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Renzo gave a little sway of his hips, which made Emil’s mouth go dry, and he tried and failed to keep his cock from tenting his pants. Making some child’s hot drink shouldn’t have been sexy either, but the way Renzo moved was like watching an expert dance. He added everything to the pot, and as he started stirring, he shot a wink over his shoulder, and Emil’s face erupted with heat.
“Stop.”
“Nope,” Renzo said. “You’re gonna beg to fuck my brains out after you taste this.”
Emil choked on his own tongue a bit. “That’s a bold claim.”
“I know.” Renzo grinned as he spun back toward the stove and carefully lifted the pot, pouring the chocolate into two mugs. “And you’ll see why in a second.”
Emil said nothing, half-drunk on watching Renzo just move. He had a kind of grace about him that wasn’t traditional, and somehow, that made him even more beautiful. He wanted to savor it, to hold it close and let it sear into his brain because with the way his life was, he had no reason to believe this wasn’t temporary.
“Okay. Don’t gulp it. It’s made for sipping. And I take gifts in the form of chocolate-covered fruit baskets and massage oils,” Renzo told him, pushing a mug close.
Emil looked down and saw it was very likely something Matty had painted. It was a countryside with a small dog running off in the distance. “Was it your brother’s dog?”
“Hmm?” Renzo frowned, looking up from where he was blowing on his chocolate. “Oh! Uh, no. We’ve never had a dog. My parents weren’t convinced Matty would be able to take care of it on his own, and they were too old, and my sister’s horrifically allergic.”
Emil brought the mug toward his face and took a deep breath. The scent was very rich—almost bitter in a way—and there was something underneath it. Something a little spicy. “Has Matty ever wanted to live on his own?”
Renzo’s face did something complicated, and he let out a short breath. “I don’t mean to be a dick, but?—”
“None of my business,” Emil said immediately. “I get it. I’m sorry. I’m still learning the whole proper social etiquette thing.” He said it like a joke, but Renzo’s face fell like he felt sorry for him, and Emil hated it, even if he deserved it.
It was pathetic to not know how to talk to someone without being an offensive asshole. And it was worse having to admit it.
He swallowed heavily, then brought the chocolate to his lips and took a long sip. At first, it was just rich and heavy against his tongue. Then, after a beat, it was spicy. The warm burn hit him in the back of the throat, then all the way down to his gut.
“Wow,” he breathed out.
Renzo’s grin widened. “See?”
Emil took another sip. He wouldn’t be able to have much, but Renzo had been right about one thing: it was the best hot chocolate he’d ever tasted.
He couldn’t say it made him want to fuck Renzo’s brains out, but that was mostly because he’d been wanting to do that from the first time he saw Renzo outside chopping wood with abs all on display. And he doubted a mug of hot chocolate—no matter how good—could change how badly he wanted the man.
He dabbed the corners of his lips with his fingers, then set the mug down. “So.”
Renzo looked at him, and their gazes locked, almost like a challenge. “My room?”
Emil coughed. “Oh. You…”
With a furious blush, Renzo looked away. “I mean, yes, I want to. But it wasn’t like I expected it. I’m…shit. I’m sorry.”
Emil was on his feet and walking around the counter before Renzo could get too deep into his embarrassment. Grabbing him by the hips, Emil pinned his backside and leaned in, pressing a sucking kiss to the place his pulse was hammering.
“I want you,” he murmured.
Renzo’s head tipped to the side, and he buried his hand in Emil’s hair. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about you since I left here. I loved the chocolate, but it was completely unnecessary.” Emil kissed his neck again, then added, “I just didn’t want to cross any lines that you drew.”
Renzo let out a soft sigh and scratched his nails over Emil’s scalp, making him feel soft and melty. “I was trying to protect myself. You make me feel a lot of things that terrify me.”
“I get it,” Emil told him. Not because he’d been there, but he knew what Renzo had been through. And God help him, but Emil couldn’t ever promise not to be that guy because he was still trying to figure out what kind of person he was.
The idea of hurting Renzo made him want to tear his own face off, but he had no idea how to believe in himself either. For a long time, it seemed like every choice he made left good people in pain.
“Come upstairs,” Renzo whispered.
