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“Lai-la Ha...” Carlos rolled the name around his tongue a few times, then let his eyes drift further down the page, scanning the endless photos of Jannik’s alleged love interest. Blonde hair, long legs, the obligatory pout and sultry pose. The quintessential tennis WAG, draped in head-to-toe Prada and Bucherer jewelry.
The comments beneath were brutal:
“She’s a 10 and he looks like a dehydrated corpse.”
“What attracted you first to the ginger millionaire?”
“Well, she’s not with him for his looks, that’s for sure.”
Carlos clenched his jaw and muttered, “Idiots.” As usual, people were as clueless as they were cruel. He knew better than to read the comments, but curiosity sometimes got the better of him. What he could never understand was how anyone could look at Jannik and not be enchanted by his unique beauty.
If only they knew the sweetness of his smile, the healing power of his hugs. The way he’d say “Espresso macchiato, por favore” while doing that silly little dance. Or how he laughed in the mornings—mouth full of Carlos’s Spanish omelette, one hand tucked under the Spaniard’s pajama top, absentmindedly stroking his nipple.
How dare his critics not know that Jannik’s lashes caught the light like sparks from a blacksmith’s hammer—impossibly long and fiery above those dreamy grey eyes. Grey, not blue, as so many claimed. They were the color of a stormy Alpine morning.
Carlos would never forget that first visit to Jannik’s home in Innichen, the image burned into him: Jannik descending the hill with effortless confidence, framed by white pines and sunlight spilling into his orange curls. He had looked like a creature of the forest, an elf scented with moss and cold mist. And in those eyes lay the whole world—steady, mysterious, impossible to describe.
Damn it, Carlos. He’s turned you into a poet.
It was then, with a sharp ache in his chest, that Carlitos had realized he was quite possibly madly in love with his greatest rival.
Across the room, something stirred in the bed. A long, pale leg slipped from beneath the covers. Carlos smiled, stood, and moved closer, impatient to see those beloved dimples. He brushed his fingers along the arch of the exposed foot, earning a sleepy protest.
“Nooo, mio caro! A few more minutes…”
“The world’s top tennis player is such a lazy boy. Tsk, tsk.”
“Well, I’m not the world’s top tennis player anymore. Cut me some slack…”
“Ohhh, sassy. Is my puppy grumpy?” Carlos ran his fingers through the copper mop spilling across the pillow. How he loved finding those fiery strands everywhere—in his bed, on his towels, clinging to the shoulders of his blazers.
“Not really. Just tired.”
“Happy to have played a part in that. And no, I don’t mean the tennis.” Carlos kissed Jannik’s knuckles, then traced a line down his shoulder, spine, and over the peach-soft curve of his bum.
Jannik let out a muffled moan.
“If you keep this up, I might never leave the bed today…”
Carlos peppered his freckled nose with butterfly kisses.
“Actually, I was just checking on my dehydrated corpse.”
“Aaah, you’ve been reading comments again. Mio caro, you know that’s not necessary, don’t you?” Jannik cupped Carlos’s face tenderly.
“I know, I know. The other day it was me with Brooks, now it’s you with what’s-her-name. We’re both hot-blooded heterosexuals, didn’t you hear?”
Jannik snorted.
“We do seem to have a type. Light skin, long legs.”
“Ooooft, they may be onto something…” Carlos lifted Jannik’s leg and pressed a kiss to his kneecap. “I do love long legs. But they got the most important part wrong.” He slid his chin higher until his mouth rested against the soft swell of Jannik’s balls. “These happen to be my favorite bits.”
He sucked gently through the thin cotton of Jannik’s boxers, breathing in the familiar scent of warmth and want.
“You are an… insatiable… beast. I feel objectified. Just kidding. Don’t stop.”
Jannik writhed and moaned beneath him, hands searching desperately for Carlos’s mouth, his chest, his cock. Carlos kissed him until his lungs burned, but even then, he knew he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. This thing between them was bigger, stronger than him. Jannik was his life—now and always.
Damn it, Carlos. He’s turned you into a beast too.