, he reached hesitantly for the hem, tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he pulled the t-shirt over his friend's head, making his thick, dark curls bounce.

Frankie tossed the shirt at your feet.

“Now yours. Let him take it off.” Your directions were cool and calm, but heat was building inside you, Santi had delivered on his promise to bring you your third and now it was time to see how he would behave for you.

Frankie kept his eyes on you as Santi leaned forward to drag the shirt up Frankie’s torso, finally revealing his strong, wide shoulders and a soft belly with a trail of dark hair leading down under his jeans.

He was perfect.

“I’d like Santi to kiss you, Frankie. Is that alright?”

Frankie nodded, but didn’t look back at his friend until Santi wrapped his warm hand around the back of his neck. Frankie let his eyes fall, glassy and half lidded, to Santi’s plush lips, then lifted them to meet the other man’s intense gaze. Frankie lifted his own hand and mirrored Santi’s grip on his neck before tilting his head slightly, just enough for Santi to catch his lips in a deep kiss.

Santi, of course, had left this part out. He had explained that his wife wanted to have sex with him, and that she wanted Santi to be there. Frankie assumed that this was some cuck kink they had and he was more than ok with that. It stroked his ego to give a woman what another man couldn’t. The prospect of Santi joining them changed the dynamic a little, but Frankie was game. Santi was handsome and flirtatious, the two men had toed the line of flirtation themselves for years. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

••••••••••••••••

You looked on, feeling warmer by the minute, a dampness growing between your thighs as you watched two such masculine men, so powerful and strong making out for your enjoyment.

Santi’s hand drifted down Frankie’s back, and his other hand came to cup his cheek posessively. Again, Frankie mirrored his action and cradled Pope’s cheek in his hand, deepening the kiss.

“Take his pants off, Santiago.” You directed from your perch. You wanted to see who got hard first.

Santi broke the kiss, and guided Frankie to stand while he unbuttoned his jeans, drew the zipper downward, and pushed the soft denim off his narrow hips, leaving him in snug gray boxers, ones that you had picked out.

Frankie stepped out of his jeans and looked to you for approval or direction or anything, but it wasn’t necessary. The look on your face urged him on. He looped his index fingers through his friend's belt loops and pulled him closer to strip him of his pants as well, leaving him in a pair of matching underwear, just how you wanted them.

Nearly bare, the energy in the room thrummed. It felt warmer, more humid, felt as if the walls had closed in.

You didn't need to tell them what to do next, the two men, older, graying, battle scarred, no strangers to violence, held each other close and kissed with a passion that you hadn’t expected, Frankie leaned down to close the difference in their height, Santi kept a guiding hand on Frankie’s cheek.

“Alright Santiago, Francisco. I want to see you now. Both of you. All of you. Is he hard, Santi? Why don’t we find out” Santi grinned up at Frankie, and chuckled as he brought his hand to grip at the taller man’s half hard cock before hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pushing them down to the middle of his thighs.

“Tsk. I think you can do better than that, sweetheart. I need him hard. Help him out. Get on your knees for him.” Frankie’s head snapped to you, his eyes wide, unable to believe this is what you wanted. He only had to look at the way your chest heaved as you watched the men act out your fantasies to know you were serious. Santi, on the other hand, needed no confirmation. You were the boss. He had already dropped to his knees, cock in his hand, ready to show you exactly what you wanted to see.

With you in the chair soaking your panties and directing your own personal porno and Santi on the floor, tugging at his throbbing length, all of Frankie’s inhibitions evaporated. With no hesitation left, he threaded his thick fingers into Santi’s curls and pulled him close until his cheek was against his hip and his lips just inches from his quickly hardening length. “Do as she says, Pope. Suck.”

No sooner than the words left Frankie’s mouth, a shadow seemed to cross his best friend’s face and he huffed through his teeth, greedily taking Frankie’s cock into his mouth. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he stared up, groans rumbling deep in his chest as he worked the length into his throat, all for your pleasure. “That’s it. Take my cock down your throat. Suck it like you mean it.” As Frankie spoke he began to thrust his hips shallowly. He loved the power of having a strong man on his knees. Santi was a year or so younger, shorter but thick with muscle where Frankie was tall and lean. Santi’s beard grew in thicker but grayed sooner, making him look older where Frankie had maintained a bit of boyishness into his forties. Neither had ever wanted for the company of women.

“Don’t let him come.” Your words were sharp and cut through Frankie’s panting and murmuring and the squelching of his cock against the back of Santi’s throat. The men immediately stilled, and Frankie’s cock was left wet with saliva and his hands tight fists at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed deeply, and willed himself back from the edge.

“It’s your turn now, Frankie. Help Santiago. Get him close. Frankie’s heart pounded in his chest, suddenly unsure of his own abilities. Frankie knew exactly what to do for women, knew what to do for himself, knew how he liked to be touched, but he wasn’t sure how to touch his best friend to make him feel good and he really wasn’t sure what you wanted to see. He took a deep breath, and decided he would stick with what he knew.

Frankie pushed Santi backwards by his hips, smirking down at him before looking back to you. “He likes taking directions, doesn’t he? He likes being good.” Then turned back to Santi. “You’re going to be good aren’t you?” Not waiting for a response, he shoved him gently onto the couch, anchoring his hips with both hands and kissing down Santi’s woolly jaw, down his neck, across his scarred shoulder, then slowly back to suck dark marks across his throat. He could feel the vibration of the other man’s soft moans, it ignited something familiar in him, a need to take him apart, explore every piece, study and commit it all to memory, tuck it away for reference, become the expert on his needs. Not now, though. Now he just settled between Santi’s knees.

You crossed the room to sit on your knees next to your boyfriend, up close you could see the shine of saliva on his chest, hear his heavy breaths as Frankie took his twitching cock in hand and began to stroke him in long, firm movements. “You’re hard as a fuckin’ rock, Pope. You like this? Like letting your girl watch you suck my cock? Yeah. You like getting on your knees,too. Did good, Pope. Almost had me coming down your throat.” Santi whimpered at Frankie’s words, closing his eyes, furrowing his thick brows.

Licking his lips, Frankie moved slowly, lowering his head, licking a wide, slow stripe up the underside of Santi’s cock, mimicking the way he ate pussy, something he knew he excelled at.

Your eyes met Frankie’s as he continued licking and swirling his tongue over your boyfriend’s shaft. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal to your already dripping core. You imagined him between your own legs, his expert tongue and wide hands working you to your release.

Santi’s whimpering and squirming brought you back to the moment, reminding you that this was for your pleasure, not theirs. You are in control, and they’ll do what you say. Breathlessly, you command Frankie to stop,and he sits back, panting and needy, but obedient. His hand splayed over your thigh, silently begging for you to give him his next command. You placed your hand over his, admiring the difference in size and texture, his much larger and rougher than your own, callused and rough with thick veins across the back, but his nails were blunt and clean. You squeezed his hand before turning your focus to Santi, who was watching how you looked at his friend. He recognized the lust in your eyes, recognized the same in himself. When he shifted closer to you, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know Frankie was watching intently, canting his hips, searching for relief he wasn’t due. You simply held out your hand for him and he rose, planting his knees between yours and Santi’s so that he could straddle your legs at the same time before inviting himself into your kiss, licking at where your lips met, mouthing at you and his former squad mate, noses bumping.

Santi broke the kiss, pulling Frankie by his thick curls into a deep kiss of their own before guiding his face to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me what you can do, Frank. Santi’s been telling me you’ve got quite a reputation. I really want to see for myself what kind of skills you have. See if you really are “the pussy-eating king.”

How devious he looked, lips curling into a smirk at your challenge.

“Alright, cariño. I’ll show you, but don’t be disappointed when nobody ever does it good enough after this.”

He didn’t waste any more time. He pulled you down the couch so you were on the edge of the cushion, and lifted your knees. “Hold her knee, Santi.” The men worked as a team, it should have been no surprise. Santi’s familiar hand held your left knee up and out, giving Frankie unfettered access while he kissed you, licking into your mouth, grunting into you as you lazily stroked your husband’s cock.

Frankie rubbed over the soft skin of your thighs with his warm, rough hands. He squeezed and kneaded and worked his way down to your mound, covering it with one hand and gently sliding the heel of his hand to your clit, circling it, rolling it, making you groan into Santi’s mouth, your hand stilling on his cock.

Frankie’s left hand joined his right at your glistening pussy and he let his fingertips slip over your folds, smearing your slick from where it pooled up over your clit, rubbing with intention there before fluttering over your delicate inner folds. You gasped when he thumbed a wet stripe of your own slick over your pebbled nipple, and whined when Santi was quick to cover it with his mouth, tasting you there, cock twitching with need.

You were wetter than you could ever remember being. Almost embarrassingly so. Your pussy, Frankie’s fingers, down onto the couch you dripped, and when he pushed two thick fingers into you, the wet sounds were obscene. He twisted his wrist, licked and sucked your throbbing clit, groaning and humming against you as he worked you diligently toward your orgasm.

Santi’s eyes were locked to where Frankie devoured you, even as he kissed you and kneaded your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples, helping push you closer to the edge.

“Fuck. Doin so good do us, baby. Look at you. This what you wanted? Want him to make you come?”

You whimpered into Santi’s cheek, nodding, delirious with pleasure so many sensations overwhelmed you. “Close!” You managed finally. Frankie had taken his sweet time about your cunt, applying his tongue, his lips, his fingers with precision, easing you up to the apex of pleasure. With one last focused effort, he tongues your clit while he crooked his fingers against the spot inside you that he knew would finish you off.

You writhed, squeezing his head between your thighs while Santi kissed you messily, letting your climax wash over you until you were dazed and panting, too sensitive to move.

One of them handed you your drink and you sipped it as you came back to yourself, only then seeing the hungry way they looked at you. Santi ran his land through your hair and Frankie kissed your thigh and rubbed your knee.

“Frankie that was amazing. Santi, thank you.” You kissed Santi again, grateful that he was so willing and happy to let another man, his best friend eat you out to the best orgasm you’d ever gotten from oral, and possibly ever. But you knew that wasn’t where this would end. You placed your empty glass on the table and reached for Frankie, kissing him, unsure if that was crossing a boundary, but too deep into this dynamic to care. You pulled him onto the couch, sandwiching yourself between the men. Frankie leaned in to kiss you again, the force pushed you back into Santi’s warm chest and you felt his scratchy chin on your shoulder, voice soft, urging you onto Frankie’s lap.

“Don’t you want to show him how grateful you are? Why don’t you help him now, cariño?”

You turned to kiss Santi, but the moment was interrupted by Frankie’s hand landing a sharp smack on your ass. My turn.

You crawled onto his lap, whining when his cock brushed against your over-sensitive cunt. You settled happily with your arms around his neck, kissing him while he squeezed the plush round of your ass, letting him pull you up to bury his face between your tits, kissing and nipping at your soft skin, breathing deep to smell your sweat and perfume.

“Lift up. Want you to sit on this big cock.” You obeyed, raising enough for him to run the thick head of his cock through your slick folds and tease at your entrance, making you whine until Santi stopped you. “Uh uh. Not like that.” He pulled you to your feet and spun you around. “Like this.” He pushed your hips back and together he and Frankie guided you to sink down the thick length of Frankie’s cock. You squeezed your eyes shut and moved slowly, breathing deeply and adjusting to the full, throbbing, wanting ache of your pussy around him. When you felt ready to move, you opened them to find your husband between your wide open legs, staring darkly at the place where Frankie entered you. The delicate skin stretched so prettily over a big cock. He didn’t think he would ever get the image out of his mind. Neither the sight nor the sound of slapping skin, the harmony of your cries and Frankie’s grunts as he fucked up slowly into you. Not the smell of your arousal, covering all three of you now.

Frankie’s arms were around you, one across your stomach and one across your chest, giving him leverage to fuck your as he saw fit. Soft and crazy or hard and fast. He tried it all and you took it. You took his cock while Santi shifted on his knees, face mere inches from where you were speared on Frankie’s fat cock. He watched you rub your clit in small circles before he knocked your hand away. “Yeah. Look at that. Look at that pretty pussy. Look at how greedy. Think we could both fit?” Santi teased, before spitting onto your pussy. He watched it drip down past your clit before leaning in to lick it back up. He repeated the vulgar action, then sucked your swollen clit between his full lips.

You couldn’t help the pornographic moaning. Frankie cursed in Spanish under you as your clenched around him. When Santi relented, releasing your clit, they spoke strained, clipped sentences to each other in their native tongue. Frankie thrust deeper and Santi resumed his licking, fisting his own turgid member while thumbing at your puffy lips, licking up your slick, then tipping his head lower to press his tongue right over the place where Frankie entered you. He was wild, licking and mouthing as your cunt and Frankie’s cock, laving wet licks over his friend’s heavy balls until Frankie slammed into you one last time, filling you with his hot cum, fucking it deep. As Frankie covered you on the inside, Santi jerked himself to completion, shooting his load onto your cunt in thick white ribbons, lacing it over Frankie’s balls, the bottom of his cock. He admired his work for several moments, heart racing. He watched as Frankie’s cum began to leak out of you and dripped down fo mix with his own on Frankie’s cock.

When the three of you peeled yourselves apart, you relaxed a while on the desecrated sofa, Santi held you and you held Frankie. You ran your hands through his sweat damp curls, kissed his neck tenderly, told him how good he did. You gave Santi the same treatment, showering him with adoration and gratitude for agreeing to this and for helping you bring Frankie into the fold.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was rough, unpolished.

“Nice to see you too, Pope,” Chase smirked, but there was something underneath it. Something wary.

“How’d you find me, Chase?” He stepped aside, letting her in.

“You’re predictable.” Chase dropped her bag onto the floor, rolling out her stiff shoulders. “And you’re not as off the grid as you think.”

That pulled a sharp laugh from him as he said “I should’ve known” between chuckles. There was a brief silence that settled around them as the reality of what happened since they last saw each other.

“I heard about what happened when I left, Santi,” Chase whispered. She turned to face him slowly, meeting his gaze with a soft expression.

“Then you know it’s over,” Pope responded curtly. His jaw tightened. His tone was harsher than he meant; his shoulders relaxed as he shot her a sorry glance.

“Is it?” She snapped back, crossing her arms.

Pope glanced away because he knew she had a point. He didn’t answer because honestly, he wasn’t sure. This mission was still eating away at him. It lingered more than any other mission.

Chase had always been good at reading him. It was what made them a dangerous pair back in the day: she handled the intel, he handled the execution. But that was years ago ... yet, here she was, standing in his living room like she hadn’t ripped out a piece of his heart when she walked away from their world.

“You’re not the only one struggling with ghosts, ya know.” Chase’s voice was low and steady. “I lost plenty of people over the years... Tom was one of my best friends too—don’t forget that.”

Pope gazed back at her with a soft, caring expression. He knew how much Chase admired Tom and how much she tried to protect him.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like I should’ve done more,” Pope exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

“You did the best you could, Santi.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Then, quietly, she added, “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here.”

Chase stepped closer, tentative. His eyes locked onto hers as she came to a halt in front of him, their bodies closer than they had been in months. There had been a time when he believed in things like second chances. Maybe, just maybe, this was his second chance with her. She brushed her hand with his and wrapped her pinky around his—a quiet promise.

The tension eased only slightly as the night stretched on. Pope dug through his nearly empty fridge, pulling out a couple of beers. He slid one across the counter to Chase, who took it without hesitation, popping the cap off against the edge of the counter like it was second nature.

“Still got it,” Pope smirked, impressed.

“You always doubted me,” Chase grinned, winking at him. Her heart fluttered when she saw the way his cheeks blushed.

They sat in the dim light of the kitchen, leaning against the counters, both sipping their drinks in companionable silence. The weight of the past still clung to them, but for the first time in months, Pope didn’t feel completely alone.

“What are you really doing here, Chase?” he finally asked.

“You want the truth?” She stared at him for a long moment after he nodded earnestly. She sighed, setting her beer down. “I kept thinking about you... All I could think about was you, Santi.”

“That so?” His heart did something complicated in his chest. He masked it with a smirk.

“Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, but there was no heat to it. “I mean it. I spent so much time running from this life, trying to convince myself I wanted out. Then, I saw what happened with you and the guys in Colombia and I couldn’t stop thinking what if I had stayed after all… Could I have helped keep things from ending so terribly?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. We still would’ve ended up here.”

“Maybe not, but even so, maybe we could’ve gone through it together, Santi. Maybe Tom would still be alive to be a pain in my ass. Maybe we’d all hang out every weekend like we used to when it turned into sleepovers...”

That made Pope chuckled and Chase smiled, swallowing back her tears. She tilted from one leg to the other before adding, “And maybe the two of us would still be as close as we used to be. We were tied at the hip for years so I never noticed how connected we were until we weren’t... I can’t go that long without you again, Santi.”

His jaw tightened; that hit him harder than he expected. He’d spent months drowning in guilt, in loss, in regret. But hearing her say that—knowing that maybe he hadn’t been the only one feeling this way—lit something inside him that he thought had long since burned out.

He reached for her hand, hesitating for only a moment before lacing his fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away; instead, she squeezed his hand, grounding him in a way nothing else had since he left that damn jungle behind.

“Stay,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

And she did.

The next morning, Pope woke to the sound of soft footsteps in the kitchen. He found Chase standing by the stove, coffee brewing, her hair tied up in a messy knot like she’d been here a thousand times before. Her favorite button up of his hung loosely on her frame, hanging down her thighs. The sight was so normal, so domestic, that for a second he forgot about everything else.

Turning to look over her right shoulder, Chase caught Pope watching her. Her cheeks instantly turned red and she whipped her head back to watch the coffee pot to hide the way she blushed.

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” Chase murmured. “Coffee’s almost ready.”

“You always did know how to make yourself at home.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

She shrugged and said, “What can I say? You’ve got terrible hospitality.”

He laughed loudly, shaking his head. Pope made his way to her across the kitchen; Chase leaned her back against the kitchen sink. He stopped in front her and placed his arms on the counter, trapping her in a warm embrace.

“You planning on sticking around?”

She met his gaze, something steady and certain in her eyes. She ran a hand through his hair as she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Santi. Not again.”

For the first time in a long time, Pope felt something close to peace. Maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something new.

Weeks passed, and her presence didn’t fade like a dream. They settled into something: unspoken, undefined, but real. Late-night beers turned into quiet confessions, sleepless nights spent tangled together, bruised hearts healing slowly, stitch by stitch.

One evening, as they walked along the shore, the cool wind threading across their intertwined fingers, Chase studied him closely. Pope could feel her eyes on him, but he was focused on watching the waves roll in; he squeezed her hand in silent recognition. She nudged him lightly before she looked out at the horizon.

“You ever think about what’s next?” Chase asked quietly.

“I used to,” Pope exhaled, “but then I stopped.”

“Maybe it’s time to start again.”

“You mean start thinking about what’s next for you and me?” Pope asked as he turned to her, watching the way the fading sunlight danced in her eyes.

“Yes, but only if you want me, Santi.”

He didn’t have to think about it. For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like a battleground—it felt like a promise. And this time, he wasn’t going to let it slip away. He leaned in and kissed her softly, wrapping his hands around her waist. She leaned into him and relaxed against his chest.

“I've only ever wanted you, Chase,” Pope answered. Chase smiled, soft and certain in return.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension that had once ruled his life began to ease, replaced by something quieter, steadier. Chase didn’t just stay; she integrated into his world, piece by piece, in ways he never thought he’d allow someone to again.

She reorganized his kitchen when she claimed his system made no sense, teased him when he grumbled but let her do it anyway. She stole his hoodies when the mornings were cold, even though she had plenty of her own. And when the nights grew heavy with old ghosts and restless memories, she was there—her presence an anchor, her touch a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

One evening, he found her sitting on the back deck, feet propped up on the railing, a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand. She looked so at ease that it took him a moment to realize how rare it was to see her unguarded, just as much as she had seen him when he was vulnerable.

“Getting comfortable?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

“It’s starting to feel like home,” she grinned, tilting her head toward him. “It feels like our home, Santi.”

Something in his chest tightened—not with fear, but with something warmer, something he hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time. He walked over, taking the glass from her hands and setting it aside before pulling her into him. She fit there, against him, like she belonged. Like she’d always been meant to.

“You ever think we’re just two stubborn idiots who took too damn long to figure this out?” she murmured against his chest.

“Oh yeah we’re definitely stupid,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Santi, but I need to know…” Chase pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression more serious now. “Are you really here? Not just for now, but for good.”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He met her gaze, no hesitation in his answer. “I’m here for the long haul, Chase.”

She studied him for a beat longer, as if making sure he meant it. Then she nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” she replied firmly with a smile.

The unexpected night off meant you got comfy in a large oversized t-shirt and soft cotton sleep shorts. Which was the call for the blanket as the temperature outside cooled down more than you were expecting. Your calico Ellie also helped keep you warm as she purred on your lap.

The lights flickered, but nothing else seemed affected, so you ignored it and returned to watching the movie. After months of built-up flirting, the male protagonist had just gotten the nerve to kiss the female protagonist. His hand on her chin made goosebumps rise along your skin. You were hopelessly romantic and loved all those movies and seeing the characters kiss for the first time. It was electric, and you always dreamed of having that for yourself.

The lights flickered three more times in rapid succession before everything went dark. Even though your heart rate elevated with anxiety, you managed a breath before muttering, “Damn it,” and getting up from your comfortable spot. Ellie gave a soft chirping meow to let you know that she didn’t like being moved, but she managed to get to the other end of the couch and curl back up to sleep. You shook your head at her before heading to the kitchen. In one of the drawers, you dug through the piles of receipts and take-out menus, rubber bands, and scotch tape until you found the little purple sparkly flashlight.

Just as you pull it out to turn it on, a loud knock at your door makes you jump—your heart races as you try to steady your breathing. You get the flashlight turned on just before you reach your front door. You peeked out the top window from your tiptoes just enough to see the top of a head covered in onyx-colored curls. You opened the door to find Santiago, your neighbor, soaked to the bone and panting.

“Santi,” you sighed as you lowered the flashlight and stepped back to allow him inside. His head is lowered as he steps in but remains on the indoor welcome mat, seemingly trying not to drip water all over your hardwood floor. You closed the door, rushed to the oven to grab the hand towel, and handed it to him. He offered a soft “thanks” while drying his face and arms.

“Well, I see you’re out of power too,” Santi mentions as he stands up straighter and looks around your living room with a soft chuckle, then back to you.

“Just lost it. Interrupted my movie too,” you offer with a soft laugh; turning off the flashlight as the moon glows from outside is enough to see Santi as you converse.

After an awkward silence, Santi hands the now-damp towel back to you, and you put it on the counter beside you.

“Didn’t know if you and Ellie needed anything,” he finally spoke after clearing his throat. His brows lifted as he looked at you. Even in the dark, there was no denying how handsome Santi was. Add in how wonderful of a neighbor he had been over the last year since you moved in, and he was pretty accurately the perfect man.

He had helped change the spark plugs in your car, repaired the front gutter, helped build your back deck, and replaced the upstairs bath’s faucet. All for free. He never asked for anything in return except for some free pastries when he’d stop by your bakery. You couldn’t say no. His sweet tooth was like no other, and for the rugged man he appeared to be, knowing he had a soft spot for your cupcakes and brownies made you just that little bit mushier.

“It’s fine. We’ve survived worse,” you commented, a wry laugh being pulled from you. The words and meanings were heavier than you intended them to be. Santi seemed to catch on as he stared after you, watching you move further into the kitchen.

“Did you want some water?” you offered as you reached into the cupboard for two glasses. The fridge, thankfully, still worked for a few minutes after a power outage. You knew it would eventually run out of the reserved energy to keep things cold, but at least you had the water jug in there.

“Sure,” Santi answered, wiping his feet before venturing toward you over at the sink. But as he waited, he did so very close to the side of the fridge. You turned after filling the first glass and bumped into him with your elbow, causing the cold water to splash onto you, eliciting a shriek.

“Oh! Shit, I’m so sorry,” Santi started apologizing and immediately grabbed the towel from the counter you had let him use. He started patting you down with it, but the dampness of the towel from his usage and the cold water already absorbing into your shirt caused you to shiver and shake your head. You set the glass on the counter by the fridge and mumbled to him that you were okay. He handed you the towel but stood dumbfounded as he watched you.

“Are you sure? Can I get you something else? Where are your other towels?” he asked rapidly before hurrying around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets to find something else to dry you off.

“Santi,” you said with a laugh. “I’m good. Let me get changed. Help yourself to the water, though. I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared around the corner and down the hall. Stripping off the T-shirt once in your bedroom, you opened your wardrobe to find... nothing else in the comfort level to be worn. Your dirty laundry was still in the washer in the basement, and you hadn’t switched it over to the dryer before the storm. You mentally and physically facepalmed. “Great,” you muttered before closing the drawer and moving to your closet. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it would have to do.

Walking back out toward the kitchen, fiddling with the buttons on your ex’s dress shirt, you didn’t notice Santi had moved, and you ran head-first into his solid chest. “Whoa,” he laughed, his arms coming out to steady your shoulders. His hands were warm on your cold skin, even through the shirt's material.

You swallowed thickly as you looked up at him. The moment was fleeting, but it was there, and you swore you saw the sparkle in his deep brown eyes. But perhaps that was just the lights flickering back on. You heard all the machines in your kitchen turn on, and it must have cleared Santi’s mind because he, too, backed away and cleared his throat.

“Well, look at that,” he said and nodded slowly, looking around to see everything turn back on - including the television. The movie must have paused when the power went out because it picked right back up where it had left off. The two main characters were getting into their kissing, and the music was swelling, indicating which direction things were going in.

“Oh!” you shouted as the moans from the actors started to fill the room and romantic close-ups of their bodies began to show on the screen. You practically fumbled and ran from Santi to find the remote. The moaning and panting got louder, and you swore the remote was on the couch. You bent in strange ways, trying to see it, lifting the blanket from where it had crumpled, and felt your heart racing faster and faster with each passing moment.

Santi looked on, bemused, a smirk on his lips, taking a mental note of what kind of movies you enjoyed. Was it because he wanted to know you a bit better? Yes. Was it also because the noises from the tv sounded erotic and affected him? Also yes. And how you bent over at one certain angle, perhaps giving him the slightest hint of the bottom of your backside? Absolutely yes.

He walked over after you seemed to be failing at locating the remote. “Can I help?” he asked, standing closer to the tv, the actors getting into the steamy sex scene now. You could barely hear him over the thumping in your ears from your heart. Where the fuck did that little remote go, and why was there so much moaning on the television now?

You turned and saw Santi watching the tv as the sex scene played. It was rather raunchy for being a romance film, but it was steamy and sexy, and you swallowed thickly. You cleared your throat, staring at how Santi watched the scene play out.

“What movie is this?” he asked before facing you and noticing you staring at him.

Caught off guard, you stumbled through an answer. “Oh, uh, it’s just some romance movie based on a book series.” Vague, yes. Keep it vague.

Santi’s smirk took over, and your knees would buckle if it were a romance movie like the one on your screen. He was so ruggedly handsome, and you were brought back to just a few minutes before when his hands were on you. The feeling had this moment of staring at each other, turning you into a puddle. Especially as Santi moved away from the tv and toward you, his head cocked to one side, seemingly studying you.

“Do you like romance novels? And movies?”

There was no judgment, no mocking in his tone. He was genuinely asking. You quickly ran through the scenarios of what a yes answer and a denying no answer could look like. You opted for honesty. After all, other than your crush on him, your neighborly friendship with him had always been honest and straightforward.

You nodded as he moved closer and now stood directly before you. His nod was much slower than yours, thoughtful, and you noticed all of the stubble along his jaw. That hadn’t been there the last time you had seen him. But it suited him. His hand gently came up in front of your chest but paused, his eyes searching yours. Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back as your head gently nodded.

His rough, calloused hand ghosted in front of your chest and to your jawline. The contrast of the feel of his hand against your jaw and your skin caused both of you to take shuddering breaths in. “So you enjoy the idea of being kissed… softly?” Santi asked, his soft, graveling tone sending a shiver down your body.

Your heart felt like it had jumped into your throat, making words hard to come out. Instead, you nodded and breathed in, holding it. Your gaze on Santi was soft but begging him to move even closer. You had wanted to feel his kiss for so long, but you didn’t know that he even had an inkling of romantic feelings toward you.

“May I?”

The question surprised you. Santi didn’t seem the type to ask. You had seen him with women at the neighborhood picnics and gatherings. He always seemed so in control and cocky. The first time you officially introduced yourself to him, his smirk nearly made you hate him because he looked so full of himself.

But it was becoming more apparent that that was a facade, and with that, you nodded and mumbled a soft “please” in answer. His look was pure contentment as he leaned in, his hand sliding over to hold your chin and lifting it ever so slightly. He leaned in, his lips nearly at yours before he spoke, causing you to whimper.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for six months.”

You blinked and looked up at him. Your face did a slight double take, blinking harder.

“What?”

“I came over to help you fix more stuff because I had this ridiculous fantasy of coming over sometime and finding you half-dressed. I’d take you on the couch and devour you, tasting all of you. Like some romance movie,” he admitted, and your entire body became alight with lust. You couldn’t even stop your hands as they lifted to his fitted t-shirt and gripped the front of it, pulling him to you so that his lips had no choice but to land on yours.

The groans he let out let you know that you had done something right in taking the first move. His free hand slid down the side of your body to your hip, where his rough fingertips dug into your flesh, crumpling the shirt. You took a step back, tugging him with you until your knees buckled at the couch, and you both landed, Santi’s knee on the left side of you on the sofa.

Your hands moved up to his face, cupping his scruffed jaw. His lips chased yours, but you had other plans as you held his face and moved your lips along his cheek and to the soft spot behind his ear. Your tongue played against it, licking him before moving to his jugular. His hand on your chin slid down to cup your breast through the shirt, and you moaned, arching your back into his touch.

“Oh, that’s what you like, hm?” he breathed out, moving his face down to echo the licking and nibbling at your neck that you had just done to him. His smirk could be felt against your skin as you mewled in pleasure.

Hands moved all over; mouths continued to explore the upper parts of your bodies until they were reunited again in a heavier, hotter, more passionate kiss. Santi’s hand trailed down your body to between your legs, where he found your moist center. He groaned, his thumb pressing gently against the sensitive button that had your hips wildly thrusting toward him. His hand continued to move but in such a teasing manner that it was starting to frustrate you. Just having his body on yours was better than anything, but having his hand at your most needed part was already better than all your nights with your toys.

His mouth ventured down, suckling at your breast through the shirt, moistening it before moving down until he was on his knees on the floor in front of the couch and you. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the oversized shirt out of his way. He leaned in, kissing up one thigh, then, when he barely reached your apex, his mouth moved to the other, starting the trail north.

“God, Santi, please,” you murmured, a mumble. Your brain was working on overdrive that this man would do this to live out the fantasy he had admitted to you.

His hands worked down your shorts and panties in one fell swoop. A master at undressing you already. Either that, or you were just that needy and desperate. He leaned in the moment he saw the glistening of your sex. His tongue swiping along your slit, bottom to top, your hands nestled into his curls.

“Santi.” You breathed out his name in pants and moans, and he was done for. His mouth closed over your warm cunt, lapping at you before stiffening his tongue and pressing into you. The curl of the muscle of his tongue pushing into you had your breath catching in your throat. His mouth was magic, and you were sure to come undone quickly.

But just as your peak nearly hit, your hips pressing up against his face, he pulled back, his hands pushing your hips back down. “Oh, baby. Not yet. I want to see you crumble and hear you scream, but I want to keep tastin’ you. I want to know that I’m making you shudder and shiver from pleasure. Okay?”

You whine, but if the last few minutes were any indication, Santi had no plans to leave the space between your legs soon. His tongue gently licked at you, to which you shuddered from sensitivity. His hands worked in slow circles on your thighs, and when his mouth wasn’t against you, his eyes were studying his fingers played gently against your clit, watching the way you would tense and clench around nothing.

And you were right. Three orgasms from his lips and mouth alone later, Santi finally comes up for air, his scruff glistening with your wetness. You reach out for him and pull his head up to you so that you can lean forward and capture his lips against yours. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and in his mouth as you deepen the kiss.

When you broke the kiss, Santi leaned his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “I.. am not done with you,” he grinned as he kissed you chastely and pulled back. Showing you the wicked grin on his lips and the devilish glint in his dark eyes. You laughed and shook your head.

“You really shouldn’t wait six months to kiss me next time,” you quipped. His chuckle seemed to rumble deep into his chest.

“Oh, so you’re sassy too, huh?” he laughed as his hands gently tickled your sides before sliding one up to hold your chin again to you could look directly into his eyes.