Chapter 90

Chapter 90
Diego

Landon comes home around one in the morning. I’ve been sitting in the living room since his message hours ago, waiting, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. When I hear the front door open, my body reacts before my mind does—I rise from the couch, heart pounding, every nerve alive.

I walk slowly out of the living room, each step deliberate, until I see him. He’s standing just inside the door, his back pressed against it as though he needs its support. The dim light from the hallway frames him, casting shadows across his face. My eyes sweep over him, assessing, searching for any sign of harm. From what I can see, he’s whole.

He turns his head, his gaze locking onto mine. “Diego.”

The sound of my name on his lips spurs me into motion, quickening my steps until I’m in front of him. I reach out, my hand wrapping firmly around the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. He comes willingly, our lips meeting in the middle.

I kiss him with everything I’ve been holding back—the fear, the longing, the desperation of the past few hours as I sat alone, trying not to imagine the worst. The worst being that he never came back. But he did. He’s here.

My arms lock around his waist, dragging him closer, refusing to let him slip away. My mouth plunders his, my tongue exploring every corner, every curve, every place it can reach. I tangle with his, lick the roof of his mouth, trace over his teeth, touching everywhere as if to assure myself this is real, that he’s flesh and blood and not some fragile dream.

Landon pulls back finally, gasping for breath, his chest heaving against mine. His lips are swollen, his eyes wide, and for a moment we just stare at each other, the air between us thick with everything we can’t put into words.

Landon looks at me for a long moment, his eyes soft but weighted, before he whispers, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Without hesitation, I slide my hands beneath his thighs and lift him. He clings to me instantly, arms and legs wrapping around my body, his face burying into the curve of my neck. His breath is warm against my skin, and I feel the tremor of his relief as I carry him slowly up the steps. Each footfall echoes in the quiet house, the anticipation thick between us.

We reach our room, and I kick the door closed behind me, the sound sharp, final. I cross to the bed and lay him down gently, savoring the way he looks up at me, trusting, vulnerable. My fingers move with deliberate care as I unzip his pants, sliding them down, then tug his shirt over his head. His underwear comes last, leaving him bare before me.

I pause, stepping back to strip myself of my own clothes, each layer falling away until nothing separates us. Then I flip him over, my gaze drawn to the canvas of his back. The scars are there—faded, healed, but still etched into his skin, silent testimony of his suffering.

For a moment, I just stare, my chest tightening. Then I lean down, pressing my lips to the marks one by one. He shivers beneath me, the tremor running through his body like a silent confession. I kiss every scar, tracing them with reverence, as if each touch is a vow.

Through my lips, I tell him what words cannot—that no matter the flaws, no matter the past, I see only beauty in him. That I love him, wholly, endlessly, scars and all.

Landon continues trembling beneath me as my lips trace the length of his back, each kiss deliberate, reverent. His skin quivers under my mouth, every scar and curve a map of his survival. I move lower, my hands firm on his hips, anchoring him as I press my lips to the base of his spine. I move down to his ass and bite one plump cheek before sinking my teeth into the other.

He shudders and moans, the sound escaping him raw and unguarded. I linger there, tasting the salt of his skin, letting him feel the weight of my devotion in every touch. My teeth graze lightly, not to hurt but to remind him of my presence—of the bond between us that is deeper than flesh.

I pause, staring at him, at the way his body responds to me. To anyone else, these marks might be flaws, but to me, they are proof of his strength, his resilience. Proof that he is mine, and I am his.

I step back, my breath uneven, and cross to the nightstand. My hand closes around the lube and condoms, the gesture almost habitual now. When I turn back, my eyes fall on Landon stretched across the bed, his body framed by the soft glow of the lamp.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring down at him. He looks like a feast laid out before me, every line of his body inviting, every tremor of his breath a reminder of how much I crave him. Beautiful, vulnerable, and mine.

The anticipation coils inside me, sharp and consuming. I take in the sight of him, the way he waits for me, trusting, offering himself without hesitation. It’s more than desire—it’s devotion, it’s the culmination of everything we’ve endured to reach this moment.

I walk back over to the bed and pop the cap on the lube, spreading Landon’s ass cheeks as I drizzle lube between them. I watch the shiny, viscous fluid slide down over his hole, some of it settling into the pucker. I put my index finger right against his entrance and push slightly. I feel his hole clench against my finger briefly, resisting for only a moment before he relaxes and I push my finger in to the knuckle. Landon groans, and I feel his hole fluttering around my finger.

I work my finger in and out, wondering why Landon is so quiet. Looking up, that's when I see it—his teeth pressed hard against his lip, holding back the sounds threatening to escape. His silence is a battle, his body trembling with the effort.

I pause just long enough to catch his gaze, my voice low, coaxing, commanding. “Let me hear you. Don’t keep your sounds from me—I want everything.”

The words hang heavy in the air, more than a request, more than desire. They are a demand for truth, for vulnerability, for the raw proof of what lies between us.

His eyes flicker, the restraint faltering, and I feel the tension shift. The silence is breaking.

Like music, the sounds spill from his lips—soft, broken notes that rise and fall in rhythm. His voice trembles, raw and unguarded, each syllable carrying the weight of everything he feels.

“Ngh… oh…ahhh, just like that, Diego… you make me feel so good.”

The words hang in the air, vibrating through me, more powerful than any declaration. His voice is a melody I never tire of hearing, a song that belongs only to us. Each sound is proof that he’s mine, that he trusts me enough to let go, to give me everything.

I drink it in, every note, every breath, as if it’s the only music I’ll ever need.