Sunday dinner at the Rivera house felt like stepping onto a stage where Alex had forgotten his lines. 

The table was crowded with the usual cast: his parents at the heads, Marcus and his wife Lena beside each other, a couple of cousins, and—because the universe clearly enjoyed watching Alex squirm—

Dami, invited last-minute when Marcus decided 

“the family needed more testosterone at the table.”

Alex arrived late on purpose, hoping the chaos of passing dishes would hide the way his hands still remembered the shape of Dami’s hips from two nights ago. 

He wore a collared shirt buttoned high enough to conceal the faint bruise Dami had left just below his collarbone. 

Every time fabric brushed the mark, heat licked through him like a reminder.

“Alex! Finally,” his mother called, pulling him into a hug that smelled of cumin and warm tortillas. 

“Sit, sit. Dami saved you a spot.”

Of course he had. The only empty chair was directly across from Dami. Alex slid into it, nodding casually at everyone.

 “Sorry. Traffic was brutal.”

Marcus clapped him on the shoulder from the side. “No worries, little brother. We saved you the good enchiladas.”

Dami looked up from his plate. Their eyes met. The contact hit like a live wire. Dami had dressed down for family dinner—faded black T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest, jeans, hair still slightly damp from a shower.

 A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, the one that said he knew exactly what Alex was thinking about. 

The split on his lip had healed to a faint line, but Alex could still feel the ghost of it against his own mouth.

“Hey,” Dami said, voice perfectly neutral. “Pass the rice?”

Alex handed over the bowl. Their fingers brushed—deliberate on Dami’s part, Alex was sure. 

Just that small touch sent a spark racing straight to his groin. 

He pulled back quickly, focusing on piling food onto his plate like it was the most important task in the world.

Conversation flowed around them. His father talked about the new truck he was eyeing. Lena shared ultrasound pictures on her phone. Marcus teased one of the cousins about his terrible fantasy football picks. On the surface, everything was normal. Warm. Familiar.Under the table, it was anything but.

Dami’s foot found Alex’s calf almost immediately. The contact was light at first—just the toe of his boot resting against Alex’s leg. 

Then it shifted, slow and intentional, tracing upward until the sole pressed firmly against Alex’s shin and stayed there.

Alex’s fork paused mid-air. He forced himself to chew and swallow, nodding at whatever his mother had just asked about work.

“—and the partners actually liked the curved glass idea?” she prompted.

“Yeah,” Alex managed, voice steadier than he felt. “They want me to present it to the client next week.”

Dami’s foot slid higher, now resting against the inside of Alex’s knee. The pressure was maddening—possessive without being obvious. 

Alex shifted in his seat, trying to create space, but Dami simply followed, ankle hooking lightly around his.

Heat pooled low in Alex’s belly. He was half-hard already, trapped in dress slacks that suddenly felt too tight. 

Across the table, Dami took a slow sip of his iced tea, eyes locked on Alex’s over the rim of the glass. The look was pure sin: dark, knowing, daring him to react.

Alex retaliated by stretching his own leg out under the table until his foot brushed Dami’s inner thigh. 

He pressed just enough to feel Dami’s breath hitch. Dami’s jaw tightened, but he smiled smoothly at Marcus when asked about his upcoming gig. “Thursday at The Hollow. You should come. Bring Lena.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Marcus said.

The conversation moved on, but the game beneath the table intensified. Dami’s foot stroked higher, now pressing firmly against the growing bulge in Alex’s slacks. 

The pressure was light but constant—rubbing in tiny, torturous circles that made Alex’s thighs tense and his breathing shallow.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.

Dami’s expression remained relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes burned. 

Every time Alex tried to pull away, Dami followed, relentless. The secret contact felt filthy in the middle of his mother’s dining room—enchiladas steaming on plates while Dami was quietly stroking him toward the edge with nothing but the sole of his boot.

Alex’s hand trembled as he reached for his water glass. A drop spilled. He wiped it up quickly.

“You okay?” Lena asked, frowning with concern. “You look a little flushed.”

“Hot in here,” Alex muttered. “The oven, maybe.” His mother laughed. “I told your father we need better ventilation.”

Dami’s foot pressed harder for one delicious second, then eased off—just enough to let Alex breathe. The reprieve lasted only until dessert. When everyone stood to help clear plates, Dami lingered in the kitchen while Alex loaded the dishwasher. 

The others had migrated to the living room to watch a game. For thirty precious seconds, they were alone.

Dami stepped close behind him, chest brushing Alex’s back. His voice was a low rumble against his ear. 

“You’re so fucking hard right now. I can still feel it.”

Alex’s hands stilled on a plate. “You’re evil.”

“Wanted to see how long you could keep that perfect composure.” Dami’s hand brushed the small of Alex’s back, hidden by the counter.

 “Almost broke you, didn’t I?”

“Almost.” Alex turned just enough to meet his eyes.

 “Payback’s coming.”

Dami’s smirk widened. “Can’t wait.” Before they could risk more, Marcus’s voice called from the hallway. “Dami, you bringing the guitar out or what?”

Dami stepped back smoothly. “Yeah, coming.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of music and laughter. Dami played acoustic covers on the back patio—soulful renditions of old favorites that had the family singing along.

 Alex sat on the edge of the group, nursing a beer, watching the way 

Dami’s fingers moved over the strings with the same skilled precision he’d used on Alex’s body two nights earlier.

Every chord seemed to vibrate through him.

Later, when goodbyes were being said in the driveway, Marcus pulled Dami into a quick bro-hug. 

“Drive safe, man.”

“Always,” Dami replied. His gaze flicked to Alex over Marcus’s shoulder. 

“See you around, Alex.” The words were casual. The look wasn’t.

Alex drove home with the windows down, cool night air doing nothing to calm the fire still licking under his skin. His body ached with unresolved tension. 

The marks on his neck and chest throbbed in time with his heartbeat. When he finally pulled into his apartment parking lot, his phone buzzed.

Dami: Tonight was torture.

Dami: Can still feel how hard you were under my foot.

Dami: Want to come over and finish what we started under that table?

Alex sat in the dark car, thumb hovering. He should say no. They’d already pushed their luck once this week. But the memory of Dami’s foot pressing against him, the dark promise in his eyes, the way his voice had sounded low and filthy in the kitchen—

Alex: Door’s unlocked.

Alex: Don’t make me wait.

He barely had time to step inside and shrug off his jacket before Dami was there—pushing through the door, backing Alex against it, mouth crashing down in a kiss that tasted like sweet tea and barely contained hunger.

“You drove me crazy tonight,” Dami growled between kisses, hands already working open Alex’s shirt buttons. 

“Sitting there all proper while I was dying to drag you under the table.”

Alex laughed breathlessly, tugging Dami’s shirt up. “Payback, remember?”

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in the entryway. Dami dropped to his knees right there, mouth hot and eager, sucking Alex deep while Alex’s fingers tangled in his hair.

The relief was instant and overwhelming. 

Alex came hard and fast, biting his lip to stay quiet even though no one could hear.

Afterward, Dami rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “My turn.” They moved to the couch, where Alex returned the favor with slow, teasing strokes of his tongue until Dami was cursing and begging, hips jerking helplessly.

When they finally collapsed together, sated and tangled, Dami pressed a kiss to the fresh mark he’d sucked onto Alex’s shoulder.

“Public ice,” he murmured sleepily. “Private fire.” Alex smiled against his neck. 

“Keep playing with fire, Kane.” Dami’s arms tightened around him. “Plan to.”

Outside, the city hummed on, oblivious. Inside, the secret flame burned brighter than ever—hidden in plain sight, hotter with every stolen touch.