Carlo“I like him?” I mutter to myself, sitting on the couch in my office, legs opened, my elbows resting on my thighs and fingers laced into each other, my head bowed, staring into space.Fuck.I didn’t even plan to say it. The words just… slipped. Came out like a goddamn confession I didn’t even know I had buried somewhere in this twisted-ass brain of mine.But now that I’ve said it, now that it’s hanging in the air like some curse I can’t take back, it’s like my mind won’t shut the fuck up. Everything starts piecing itself together, like my body knew before my head did.I like Blaze?No. It’s worse.I fucking love him.And that realization is pissing me the fuck off.I rub my palm down my face and sit back, jaw tight. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I’m not some soft little bitch who falls in love and sends flowers and writes cute texts and waits for a reply like a dumb dog wagging its tail.That’s not me.Or at least, it wasn’t.Until Blaze. Arghh, this is so frustrat
Blaze“It’s fucking gone,” I mutter under my breath as we pull up to the building.Flames aren’t licking the sky anymore, but the smoke—fuck—the smoke still hangs like a dark fucking omen above what used to be my apartment. Fire trucks are parked haphazardly, sirens off now, lights still spinning like it’s all some twisted party I wasn’t invited to. I stumble out of the car before Carlo even fully stops it.Part of the building is still standing, but the right side, my fucking side, looks like someone ripped it apart and tried to cook it. The firefighters are already wrapping shit up, the worst of it over, but all I see is black char and twisted metal where my room used to be.“No. Fuck. No,” I whisper, running a hand through my hair. My heart’s pounding. Not just from panic, but from this helpless, stupid feeling of loss. All my shit’s in there. My jacket. My tools. My fucking sketchpad. Everything.Carlo stands next to me, silent, watching the building like it’s a goddamn TV show. I
BlazeSoon I lounged on the big couch in the living room, everything here smells like that jerk.His scent is everywhere. Embedded in the cushions, soaked into the curtains, carved into the damn air like an invisible brand. It’s musky and warm, laced with cologne and something darker underneath—like heat and sin. It crawls into my nose and wraps itself around my ribs like a vice.I yank the blanket higher, gripping the edge like it can shield me from him, even when he’s not here.Why the fuck did I agree to stay here?Oh right—because I’m broke. Because the rain came down hard. Because my pride got punched in the face by the universe and now I’m sleeping on the goddamn lion’s couch.The idiot is stupidly rich.Carlo fucking jerk.The same bastard who’s been tangled in my head for months now, chewing at the edges of my sanity every time we cross paths. He’s always been smug, always infuriating, always too much. And now I’m in his space, breathing his air, wrapped in the scent of him li
CarloBlaze stared at me with both embarrassment and anger… Honestly I had thought he pretended not to remember that night, that’s one reason I pushed this whole contract shit. If he wanted to deny the night that ruined my sanity, I’d let him remember every bit of it.The second I see the way his eyes burn into me—his mouth tight, his chest rising like he’s holding back a scream—I fucking know. He remembers. And not just a flash. Not just a sliver. That night’s come back to him like a fucking punch to the gut.“You bastard,” he spits, voice shaking. “Do you know how much that memory was seared into my head? I was clinging to it like a lifeline but the person was you all this time?”Fuck.I blink, my heart pounding. I want to grab him, shake him, kiss the anger off his face, but I don’t move yet. His voice is raw, broken, and underneath all that fury, there’s pain.Real fucking pain.And that does something to me.What the fuck does he mean by lifeline? That night wasn’t just sex for h
Blaze“Whatever was suddenly wrong with me, I just can’t understand my current feeling, it’s like holding on to something you have looked for all your life and finding it in the last minute.”A sharp, sensitive feeling brazes my nipple, and I shudder like some desperate virgin who’s been teased for too damn long.“Argh,” I manage to moan out the moment he frees my lips for a second.Yeah, it does feel familiar now. I know this feeling—this pleasure that races down my spine, straight to my balls. It’s the kind of rush that makes my toes curl and my brain short-circuit. He moves to my neck, face buried against my skin, his breath warm and maddening. One arm wraps tight around me, the other slips down into my boxers like he owns the damn place.I brace myself, expecting one of his stupid-ass taunts—some cocky shit like, “You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” But he says nothing.He strokes me slowly, and I swear I melt into a puddle of horny weakness. My tip’s already leaking, probabl
BlazeHe spills his hot cum all over my face as he grabs my head and pulls me away, groaning through clenched teeth. Seeing the expression on his face gives me a twisted satisfaction... seeing how much he's helpless under my touch.He finally raises his head, our eyes locking for a while before he stretches his hand to wipe the cum off my face—but instead, he grabs me. In one swift movement, he flips me, my back hitting the couch, legs in the air like I’m some fuck toy he just unwrapped."Carlo—" I start to say, but he ain't listening. His fingers are already yanking my boxers off like it personally offended him.I don't fight it.He raises both my legs with one arm, his palm still wet with his cum, and then he fucking slides his hand straight into my hole."Did you get wet on both sides from sucking me?" he smirks, that cocky expression that used to piss me off so bad. But now? It makes my stomach twist and burn in a whole different way. Shit, I even blush.Fucking hell, I blush like
Blaze“You’re not leaving, are you?” I ask him, stretching across the bed to steal the last pancake off his plate.Carlo smirks, grabbing the fork before I get to it. “Not unless you’re kicking me out.”I roll my eyes, flipping onto my back, letting the sheet fall off my stomach. “Tch. I should kick you out. For breathing too loud.”He chuckles. “What the? This is my house and please, I breathe sexy.”“This is my room and no, you breathe like a middle-aged dog.”It’s been a month. Just one fucking month since this thing started—whatever the hell this is. A month of not killing each other. Of actually sleeping in the same bed. Of sneaky fucks. Morning breakfasts that turn into lazy conversations about dumb shit. Nights where we talk so much I forget why I hated him.And yeah, I hated him. Still do sometimes. The smugness, the way he never fucking backs down, the fact that he always has something to say when I want silence. But somehow, he’s here. Still here. And I’m not asking him to l
CarloHow Blaze and I managed to drop our defenses and set our differences aside still baffles me. It’s like we spent years burying something real beneath layers of resentment—hatred we clung to so tightly, we forgot what even started it.Ever since that night he saw my tattoo, things have shifted. There’s this magnetic pull between us now, like gravity finally gave up fighting. He’s loosened up around me, more open, more… him. It’s almost hard to believe we were ever at each other’s throats, and somehow, that contrast makes every moment with him feel even more addictive.But the more I accept how deep I’ve fallen for this idiot—the same one I’ve been pretending to hate for years—the more I start to unravel. I’ve known it since that damn first night: I love him. And now that I do, everything feels more fragile. He keeps putting up this wall every time I try to move us forward, like he’s scared of what it means. Hell, maybe I am too.What if I cancel the contract? Will he walk away? Wi
CarloAfter one month of the accident that made Blaze consider my pathetic love, if I had known that was the solution I would have bumped into a tree a long time ago… I am back to the office.“If you don’t give me that fucking hotel, I’m gonna send the second drive to dad. And this one has more than just company shit, Carlo… this one proves you’re fucking a man. The heir to Davenport, the golden boy, the one he’s been grooming since we were kids… balls deep in a fucking guy. Think about that.”That’s how William walks into my fucking office at 7AM.No fucking good morning, not like we have good relationship to say pleasantries anyway, but straight up blackmailing me is fucking insane. Just like him.I lean back slowly in my chair, trying to pretend my head isn’t already throbbing from everything else going on. My jaw clenches, and I force my voice to stay calm even though every muscle in me is screaming to fucking pounce on him.“You’re bluffing.”“Am I?” William smirks, tossing a fla
Blaze“Felix’s drunk ass is at my bar again. You might wanna come get him before he breaks something.”That’s the fucking call I get at 1:34 a.m. Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse. I’m lying in bed, staring at the goddamn ceiling, half replaying Carlo’s bullshit from earlier and half trying to pretend I don’t care. But then that call comes in and all my attempts at peace flush straight down the fucking toilet.I drag myself out of bed, throw on whatever hoodie I can find, and head out. It’s not even about wanting to go. It’s guilt. It’s instinct. It’s… fuck, I don’t even know anymore. All I know is, Felix is at his worst, and I’m the only person who probably still gives a damn.By the time I get to the bar, it’s exactly what I expected. Dim lights, sticky floor, music too loud for this dead hour, and Felix slumped at the edge of the counter, head half in a glass, mumbling to himself. His face is flushed, eyes glassy. It’s that mix of broken and belligerent that onl
Blaze“Dude, that bike looks like it was smashed into a rock, the fall was messy,” Alexi continues to rant as we walk to the shop together, but my feet fucking freeze the moment we get to the front.“Woah, what a fucking handsome rich dude, he looks like the wealthy God from Greek. Damn, I suddenly remember I have a working pussy,” she whispers, eyes wide and stuck to the tall figure casually smoking in front of my shop like he owns the place.“What the hell, Alexi… Thought you were the top and you’re not into ‘dicks’?” I ask, forcing a smile, but the truth is, my stomach is in knots, flipping like it’s on crack.“Yeah, but trying it once with that gorgeous figure is an achievement,” she mutters. I don’t laugh. I can’t even move a fucking muscle.Carlo. That stupidly gorgeous bastard. His shirt is slightly open, tattoos on full display, hair slicked perfectly to the side, fucking polished from head to toe like he belongs in a mafia fantasy. His head’s down, so he hasn’t seen us yet, b
Blaze“You actually suck at this. Move. Let me do it.”Alexi snatches the wrench from my hand like I just committed some kind of sacred sin, and I don’t even fight her on it. I step back, wiping sweat from my neck with the back of my hand, watching her lean over the greasy engine like she owns the damn thing.“You know I’m still recovering from rich-boy trauma, right?” I mutter, lighting a cigarette and squinting at her through the smoke. “Three weeks out and I still flinch every time I see marble floors.”She snorts. “Yeah, well, this ain’t no penthouse, sugar. This is grease, fuel, and freedom. Welcome back to the land of the living.”I smirk a little.Three months. That’s how long it’s been since I walked out of Carlo’s place and didn’t look back. Since I shoved every memory, every fucked-up emotion, and every craving for his touch into a goddamn box and tossed it somewhere far away.This new place? It’s loud, rough, smells like gasoline and old tires, and I fucking love it. I open
Carlo“Whiskey. Double shot. Don’t go light.”The bartender doesn’t ask questions. Just pours and slides it over, it’s been a long time I came here but they still treat me like a regular. The glass hits my lips, and it burns like it’s supposed to. I stare at the bar stand where Blaze used to stand, all cocky and full of heat. It’s dead now. Cold. Like someone ripped the fucking soul out of the place.I down another.The club smells different without him here. It’s got that same stale sweat and desperation vibe, but it’s missing the spice. The fire. The fucking heartbeat. And I hate that I came here thinking maybe I could feel close to him. Maybe I’d see a shadow of him in the corners. Dumb shit like that.“You look like you need more than just a drink, man.”The voice comes from behind me. Smooth. Confident. I turn my head and there’s a guy—dark hair, pierced lip, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s offering. I don’t respond right away. Just stare.He’s not Blaze. But he’s got th
CarloDays pass.Then weeks.Then fucking months.Every morning I wake up hoping he’s on the couch. Hoping I’ll smell his skin again, hear him cussing at the coffee machine. But it’s just silence. Cold, empty fucking silence that echoes louder than a scream.The bed feels too fucking big. I roll to his side every night like a goddamn addict chasing a fix that ain’t there. I breathe into his pillow even though the scent’s faded. I still look for his towel on the bathroom rack. His boots by the door. But all I see is absence.I hire a private investigator. I pay triple to get the best. They come up with nothing. No name, no face, no trace. Like he never fucking existed.I start checking the places we used to hang out—bars, the old underground garage, that beat-up taco truck near Fifth where he always asked for extra hot sauce and never finished the food. I even go back to the last racing ring we chilled at, the one where he nearly punched a mechanic for scratching someone else’s car. I
Carlo“Where the fuck is he?”That’s the first thing I mutter the moment I walk into the penthouse. I drop my bag by the door and look around like he might be hiding behind the damn curtains. But the place is too clean. Too quiet. The air smells like furniture polish and nothing else. No cologne, no cigarette smoke, no burnt toast from his lazy attempts at breakfast. It’s just empty.“Blaze!” I call out louder this time, my voice bouncing off the damn walls.Nothing.I head into the bedroom, push open the door like I expect him to be passed out on the bed or curled up under the sheets with one of my hoodies like he usually does. But it’s made. Neat. Fucking untouched.“Goddammit.”I check the bathroom. Closet. Balcony. Nothing.I pull out my phone and dial him again. It goes straight to voicemail—again. Just like it’s been all fucking week. I thought maybe his phone was acting up, or maybe he lost it. I even joked about it to myself on the plane, thinking I’d get back, find him half-n
Blaze“You still think this shit is love, Blaze?” Felix asks, his voice sharp like a damn knife to my ear. “You really gonna keep choosing Carlo over your fucking sanity?”He’s pacing the penthouse like a caged dog, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes wild. It’s just me and him now that Carlo left for that bullshit business trip. The place feels too big. Too quiet. Too fucking cold.I don’t look at him. I just sink into the couch, legs stretched, a glass of whiskey in hand. My body aches. Or maybe it’s just my soul. I don’t fucking know anymore.I roll my eyes, dropping my phone on the armrest. “You’re still on that shit?”“I never left that shit,” he fires back. “Blaze, I’m your best fucking friend. I’ve watched you drown in this toxic-ass mess for too long. I ain’t gonna pretend like I’m cool with it just ‘cause he buys you pretty things and fucks you right.”I stare at him. That silence between us tightens.“I love him,” I say, flat. Like the words don’t even mean shit anymore.Felix sto
Carlo“You’re still here?” I mutter, walking into the living room and spotting Felix on the couch like he fucking lives here.He glances at me, smug as ever. “Good morning to you too, Carlo.”I hate his voice. Too calm. Too fucking smug. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to get under my skin on purpose. But I do know better—he is.I walk past him without saying another word. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit, not this early. I head straight for the stairs, checking on Blaze first before I deal with anything else. He’s awake, sitting up in bed with his crutches leaning against the nightstand, flipping through some stupid magazine.His room smells faintly of antiseptic and vanilla—him. The curtains are half-drawn, sunlight slicing through the room in streaks. He looks comfortable, like he’s finally getting used to being home again. There’s something peaceful about that. The kind of peace I don’t get often.“Hey,” he says, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Thought yo