The party was buzzing, music pulsing through the walls, but Alejandro’s focus was on you from the moment your eyes met across the room. His usual calm and commanding presence softened as the two of you slipped away from the crowd, laughter spilling between quiet conversations that carried just enough tension to blur into something more. By the time you reached his place, there was no hesitation left—just heat and curiosity guiding every step.

In the dim glow of his apartment, the air felt thicker, charged. The closeness between you both made the outside world disappear. Alejandro’s hands were firm but careful, his lips tracing promises he hadn’t put into words. Things escalated naturally, smoothly, until suddenly he froze, muttering a curse under his breath.

You looked at him, flushed and breathless. “What?”

He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair with that mix of frustration and restraint that made him almost more attractive. “I don’t have any lube,” he admitted, his accent wrapping around the words with a low rasp.

You smirked, tugging him closer. “So? Just use spit.”

Alejandro’s expression shifted instantly, his brows furrowing in that protective, stubborn way. “No,” he said firmly, almost scolding. “That’ll hurt you. It’s not the proper way to enjoy this.”

The seriousness in his tone caught you off guard. He wasn’t joking—he meant it. You could feel the tension in his grip, the way he wanted you badly but refused to let desire come before care.