Page 88 of Raspados & Regret

He bites his smile back.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

My dick twitches so hard I get distracted and actually walk into the wall once we hit the landing. My shoulder hits drywall with a soft thud, and Elías has to slap his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I point at him. “Keep walking.”

He leads me into his room and shuts the door carefully behind us.

His room’s small with a fan rattling in the corner like it’s fighting for its life. Clothes on the chair. Bed half-made, sheets tangled. A little ceramic dish shaped like a lime on the dresser, full of rings and silver earrings. There are posters on the wall, a bookshelf packed too tight, and a laundry basket overflowing near the closet. The air is thick with heat and the specific musk of him—detergent, skin, and something metallic from the fan.

It looks like him.

Loud without trying.

Messy but lived-in.

Real.

He turns the lock slowly, then faces me.

For a second, neither of us moves. Outside his room, the house breathes quietly. Pipes. A distant car. The hum of the fan. My own pulse. Somewhere down the hall, his mom snores—a long, rattling sound that stops abruptly.

We freeze and stare at each other.

Three seconds.

Four.

The snoring starts again.

Elías exhales and presses his forehead against the door. “We’re going to hell.”

“If she wakes up, I’m jumping out the window.”

“We’re on the second story. You’ll break your legs.” He laughs.

“Then I’ll crawl away.”

He turns around, leaning back against the door. “You good?”

I close my eyes. “I hate that question.”

“I know.”

I open them, and he’s still watching me.

No joke this time.

Or almost none.

“I’m good,” I say. Then, because he deserves better than my usual bullshit, I add, “Just a lil nervous.”

His expression changes. “Because of me?”

“Because of this.”

His gaze drops, then comes back up. “This?”