Xavier's breathing turned heavier against Asher's neck, his fingers tightening around the younger man's waist as the heat between them spiraled further out of control. The water around their bodies rippled softly, but neither of them cared about the pool anymore. Their attention was fixed entirely on each other.
"If I keep going," Xavier warned in a rough voice, "I won't be able to stop myself, Asher. I don't go soft."
Asher, already half-melting against his chest, only buried his face deeper into Xavier's shoulder and nodded eagerly.
"I know," he whispered breathlessly. "And I don't want soft. Soft is boring. I want you rough, Xavier… make me lose control. I'm burning up."
And he truly was.
Xavier could feel the unnatural heat radiating from Asher's body, could feel the trembling hidden beneath his desperate words. Yet mixed with the feverish need was trust—complete, dangerous trust—and it did something devastating to Xavier's self-control.
A low groan escaped him.
